Page 152 of Sorrow & Strangers

I turn to face him. “Stop speaking in riddles. Ask me what you want to ask.” I know it’s a mistake. I don’t want his question to be freed, to fill the space between us, but my anger is ruling me at the moment.

The stranger storms up to me and grabs my arms, pulling me to him. I know the oath has to be agony as he touches me without permission, but he doesn’t let go. He towers over me, and I look up at him. I do my best, but I can’t help but soften against him, fitting my curves against the hard muscles pressed against me. We’ve not been this close in so long, and it feels⁠—

“I miss you,” he says, and I swallow as the butterflies start. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. “I miss your dreams,” he continues. “I miss watching you.” My breath grows shallow. “I miss breathing you in.”

No, no, no.

I don’t move. All my words get lost, tangled up in the knots and butterflies that have escaped my stomach and now flutter through my bloodstream.

He tightens his hands around my arms, his gaze scorching into me. “Do you miss me?” he asks, and the longing in his voice almost ends me.

I can’t fucking do this.

“You . . . you do still watch me.” It’s all I can think to say, and it’s barely a whisper.

“It’s different.”

My breath hitches. “How?”

“In every way.”

My gaze falls to his lips. Even in his avatar, I can tell they’re perfect, soft, firm.

He leans in closer, and if he were here, our breath would be mingling. “Mine,” he whispers. He inhales deeply, and a shiver trickles down my spine. “Admit it.”

My core throbs, and I slide my tongue along my bottom lip, wetting it. Fuck. I look away, trying to get myself back under control. How does he do this to me? I close my eyes and replay his words.

You will never be Summer Morningstar.

It’s unfair to subscribe to the belief that he talked it into existence, especially when Aqua killed Connor and was stalking me relentlessly. But I will hold on to the thought for as long as I can, because it is one of the last defenses I have that keeps me from succumbing to him.

“I don’t miss you.” The lie is bitter. “I hate you.” That one even more so, especially with the way I am leaning toward him.

“Liar,” he growls.

That word allows my anger to burn through the deep need I have, and I welcome the fury, its strength enabling me to pull away from him.

“You don’t fucking know me,” I snarl. “And you never will.”

“I know you better than I know myself,” he snarls.

He reaches out and snags me again, his fingers locking into my hair. He fists it at my scalp and yanks my head back hard. The pain sends a jolt of awareness to my core, and I can’t help the moan that slips free. His lips pull into a smug smile at the sound.

“Good girl,” he says, his tone filled with male satisfaction.

The praise prompts another wave of confusing emotions, and I shove him away. “You’re an asshole,” I snarl. His body barely moves, but he does release me, and I back up a step.

“For knowing exactly what makes you moan?” he asks, his voice low, seductive, dangerous.

“You don’t know what makes me moan, but I know someone who does,” I growl, turning and storming away. I yank my phone free from my shorts.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

I really know I shouldn’t. I am going to regret it, but I can’t stand that moment of true intimacy with the stranger. It was everything, and I ached to lean into it, to allow him to claim me, and even worse, to claim him back.

No!

Summer