Page 77 of No Greater Oblivion

“Unchaperoned, surrounded by a bunch of criminals?”

I can’t take it anymore. I start screaming. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He startles at my outburst and blinks, staring silently as if I’ve grown a second head.

“Do you listen to half the shit that comes out of your mouth? Do you realize how asinine you sound?” Desperation claws its way up my throat. My ears are ringing and my lungs expand beyond the capacity of my ribcage and my bones crack in an effort to contain them. “I’m an adult. An adult. I don’t need a babysitter or a chaperone and I sure as Hell don’t need you to look after me. Especially considering the fact that the only times my life has ever been in danger were the years I spent with you.”

I jab my finger into his shoulder and it feels so good that I punch him instead.

“Leave me alone. I don’t want you. I don’t love you. I want you to disappear and never come back, do you understand? We’re done! It’s over between us. How many times do I have to repeat myself before you finally get it? It’s driving me fucking crazy. I sound like a God damned broken record. This is my life now, Alejandro. Look around you; I have a new home and a new boyfriend and new friends. An entire life you aren’t a part of. Don’t you see? You’re in the past for me. I’ve moved on.”

He studies me for so long, time loses all meaning.

When he finally manages to speak, all the air gets sucked out of the small space between us.

“This isn’t over. It’ll never be over.”

“You’re delusional.”

“I’m not,” he says and the finality with which he speaks contrasts with the heavy sorrow turning his otherwise hazel eyes nearly black. “Your hand.”

I frown and before I can ask what he means, he touches my wrist and I realize my hand is on his arm. I try to yank it away but he takes hold, intertwining his fingers with mine until the scars on his palms brush against mine.

“You don’t even realize it, do you? All the times you touch me and the way your hand lingers when you do.” His brows furrow slightly as his eyes sweep over my features and a blush creeps its way up my neck. This time when I pull away he lets me but only because his freehand skims over my arm and across my shoulder. His fingers glide up the column of my neck where his thumb grazes my chin. “I enter a room and I feel the weight of your gaze. It burns into me, through me, until I can’t help but look back. Do you think I can’t hear how quickly your heart is racing? Think I can’t feel the heat under your skin when I touch you?”

This time his hand moves across my collarbone before his open palm spreads across my chest. My heart trips and stammers in response and I hold my breath, praying my body won’t betray me anymore than it already has. But his hand moves again, traveling up, up, up, wrapping around my neck and cupping my jaw.

“Keep telling yourself it’s over, Dahlia. And I’ll show you all the ways in which it’s not.”

Traitor, I think.

His grip around my neck tightens as he pulls me forward and I follow.

Traitor.

He kisses the corner of my mouth. Along my jaw.

Traitor, traitor, traitor.

My own body is a traitor.

I clench my hands into fists and keep them on my lap. My nails dig into my palms and no matter how badly they sting I don’t stop. He continues to leave a trail of feather like kisses around my face and I don’t move, don’t breathe. When he’s done, I’ll send him to Hell and run into my house where I can lock all the doors and finally, hopefully, keep him out for good.

But then he pulls away and his lips brush against mine as he speaks.

“Dahlia.”

It’s my undoing.

He says it without burden or weight, as if it is the lightest, loveliest sound to have ever caressed a person’s lips. I linger on every letter, every syllable. The word melts into my skin, past flesh and bone, and fills all the cracks and holes our separation left behind.

He says my name the way he did when he still loved me. He says my name in the way I’ve yearned to hear for so long I almost forgot what it sounded like.

Our mouths collide with force and urgency and somehow, I manage to unbuckle my seat belt and climb across the console. He pushes my coat off my shoulders as I settle onto his lap. He kisses down the length of my neck while I reach forward to recline the seat. It’s messy and uncoordinated, trying to undress in a space so small with a man so big. My dress is short enough for him to push it up my thighs with ease but I struggle with his coat and suit jacket, so many layers making it nearly impossible for me to reach his belt.

He brings his mouth to mine again and my lips part to let him in. I kiss him deeply, so deeply, until we’re dizzy and breathless. He cups the back of my neck and holds me against him, fighting for dominance, but the insistent thrust of my tongue forces him to cede control. Being touched by him is the high I’ve been chasing for the last year but never been able to recreate. It’s as sweet and intoxicating as I remember; more so when his rough palms glide across the smooth skin of my thighs. With the tip of his finger, he touches the apex of my thigh, tracing soft, maddening circles, always remaining within centimeters of where I really want him.

His touches are careful and delicate, meanwhile I’m clawing at him like a woman possessed. I lift my hips and he manages to push my panties to the side. The initial touch is so soft it sends a shiver down my spine; he drags his thumb down the length of me before rolling the tip of his thumb in perfect circles around my clit. I’d be embarrassed by the sound that leaves my lips but I’m so blinded by lust I leave my pride at the threshold.