Chapter 18
?
Is it hot out here? Or is it just summer?
August
Oh…my…
“Once again, my wicked vampire foe has beckoned me outside.
The lights of the stars and full moon kiss his pale skin, drawing fingers of silver and white across the contours of his face.
The shadows darken around him, black as obsidian, dark as charcoal.
Like charcoal, they cling to him, seeming to swallow the frail light whole.
“My mouth dries. My heart hammers.
“We’ve battled often since our first meeting—usually with daggers and chains—but tonight…now…he’s devised a different scheme. One that is sure to be my undoing.”
Dominic smiles. It’s sultry. As sultry as the attire he’s donned—which is dark, flowing, and ethereal.
A long cloak rests over his shoulder, and a lightning bug perches upon the brass button holding it in place.
The lazy, inconsistent glow adds to the fantasy pooling in the summer air, and my lungs grow sticky in the humidity.
In tall black boots, he takes a step toward me, where I linger upon my back porch beside my swing, peering down into a yard he’s fashioned with a large bed of blankets and pillows.
A scattering of fairy lights illuminates the glass-covered treats adorning the lavish display, and a bucket of ice beside flute glasses teases the possibility of alcohol.
Once he reaches the porch steps, a gloved hand rises, fingers splayed, offer clear. His blue eyes delve into my soul as he beckons me to the grass where he is. “My saint.”
My heartbeat skips.
“Have you finished your narration?”
I wet my lips and continue, “My wicked vampire expects me to walk easily into his arms—and his trap. He is a fool.”
“Am I? Because I cannot help but recognize that you keep calling me yours.”
“Wisdom spears me, and I know what to do.” I turn sharply on my heel.
With unnatural speed, Dominic scales the steps and traps a hand around my neck, halting me before I can flee back inside.
My back hits his chest as his fingers spread, confident in their control.
His lips lower, and the damp heat from them is distinctly separate from the night air.
“Oh, darling.” He kisses my throat, and mist clouds my mind.
“If you prefer we return to our game of chains…I can gladly oblige.”
Oh. My. Goodness.
I shiver. “I don’t write that heat level, Dominic.”
“No?” His nose skims the shell of my ear. “Lack of experience, nerve…or both?”
Most likely, in this moment, I overheat. “On-page intimacy feels like a cop out. I prefer to explore emotional depth in my writing.” Also, withholding all manner of intimacy leaves December sniffling at me while she reads, which is very funny.
“Emotional depth,” he echos, then his fingers slip away from my throat.
Briefly, he traps me in a hug, then the press of his body is gone, replaced by the cage of his fingers catching mine.
His eyes glitter like gems as he whirls me back toward the stairs and draws me down the two steps into the yard.
The cushion of the blankets he’s layered in the bed of bad decisions meets my feet, and he settles me by a ridge of large pillows. “Sit.”
I should, probably, run. But…I see something that looks suspiciously like chocolate in one of the glass displays, so I gracefully lower myself and spread my skirt daintily about me before folding my hands in my lap instead.
I do not steal a piece of chocolate while he’s preoccupied setting up his laptop and checking that the charge cable is working. As that would not at all be saintly behavior.
Chewing innocently, I smile as Dominic pulls off his brand new boots to get more comfortable. He procures a notepad next, and the suspense starts killing me—until he opens a tab to display the first episode of Kaicho wa Maid-sama.
I gasp.
He looks at me, and his eyes warm, taunting.
I flutter my lashes, because who me? Did I just make that sound? No. No, I did not.
And I absolutely don’t steal another piece of chocolate while I watch him, either.
“Shall we begin?” he asks.
My heart can’t seem to stop racing. “Begin what exactly?”
He clicks open a pen. “The examination.” And he presses play.
?
For the umpteenth time, Kaicho wa Maid-sama has been paused, and I am braced, ready for what Dominic is about to say.
After he finishes taking his notes, he glances sidelong at me.
“Do I need to be prepared to jump off a building in order to kiss you? Or am I allowed to just…” He leans in.
“Do it. Without consent.” His head tilts toward the screen, where Usui has just landed in the school pool after, you know, stealing Misaki’s first kiss and flinging himself from the roof. “Like your ideal male specimen did.”
I gulp, flushed, delirious, high on my flute glass of—it should be noted—non-alcoholic Welch’s grape juice. Cradling the cool, condensation-covered glass in my fingers, I bubble and buzz. “Are you criticizing the greatest male lead of all time?”
“Of course not. I admire his initiative.” Dominic angles himself, closer, and confiscates my flute glass before caging me to the pillows.
I sink beneath the press of his nearness, and he tips my chin up on the crook of his finger.
Radiant, a smile settles on his face, and his blond hair gleams in the fairy lights all around. “What’ll it be, little saint?”
I. Melt. “S-surely, you’re not allowed to do this.”
“Whyever not?” The playful edge in his expression and voice are exactly my favored archetype.
Mischief and casual disregard for insecurity dance across his warm eyes.
The heated flare in his cheeks only serves to add an additional layer of obsession to the scene, and I am struck thoroughly by it.
“Last I checked,” he whispers, “this was well within the parameters of our guidelines.”
Yes, well. I should probably revisit those now that I’ve given him Usui as a template for anything.
Man’s a legitimate stalker at some points in this show.
Were he less beautiful, who knows whether or not his more favorable character traits would balance the truly inappropriate levels of boundary hopping he participates in.
“You’d tell me if I were going too far, wouldn’t you?” Dominic asks, lifting himself an inch back. “If I’m crossing a line—”
“Don’t break the suspension of disbelief,” I breathe. “I’m internal monologuing.”
He puffs a laugh and settles back in, resting his forehead against mine. “Could you narrate that bit of monologue for me, then?”
I heat. “No, thank you.”
“Communication is important outside of fiction.” His finger curls around a lock of my hair, then skates down my cheek and across my neck. His thumb finds a home at my pulse, and his eyes close. “You’re racing for me.”
I sure am.
“I can’t…or shouldn’t, rather, assume what you’re thinking or feeling.
I’m not the one getting high on the mystery as I fill my living room with murderboards about you.
I want to clearly know everything you are, so I can catalog the details in a spreadsheet, like a normal person.
You can just tell me every filthy little thing outright—no secrets.
Because what could you possibly gain by keeping your secrets from me? ”
“Did you just call me abnormal?”
“Yes. Did you just dodge my question?”
“Yes.” Cautious, I lift my hand and cup his cheek. Warm. So, so warm. It’s practically blazing.
His eyelids half open, and he leans into my hand. “Are you fabricating suspense by not revealing your thoughts? Do you suspect someone’s watching you build dramatic irony?”
Wouldn’t that be something?
I inhale deeply—practically tasting him he’s so close.
“I was just thinking…would any of this be okay if you weren’t quite this pretty?
Would I still look at you and feel my heart pound?
Would I be unsettled or scared? What role does attraction play in everything else?
Is it superficial to think I might like you so soon because you’re beautiful and confident enough to take advantage of it?
Are you taking advantage of it? Are you even confident?
” I skate my touch across his red cheeks.
“Or…are you just this desperate to play the role I’ve asked for? And if that’s the case, why?”
His gaze slips off me. “I am confident in many things. With you…I find myself more on the edge of hopeful than anything else. Largely because you think like this.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re happy. With your life. With the worlds that you build. I’m keenly aware how superfluous I am. You’re not going to be swayed by my appearance or my actions at face value. You’re going to analyze them. And if anything falls short of your ideal…you know you don’t need me.”
My chest twists. “What happened to us being inevitable?”
His gaze cuts back, and something devilish ignites as he paints a fingertip across my lips. “What…was that, my little lotus blossom?”
Oh. Crap.
I flush. “Nothing. I…I mean. I didn’t…”
He moves, to my neck, and captures my pulse in his mouth. My back arches as I press into the pillows, helpless. Once he’s done biting, his voice vibrates against me. “You didn’t mean to sound like it would break your heart to think of being without me?”
I fill my fists with blankets. “This is…wicked.”
He tastes the skin between my collarbones. “You keep giving me words like manipulate, then have the audacity to call me wicked when I follow your instructions?” He tuts. “I suppose I’ll just assume you mean it as a compliment.”
A fragile whimper escapes me.
“You never did tell me…” He braces himself, fully caging me now on elbows and knees.
“…may I kiss you so long as I find a building to thrust myself from after?” He kisses my chin, inches from my mouth.
“’Cause you know I will.” He kisses my forehead.
“Gladly so.” My nose. “Just say the word.” Breath whispers across my lips.
Lungs starved, I say, “What…word?”
“Oh, saint. Don’t you remember?” He draws the back of his finger down my cheek, lets it rest on the spot where he bit. “I said I’d make you beg. The word…is please.”
At that, I—obviously—implode.