Prologue #2
She squares her shoulders, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m not your babe, either.”
Her tough persona is failing miserably. She’s simply adding to her adorableness. My eyes dip to her plump lips, lips that I’m pretty sure are aching to be kissed.
Well, in my mind, they are.
“You have some…” I trail off, pointing to my mouth.
When her tongue darts out, I smile, but she misses it completely. Taking a step forward, I place the pad of my thumb on her bottom lip, dragging it down slightly as I go. Her breath hitches. I draw my arm back, but she reaches out and snags my wrist before I get a chance to taste her again.
A strangled groan bubbles in the back of my throat when she yanks my hand toward her face and encloses her mouth over my thumb.
My entire thumb—deep throating it.
I inhale a sharp breath when I feel her tongue lightly swipe against my skin, licking the jelly before drawing back. Her eyes are locked with mine as her full lips slowly withdraw down the entire length, finally releasing my digit with a pop.
Fuck!
Maybe I’ve underestimated this woman.
“Delicious,” she breathes smugly.
Touché.
The corners of my lips turn up when her face shifts to a pretty shade of pink. I get the feeling she just did something completely out of character for her.
“You like that,” I whisper, leaning into her personal space. Her sweet vanilla scent envelops me. “I have something else you can suck on if you’re interested.”
She gasps again.
When I pull back, I arch an eyebrow, and her eyes widen like saucers. I chuckle when the hue in her cheeks intensifies.
This is fun.
She drags the corner of her lip between her teeth, nibbling on it.
I want to bite her lip too.
Her gaze once again drops to her donut, and I hear her sigh as her shoulders slightly sag.
“It’s just a donut. Here…” I reach into my back pocket, pulling out my wallet, “… I’ll pay for another one.”
Her gaze flickers back to me. “You don’t understand, I can’t just buy another one.”
I hold a twenty-dollar bill out in front of me. “Take it.” She simply stares at me, making no attempt to accept the money I’m offering. “I insist,” I state more forcefully.
“Bossy much.” Her comment makes me chuckle.
Bossy is my middle name.
Well, not really, but it should be. Being in control is what I crave. It’s my way of compensating for the power I lost over my life a long time ago.
She glances over her shoulder, blowing out a puff of air.
“They’d be all gone by now.” I follow her line of sight and see people lined up outside the bakery further down the street.
I’ve never bought anything from there, but I have noticed the long lines before today.
“There were only a couple of the jelly ones left.”
“How about a different flavor?”
Her eyes move back to me, and she shakes her head again. “Uh-uh, jelly is my favorite.”
I push the money toward her. “You can come back tomorrow and buy another one.”
“I can’t, it’s Sunday,” she says as her gaze moves down to her feet.
“They don’t open on Sundays?”
“Yeah, they do.”
“Then what’s the issue? Do you have some weird rule that you don’t eat donuts on Sundays? Is it a religious thing?”
Her head snaps up, and her eyes slightly narrow as they lock with mine. “It’s not weird. And no, it’s not a religious thing.”
I lift one shoulder. “Well, Monday, then?”
“I don’t eat them on Mondays, either.”
Her hands start to fidget by her sides, and my enjoyment grows. “Tuesdays?”
“Nah-uh.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Wednesday?”
She shakes her head as that pretty pink blush returns. “What days are you allowed to eat donuts, then?”
Her eyes are everywhere but on me. “Saturday… Sinful-Saturday?” Her voice is so soft when she speaks, I can hardly hear her.
I lean toward her. “Come again?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Sinful-Saturday.”
I throw back my head and laugh. “You’re not serious, are you?”
Her brow furrows, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that tugs at my black heart. “You have a problem with that?”
“Since when has Saturday been sinful? Did I miss the memo?” I ask.
“No,” she grumbles, blowing out a frustrated breath. “My therapist… I mean, my friend,” she quickly corrects, “… suggested it.”
She diverts her eyes away from me again. “She suggested you do sinful things on Saturdays?” I ask, intrigued.
“Not every Saturday.”
“Okay,” I reply, playing along.
I can think of plenty of sinful things I’d like to do to her right now.
“The first Saturday of every month, if you must know.” Her attitude returns. I like her fiery side.
“So, your therapist… I mean, your friend… encourages you to do sinful things on the first Saturday of every month.”
She sounds like a good therapist.
I may need to make an appointment to see her.
She fights a grin as her eyes divert away from me. “It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that.”
“Why would she suggest that? And what other sinful things do you do besides eating donuts? Which is pretty badass, I might add. Does she make you rob banks, steal cars… mug old ladies?”
“No,” she says, laughing. Her face lights up when she smiles, revealing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth, and for the second time this morning, she steals all the air from my lungs.
“I don’t do anything illegal. I just eat and drink what I like on those days.
” She shrugs. “I let my hair down, you could say. You know… try and be more carefree.”
“Like deep-throating strangers’ thumbs?”
“Yeah, like that,” she says, again fighting a smile.
“Do you do that often?”
She clears her throat. “No, you were my first.”
Good answer.
I like that I was her first.
Our eyes lock as we stand there, staring at each other. Something shifts. There’s a weird kind of pull gravitating between us. I’m even entertaining the idea of asking her if she’d like to grab some breakfast with me.
I don’t date.
Not anymore.
She’s not the kind of woman I’d usually go for anyway. Don’t get me wrong, she’s stunning, but underneath her fiery attitude, I can see she’s timid. She has an innocence about her, and I’m an asshole—a ruthless bastard—and if she knows what’s best for her, she’ll stay the hell away from me.
Run sweet-thing, run.
She lifts her slender arms, running the palms of her hands nervously over her slicked-back hair.
She feels the spark too, I can tell. The sleeves of her top ride up slightly, and my eyes zero in on the tiny white scars sitting at the base of each wrist. Two perfectly straight lines that stand out against her bronzed, sun-kissed skin.
And just like that, my somewhat promising morning turns to shit in an instant.
It’s like a sucker punch to the gut.
Bile rises in my throat as images of Anastasia’s lifeless body lying on my bathroom floor flash through my mind.
The metallic scent of her blood fills my nose, making my stomach churn.
Its deep red color only accentuated against the stark white tiles, and her equally pale skin—the razor still clutched between her fingers.
My nostrils flare.
“Fuck,” I say as my breathing becomes rapid, and my heart thumps furiously against my ribcage.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Bending, I place my hands on my legs, trying to fight off the panic attack I know is coming. It’s been a while since I’ve had one. I honestly thought I’d outgrown them.
I guess not.
“Are you okay?” She steps forward, gently wrapping her fingers around my elbow. My eyes dart up to her as I struggle to breathe. Pins and needles course down my arms and legs. I’m teetering on the edge, and I know I’m about to fall. “All the color has drained from your face.”
There’s concern in her voice as she speaks, and I hate that.
Christ, not here, not now.
“I’m fine,” I manage to say as I shake out of her grip and rub the heel of my palm across the ache that’s now formed in my chest, trying to relieve the crushing weight that’s now settled there.
Is life trying to tell me something? It’s like déjà vu at its worst.
Turning, I hastily start moving, placing one foot in front of the other because, at this moment, it’s all I can do. The darkness is threatening to pull me under, and I need to get away before I completely lose my shit in front of her.
I don’t know her story, and frankly, I don’t want to.
This situation is way too close to home for me.
Fuck.
Is it too early for a drink?