Twirling, I dig my hand into the box. “We don’t have your tenth birthday, but we might have my fourteenth from when I kissed Feodor Balstra.” Once again, I’m lying, but if it elicits one tenth of the jealousy I’m experiencing, I’ll take it.
My plan goes to shit when Asher’s hot breaths hit my nape. “The night that led to Feodor spending three weeks in the hospital?”
My hair slaps his face when I crank my neck back to peer at him. “You heard about that?” I cringe when my girly squeal bounces off the stark walls of my room.
Asher doesn’t seem to mind. “Who didn’t?” My breathing shallows when he tracks the back of his index finger down my cheek before gliding it over my top lip. “It wasn’t just members of your family after Feo that night. He had half the men in Moscow plotting his death. Your first kiss is supposed to be special, Zariah, not handed to any random fool because he dared you to kiss him.”
Since I see sparks of the boy I once knew in his wintry blue gaze, I speak freely. “Can anyone say hypocrite? You kissed Melanie because Wyattdaredyou to.”
As a wicked smile curves his lips, Asher shakes his head. “Ah, sweet, innocent, Zariah. Melanie was not my first kiss.”
His tone is so cocky, I’m waiting for peacock feathers to fan out behind him. When they don’t, I try to regain some of the control his confession made me lose. “And who said Feo was mine?”
“This.” He drags his finger down my cheek again. It doesn’t tighten my belly as it did earlier. “And this.” This time, he runs his finger across my tightly knitted brows. “You could never hide your jealousy when we were young. You can’t now, either.”
Huffing, I roll my eyes. “You can’t get jealous over something you’ve never owned.”
I stop reprimanding myself for speaking my thoughts out loud when Asher murmurs, “Wrong again, Little Mouse.”
Through trembling hands, I thread the reel of Asher’s tenth birthday into the projector. I’d rather handle a dozen ruthless mafia men than witness him kiss Melanie again, but since I’m trying to play it cool, I’ll suck it up and act like a million tiny knives aren’t jabbing into my heart.
“Ouch!” I pull away from the projector with a hiss when the blade used to slice the film chops up my finger instead. I avoided it the first three times since I wasn’t working under Asher’s watchful gaze, but I’m not so lucky this time around. I’ve sliced my finger badly enough, the photos I knocked off my drawer while jerking back are now splattered with blood.
“Show me?”
Not even the command in Asher’s voice can stop me from cradling my hand in my chest. I thought paper cuts hurt. This is ten times worse.
Asher dumps his shirt on my bed, which is now holding my backside. “Stop it. It’s probably just a scratch. Let me see?” He shoos away my sulking lip and watering eyes with a stern glare before kneeling in front of me. With furrowed brows, he pulls my injured hand down from my chest. “Jesus, Zariah. You’ve sliced off the top of your finger.”
“See? I told you it wasn’t a scratch.” When I drop my eyes to inspect the damage, I swallow some of my sass. The cut goes from the top of my finger to the first knuckle, but it’s not very deep or wide. It’s pretty much a paper cut.
Chaos inflicts mayhem on my senses when Asher pops my finger into his mouth. When his tongue slithers around my cut, the throb in my injury descends to a region much,muchlower. I stare at him, certain this isn’t something he’d do for anyone, but unsure what it means for me. He has my finger in his mouth—my bloodstained finger.Blood rates higher than any other bodily fluid. It’s even above the one slicking my panties.
I grow worried I’ve had my second bout of verbal diarrhea tonight when Asher raises his eyes to mine. His gaze is hot and heavy—as dense as the pulse between my legs. He stares at me for several long heartbeats, reading me as expertly as I thought I once knew him.
I’m hoping it’s a stare of admiration, but my hopes are dashed when he talks around my finger. “Please tell me Feo wasn’t your first andonlykiss.”
Desperate to sidestep his interrogation, I laugh, but the upsurge of nerves in my stomach makes it sound more like a groan. My whimpered response isn’t entirely my body’s fault. I’m feeling rather pathetic right now, so it’s only right that my body shows it.
As his glassy eyes bounce between mine, Asher removes my finger from his mouth with a pop. The storm brewing in his eyes is a wild tempest, like the heat roaring through my veins. He looks seconds from going on a rampage, but for once, it isn’t my life he wants to claim.
It’s me.
Proving he can read me as well as he could when we were children, he murmurs, “You’ve never been touched.” Since his statement isn’t a question, it doesn’t sound like one.
He does sound desperate, though, as desperate as I feel for our conversation to be over. I love what I’m seeing in his eyes, but I’m also nervous about it. He seems torn, almost conflicted.
I aim to ease his turmoil. “I’ve been touched.”
He’s more angered by my reply than happy. His chest rises and falls in rhythm with mine, but some of the flare glimmering in his icy gaze cooled from my confession.
He has no reason to fret. “By you. . . last month.”
Chapter 16
Asher
Zariah releases a sharp breath when my fists clench during her confession. She’s mistaking my body language as anger, which in turn makes her embarrassed. I’m not angry. I’m struggling to keep a rational head. She is already forbidden, but adding this into the mix. . . wholly untouched—fuck!
