22. Lilith
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
I stood there like an idiot, staring at the door like I was waiting for it to apologise. For it to offer some kind of answer as to what the hell had just happened.
Instead, I got silence. Obviously. It was a piece of wood.
But the lack of answer still stung.
Sage and sea salt clung to my clothes, his scent curling around the whole room like smoke, filling my space, my lungs.
My lips still tingled from the scrape of his stubble, I could still feel the heat of his mouth against mine, rough and desperate like he’d been starving for it.
My hips ached where his hands had gripped me, fingers digging in like he was trying to pull me in until there was no air between us.
I swallowed hard, pressing my palms to my forehead, willing the heat in my blood to burn out.
I didn’t want to play this game. Didn’t want to pretend this wasn’t already something. Didn’t care how messed up it was.
I wanted him.
He made me feel . Something I couldn’t place, couldn’t name. But it was different. And God, it was nice. Even if he still wouldn’t show his damn face. Even if I didn’t know his damn name. Even if all this—whatever this was—made absolutely no sense. It was still nice.
And he’d wanted me first, right?
He was the one following me. The one leaving me gifts. The one buying me lunch. The one who’d asked if he could touch me first.
That meant something. Didn’t it?
I mean, every time I’d laid down on him over the last week, let him stroke my hair, melted into the warmth of his touch, I’d felt it.
Felt how hard he was, straining through the layers of fabric between us.
And I hadn’t missed the way he tried to adjust himself under my weight to hide it. Every. Single. Time.
So what the hell did that mean if it didn’t mean he wanted me?
Had I read it wrong? Acted like some complete idiot and humiliated myself?
Or was it a self-control thing? Was he worried he’d snap? Why would he even be worried about that?
It wasn’t like I hadn’t made it clear as day that I wanted it. That I wanted him. I literally said, ‘ I want you to touch me.’
My stomach twisted, sharp and ugly.
Or had he just… changed his mind?
Had it been all build up, all tension, all anticipation, until reality didn’t live up to whatever fantasy he’d been carrying around in his head?
Had he realised mid-kiss, mid-touch, mid-moan into my mouth that I wasn’t what he wanted after all? That once he finally had me, finally got his hands on me, I wasn’t what he thought I’d be?
No.
No, that wasn’t it.
Because if it was, then why had he kept touching me like that?
Why had his hands been so greedy, so desperate, so goddamn hungry for me?
Why had he made hot, needy noises like that?
Like it was a relief.
Like he’d been dying for it.
Like I was something he couldn’t help but want.
This was so stupid. I was being ridiculous.
Obsessing over something that didn’t even matter.
I needed to grow the fuck up, take a cold shower, maybe start meditating or something.
Because clearly my brain had decided to up and fuck off in the complete wrong direction, and— what the hell is that noise? !
I grabbed my phone from the coffee table, thumbing the screen to pull up the doorbell feed.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Mr. Stalker was pacing. Back and forth across my porch. Every few steps, he’d stop, mutter something, then start moving again.
Then, he went down the steps, like he was about to leave, only to pivot right back around and climb them again, mumbling like a man possessed.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, squinting at the screen.
I turned the volume up.
“No. It’s not right,” his voice crackled through the speaker. “I can’t do this to her.”
I frowned.
He stopped dead, one hand gripping the back of his neck, like he was physically holding himself together. His head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut.
“I can’t…” his voice caught. “I can’t— ”
He dragged the heel of his palm into his brow like he was trying to ground the thought out of his skull.
My stomach twisted, my ribs fracturing in on themselves.
Shit.
I set my phone down and bolted for the door.
I cracked it open just enough to see him. “Hello?”
He froze, gaze flicking to mine, then down the steps.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned, fingers curling round the edge of the door.
He shifted, weight teetering between staying and leaving.
“Don’t you dare run away again,” I said, sharper this time.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, breath dragging slow and heavy like he couldn’t catch it.
“Say something. Anything ,” I urged him.
Nothing. Just his eyes, wide and restless, flicking up to mine like he was bracing for a hit. Like he was calculating the distance between us, the steps it would take to get the hell out of here before I could stop him.
“Anything,” I said again, quieter this time. “For the love of God, just speak to me.”
“I want you, Lilith,” he said, fingers flexing at his sides. “I want you more than I should. I want you so damn badly it’s tearing me in two.” His eyes locked onto mine. “But wanting you and taking you? Those are two different things.”
“When I told you I wanted you, I meant it.” I stepped forward, barefoot on the cold wood. “I don’t know how much clearer I can make that.”
He shook his head again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
What was that supposed to mean? Was he warning me? Trying to scare me off? Or—oh God—was this some confession? Like, ‘Hey, Lilith, just so you know, I’m actually a raging psychopath and you’ve made a huge fucking mistake trusting me’?
What if I’d screwed up? What if I’d really, really screwed up this time?
I stared at him. At his half-covered face, his restless hands, his hood pulled low like he was trying to make himself smaller.
I didn’t know what this was. I didn’t know if I was supposed to feel scared, or angry, or sad, or whatever this awful pressure was, the one tightening low in my stomach and flitting down my spine, the one that felt a whole lot like frustration, and want, and everything in between.
Oh, I can’t do this. Diffuse, diffuse, diffuse.
“What, you got a monster cock under there or something?”
Nothing.
“STDs?” I tried again. “Scary piercings?”
That earned me some demonic sound that lay right between a growl and a breath .
“Sorry,” I muttered, folding my arms across my chest. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here.”
“I want you to say no,” he said. “Just… tell me no, Lilith.”