Chapter 28 Tell me to Stop
Tell me to Stop
The suite they gave me to dress for the ball looked like something out of a fever dream, all pale marble floors and carved rose screen partitions, warm sunset bleeding through gaudy curtains and turning everything it touched a golden shimmer. It should have felt comforting. It didn’t.
I stood barefoot on a rug softer than any bed I’d ever slept in, staring at myself in the long mirror.
The dress that had been picked for me was silk, blush and dawn-pale against my skin, cut so low, I questioned if it would keep everything hidden.
It clung to places I wasn’t sure I wanted it to, whispering over my skin like a second skin.
Behind me, Tarran sat on the edge of the bed, cross-legged, a small box of jeweled pins resting near her knee.
She hadn’t touched it. She was too busy watching me, watching the slip of my shoulder, the curve of my back, the way my fingers hesitated on the strap like I was considering tearing the whole thing off and running away.
“You should see your face,” she murmured, her voice low, edged with a hint of lazy amusement. She was having a good day today, fully present, the madness she struggled to keep at bay nowhere to be found. I was grateful for it.
I met my eyes in my reflection then looked to hers.“What about it?”
She shifted closer to the edge of the mattress, leaning forward so her elbows rested on her knees. Her eyes dragged over me, slow, deliberate, and it left a blazing trail of heat under my skin that made my stomach knot in ways that had nothing to do with the trial waiting for me outside this room.
“You look like you want to run,” she said. “Or bite someone.”
“Both are on the table at all times.” I tugged the strap higher then let it slip again. My fingers trembled. I hated that she could see it. “It’s not the dress.”
“No?” she asked, softer.
“It’s what comes after.”
She stood then, quiet as a ghost, but her presence warm. I watched her in the mirror as she came up behind me, close enough for her warmth to seep through the air and find my skin. She didn’t touch me yet, just close enough that I knew she could.
I wanted her to.
“You’ll win,” she said, like she was telling me the sky was blue. A simple truth that couldn’t be argued. “You’ll win, and you’ll still be you.”
A laugh scraped my throat, nearly getting stuck on the way out. “You sound so sure.”
“I am.”
Her hand lifted, slow enough that I could have flinched away, but I didn’t. She brushed my haphazard waves off my shoulder, fingertips grazing the side of my neck. Goosebumps prickled behind her touch like sparks.
She stepped closer, pressing her body to my back until the silk rustled between us. Her arms slipped around my waist, hands splaying flat against my stomach. The warmth of her palms bled straight through the thin fabric, steady and grounding and heady, like she was trying to anchor me to the floor.
I looked at us both in the mirror. Me, half-bare in silk, her pressed so close, her breath brushed my skin. She watched my eyes in the glass. I couldn’t look away.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered, mouth near my ear. Her breath made every nerve under my skin light up. “Are you scared?”
“Of this?” I asked, voice thin. Then, softer, “Of you?”
I felt, more than heard, her soft laugh against my neck. She nudged her nose against the skin just below my ear, her lips hovering there like a promise. “Both?”
“Maybe.”
Her thumbs traced small circles against my ribs through the fabric of my dress. My knees threatened to give out. My chest felt too small for how fast my heart was beating; surely, it would kill me soon. “What are we doing, Tarran?”
She leaned in closer, her lips brushing that spot just under my ear. A kiss, but not quite, close enough to singe. “Tell me to stop.”
I didn’t. I couldn’t. The words escaped me, not that I ever wanted to speak them in the first place. Instead, I leaned back into her, greedy for every inch she gave me. My hands came up, covering hers where they rested on my stomach, holding them like maybe I could keep her forever that way.
“Tarran…” I said her name like a plea. For what, I didn’t know. My throat felt raw.
She kissed the spot beneath my ear, soft, careful, ruinous. “You’re going to go out there,” she murmured, herwords warm against my skin, “and you’ll show them you’re more than this dress, more than their perfect little show, more than this book. And when it’s over—”
I turned, sudden and clumsy, cutting her off with my lips.
She met me halfway, her mouth opening like she’d been waiting for me to do that, her hands tightening at my waist. I poured every trembling fear and every reckless wanting into that kiss.
If I stopped to think about the trials, about the fact that I was so close to earning my freedom and so close to leaving everything behind, I’d break.
So, I didn’t. I thought about her instead.
When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless. Her lips were swollen, a soft smile gracing her mouth.
“When it’s over,” she finished, voice rough, “we can finish what we started.”
And God help me, I wanted it.