Chapter 22 #2
I turn to him sharply, caught off guard. I shouldn’t be surprised to find him staring ahead, his expression stripped of emotion.
“You want me to kiss you? Now?”
“Just follow my lead. There are two reporters here from The Chronicle.”
In my search into the scandal, The Chronicle was the most vocal about Dorian and Grace. I got the impression it was because he’d been rude to them in a previous interview, and they were getting him back.
They were the first to insinuate an affair between Dorian and Grace. Then the other papers ran with it, adding more to the story.
“They’ve been watching us all night,” he adds with a quick glance over his shoulder.
Geez. I always thought that if someone was watching me, I’d feel that sixth sense people talk about. Clearly, that’s not even remotely true. At least not in this case. I’ve been talking with everyone, completely unaware.
And I guess we were still being watched. But that’s the least of my worries.
Dorian wants me to kiss him.
Of course, I should have factored that in, given what tonight means. I just didn’t.
God, the last time Dorian kissed me, I barely kept my head together. And that had been a real kiss.
What would this one be like?
The one for show.
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Act naturally, Elodie.”
“I’m trying,” I hiss.
“Try harder. You look freaked out. Like I’m going to drag you into the woods and cut off your fingers.” I don’t know how he does it. He keeps that straight face even when he’s taunting me about something so serious.
“I’m sure I don’t look like that.”
He answers with a shake of his head.
“What kind of kiss will this be?” I breathe.
He cocks a brow. “What kind of question is that?”
“The regular kind.”
“Then it will be a regular kiss.”
Great. Now he’s being difficult—more than usual.
I ignore his lame response and push anyway. I need something to prepare myself. “Like the kind of kiss you give your grandma?” I inch forward, trying to read past his stern expression. “Or… the way you kissed me at the club?”
The memory hits low in my stomach, sending heat coursing through my body.
To my surprise, he bites back a smile, the dimple in his left cheek betraying him. “I’ve never kissed my grandma.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Not really, Little Lamb. I don’t categorize kisses.” He glances at me briefly. “But if I were, I’d…”
I wait for his answer, but it doesn’t come. “You’d what?”
He looks at me again, this time holding my gaze for a beat before his eyes drop to my lips. “I’d say there are three levels.”
We’re further away now, almost alone.
“Which are?”
“The casual kiss. Good for hellos or goodbyes. The prelude kiss, the kind that leaves you wanting more than just a kiss. And then…”
He pauses, and my pulse kicks at the suspense.
“The last one is the mindfuck kiss.” A full smile spreads across his face, laced with menace. “The one that makes you crazy. The one where you’re only sane when you’re kissing the other person. You don’t come back from that one.”
My bottom lip trembles, and suddenly, my throat is so dry I can’t remember the last time I had water.
I shouldn’t ask any more questions. God knows I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist. “Which one are we doing?”
His smile widens. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”
Before I can respond, he pulls me flush against him. The sudden contact steals the air from my lungs, then he crushes his lips to mine. The searing kiss strips all logic from my mind, leaving me useless.
Dorian cups the back of my head, pulling me closer, close enough that I feel the heat of him through every layer between us.
His tongue slips through the seam of my lips, exploring every inch of my mouth like he wants to ensure I know he’s staked his claim. I go limp against his hard body, molding into him as I taste him, too.
Damn it, I’m supposed to maintain control. I’m supposed to keep the reins on my mind and body and remember this isn’t real. Except it feels too real to me, and I can’t stop myself from indulging.
He tastes delicious. Like darkness and sin. Summer and snow. Fire and ice.
My palms press against his chest, but then he slows the kiss, bringing it to a stop.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Another breath passes between us, then he pulls back to look at me.
Breathlessly, I gaze up at him, wondering if it’s over, if we’ve pandered enough to whoever was watching.
Dorian gazes back at me for a heartbeat, then he leans in again, his hand shifting to my waist.
“Come here,” he whispers over my lips.
Before I can overthink it, I move back to him. Then we’re kissing again, and God help me, something in the way he touches me shifts, and it doesn’t feel like a performance anymore.
Then again, it never really did.
The pressure deepens, blurring the lines between us that much more. My fingers curl into his shirt before I can stop myself. I never want him to stop kissing me.
Loud voices and laughter cut into the moment.
The spell breaks, and he pulls back first.
His gaze flicks past me. I look, too. A group of people is approaching with bottles of liquor.
“Let’s head back,” he murmurs.
My lips part, but nothing comes out. My mind is still reeling. I manage a nod.
Dorian glances over his shoulder, looking at nothing in particular, but I realize he’s focused on something—or someone—I can’t see.
He takes my hand and leads me back down the deck.
And just like that, we’re back to pretending.
I steal a glance at him as we walk by.
The kiss.
It was the third kind. The mindfuck.
He was right. You can’t come back from that.
I don’t think I will.