Chapter 25 #2
Their chest brushes against my shoulder blades on an inhale, the sensation nothing compared to the feel of their fingers tracing the outline of my ear, tangling in the sweat-damp strands of my ponytail.
Gently, tenderly, they fist the bulk of it, pulling it to the side to turn my face toward them.
Desire roils through my veins, and instinctively, my eyes flutter closed at the tension.
Against my scalp. Against the molten core of me.
“You smell so good.”
The declaration sets me ablaze, my bones turning to putty. “Hm?” I murmur, all rational thought blinking out of existence as their hand drops from my hair to my back, their nimble fingers toying with the strings holding my dress together.
“Like blackberries and jasmine,” they clarify on an exhale. “Like all of my favorite things. Like you, and only you.”
It takes every modicum of self-control I have not to take a step back, not to grind up against them, not to take their hand in mine and guide it exactly where I want it, where I’ve been wanting it—where my desire-addled mind thinks it needs it. But I don’t. Just barely, I don’t.
The meekness of my next words is a disappointment, even to my ears. “Thank you.”
Before shame can overpower my arousal, Phantom grips my hip and spins me to face them. What I see stuns me.
Phantom is devastating in all black. Their pants hang loose from their hips and their collarless, long-sleeve shirt is buttoned to the neck. Their typically unruly midnight waves are slicked back and tamed with product, the ends curling deliciously around their ears. And their mask . . .
Their mask is new, plain black, the material silky and smooth.
I lift my hand to touch it, but Phantom’s sudden grip on my arms stops me. They look shocked as they study my face. “Don’t worry,” I whisper. “I won’t take it off.”
They nod, dropping my arm.
I watch them as they track my hand, slowly approaching their face. The fact they’re trusting me enough to get this close is a serious testament to what we’ve built.
But what is it that we’ve built?
If I’m being completely honest with myself, this relationship doesn’t feel like friendship, and it hasn’t for a while. It feels like something else. And I know I should feel bad about that fact, but right now, under Phantom’s gaze, I find it difficult to.
I shiver as my fingertips brush over the silky fabric on Phantom’s cheek. They’ve gone ramrod straight, so I don’t let my fingers linger long. They relax as I withdraw my hand.
“It’s lovely.”
Phantom’s gemstone eyes glisten in the dark. “It’s new.”
“So is the dress,” I admit, my disjointed thoughts fluttering around my mind like the butterflies in my stomach.
“Looks like we both had plans to impress,” they say with a low chuckle.
“I think we succeeded,” I pronounce boldly, the alcohol robbing me of my inhibitions.
They smile with their eyes and study my dress head-on for a moment. Under their gaze like this, I don’t feel self-conscious like I so often do with others. I feel seen.
“Yes, I think we did.”
I use Phantom’s renewed happy demeanor to my advantage, grabbing their hand and rushing to unlock the door, knowing nothing more can happen behind it tonight, regardless of what my libido tries to demand.
“Maeve, what are you doing?” Their voice is thick with anxiety as we dash down the hall.
“We’re going back down to the party,” I explain, “where we’re going to have some fun.”
“But no one can know who I am,” they remind me, the pitch of their voice rising an octave.
“I know,” I say, looking back at them. God, they look good enough to eat. Banishing thoughts of my tongue tasting their skin, I push on, “I’ve already come up with an alias for you.”
Their eyes flash with amusement at that.
Back down at the party, I rush to the kitchen to replenish my drink. I offer one to Phantom, but they decline. And now that I think about it, I realize they’ve never eaten or drank anything in front of me before. But before the thought has time to take root, Zayne and Emmy approach us.
“I was wondering where you’d gone off to,” Emmy says to me as she studies Phantom carefully. From her curious expression, it looks like she likes what she sees, and an unfamiliar emotion oozes into my chest, acidic and corrosive.
Am I . . . jealous?
Casually, I say, “I was just showing my friend, Daemon, around.”
“I’ve never seen you on campus before,” Zayne comments as he openly scrutinizes them as well.
“Daemon’s a friend from home,” I explain. “Just in to visit for the night.”
Emmy and Zayne both relax.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Emmy says. “I guess that makes it our responsibility to ensure you have a good time.”
I smile at her gratefully.
“Shall we?” Zayne asks, gesturing to the library.
Phantom tenses next to me.
“Come on,” I whisper in their ear. “It’ll be fun. Just for an hour, then we can leave.”
“One hour,” they confirm, letting me pull them in the direction of the music.
I should’ve guessed it, having seen how smoothly Phantom moves to music while painting, but it still takes me by surprise.
Phantom is a marvelous dancer. As they danced to the music tonight, twirling me around and around, I got a glimpse of a completely different side of them.
A languid, carefree side that made my heart want to burst.
My excitement wanes though, as the hour passes us by and Phantom looks to me expectantly.
“We’re heading out,” I say to the others.
“How are you getting home?” Iris asks, worry lines denting her brow. “I’m spending the night at Claire’s tonight.”
“I’ll walk her home,” Phantom replies stoutly while wrapping a protective arm around my shoulders.
“Thanks, Daemon,” Iris drawls with mischief glinting in her eyes.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I call back to them as Phantom steers me away, heading toward the front door.
We grab our coats from the entryway and head out into the cold. Phantom wraps their arm around me once more, and I sigh as I lean into their warm embrace. With my body still humming from the booze, I forget about everything except this feeling of rightness.
And the closer we get to the dorm, the more it feels like we’re walking toward a precipice. Toward a point of no return.