Chapter 7 #2
I snap my eyes up to meet his; he’s already smirking, which makes me roll my eyes in return, masking my fluster with a practiced scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I mumble and move to pass him, but he steps in, cutting me off.
“Where are you running off to, Blair?” His voice is pure sin, like he’s tasting the idea of me on his tongue.
“You have to stop this,” I breathe, barely holding it together.
“I get it, okay? I’m the forbidden fruit.
That’s thrilling for you. You’re probably some kind of adrenaline junkie, and I’m just your next high.
But this”—I gesture between us, trying to ignore the way my voice trembles—“this will destroy Abby.”
His face shifts, just slightly. Not guilt, something else. Something unreadable.
“She loves you,” I say. “And she’s my sister. My only sister. You understand that, right?”
My voice wavers with the weight of what I’m asking. Not just for him to stop, but to save me from myself. Because God help me, if he touches me, I don’t know that I’ll have the strength to walk away.
“Be a good man,” I whisper, almost begging. “Please.”
Even as I plead, a part of me aches for him to say he doesn’t care, to say he’d ruin it all just to touch me.
It’s maddening, this push and pull, wanting him to back off while something reckless inside me begs to lean in, to fall harder.
God, I’m going to hell for even thinking it.
I don’t know what’s really going on in their relationship, and it shouldn’t matter.
He’s Abby’s fiancé. The man she’s going to marry.
The man she loves. And I should respect that.
For a moment, the air stands still.
Then he moves, and I instinctively back away until the edge of the piano kisses my spine.
He keeps coming. Towering. Controlled. And so, so dangerous.
My breath stutters. His chest is inches from mine, radiating heat.
That beard, thick and dark, makes my fingers twitch with the urge to drag my nails through it. To pull him down and taste him.
He leans in, close enough for his heat to lick across my skin, but not close enough to touch. His breath brushes my lips, warm and charged, and when his tongue darts out to wet his mouth, I follow the movement like a starving woman. God, I wonder how those lips would feel on mine… everywhere.
“I don’t know what about me gave you the illusion that I’m a good man,” he murmurs, his voice a low, molten rasp that coils around my spine. “A good man would walk away. A good man would protect you from this.”
He leans in more, his eyes dragging over every inch of my face like he’s memorizing it for the end of the world.
“But I’m not him. I don’t have that kind of mercy in me. I won’t protect you, Blair. I’ll ruin you. And I’ll enjoy every second of it.”
Nervousness lodges in my throat. His eyes, those devastating, liquid brown eyes, lock onto mine, pinning me in place. He lifts his hand slowly, deliberately, giving me every chance to turn away.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
His fingertips graze my cheek, a barely-there touch that sparks like fire.
My breath stutters as the tension coils tighter, hotter.
And then he steps in, his body pressing against mine, solid and searing.
One hand slides to the delicate column of my throat, not tight, not forceful, just enough to make my pulse thrum louder in my ears. To make me feel owned.
“I’m not a good man, Blair,” he growls, his thumb brushing over my racing pulse. “How could I be? When every time I look at you, those big brown eyes are begging me to fuck you. And your mouth? Jesus. Saying my name in that sweet, breathy voice should come with a fucking label.”
My lips part. A tremor runs through me. I can’t breathe, can’t think.
“You drive me fucking insane,” he says, eyes dark with hunger. “I can’t sleep without seeing you. Can’t hear your voice without getting hard like a fucking teenager. Look at me, right now, and tell me my touch means nothing to you. Say it.”
He strokes over my pulse again, taunting. It nearly wrings a moan from my throat.
But I say nothing.
Because I can’t lie. Not to him or to myself. But I do attempt to shake my head.
He leans in closer, his lips barely an inch from mine. “You say no,” he whispers, voice like gravel and smoke, “but you’re biting that lip again.”
I hadn’t even realized.
“That lip…” He inhales sharply, eyes burning with filthy promise. “That mouth. Fuck, Blair. The things I could do to that bratty mouth.”
The words hang in the air, thick and filthy and true. Every syllable sinks into my skin, branding me.
He licks his lips again. My gaze drops, mirroring the motion before I can stop myself. His grin is molten.
My hands fist, a desperate effort to anchor myself. “You’re engaged,” I whisper, voice barely more than air.
“I know.”
“To my sister.”
“I know that too.” He says without an ounce of remorse, it should disgust me. Shut something down. Make me step back, but instead, it makes me burn.
“But that’s my business,” he says, the final blow, before stepping back, leaving me cold and breathless.
And then… he’s gone.
I stand there, shaking, the phantom heat of his body still clinging to mine like a ghost.
What just happened? Why is this happening to me?
I bolt for the guest room like I can outrun the need clawing through me. I should’ve gone to Mom and Dad’s. What the hell was I thinking, staying here?
My hands tear through my suitcase, flinging clothes, makeup bags, tangled chargers, everything.
Desperation sharpens every motion. I need to find my vibratory lifeline to prevent myself from making the biggest, no pun intended, mistake of my life.
“Come on,” I plead, crawling across the floor, yanking open side zippers. “Where the fuck is it?”
Nothing.
Panic sets in, hot and suffocating. “Damn it!” I cry, dropping back against the bed in frustrated defeat.
I’m fucked.
In every. Way. Possible.