Page 144 of Lessons in Cruelty

When Bastian returns, I hold it up without looking at him. “Is this supposed to be a joke?”

“It’s supposed to be concealer,” he replies dryly as he stops beside the sofa. “There’s also some ointment in there. The Arnica will make the bruises fade in a day or two, trust me.”

I toss the tube back into the bag. The bag goes on the sofa cushion beside me. But Bastian’s still standing there, and when I look, he holds out a glass of wine. I take it, but with a sulking face.

“This—” he brushes my throat with his knuckle “—shouldn’t stop you from going to school.”

I immediately clap my free hand over the side of my neck, but the damage is done. His touch spreads through my body like a warm, tingly fog that collects between my legs. I nod, keeping my eyes averted so he’ll move away and, hopefully, I can stop blushing.

“Oh, and there’s something else in there, too,” he says as he sets his bourbon down on the coffee table.

“Glasses and a fake mustache?” I ask, giggling when he rolls his eyes at me.

“You’re exhausting, Haven,” he says, stroking his forehead as he leaves the room. If there hadn’t been some mirth in his voice, I might have thought I’d fucked up.

Instead, I carefully set my wineglass down on the floor beside me and empty the gift bag out on my lap. Out fall the concealer, some foundation, and a tube of ointment, as promised.

And peanut butter cups.

“Yesss!” I whisper-shout, immediately opening a package and shoving a cup into my mouth. “Mmm…fuck, that’s good.”

I take a big swallow of wine, and then pop the second cup in my mouth, my eyes closing as I savor the burst of sweet chocolate and peanut butter.

“If they used you in their commercials, they wouldn’t be able to air them during prime time,” Bastian says.

I cover my mouth with my hand, staring over sheepishly at him as he pushes away from the doorway he’d been leaning in.

“Stop watching me!” I manage through a mouthful of chocolate. “It’s fuckin’ creepy.”

He drops onto the sofa, flashing me a wide smile. “It’s nice to know someone appreciates your gift.”

Fuck, Haven, you haven’t even thanked him.

“Thank—”

He grabs my wrist so hard I gasp. “No.”

“But—”

His thumb finds my pulse again. He seems to love feeling it flutter under his grip. “Everything I give you, you’ve earned. Or you will.”

His eyes dart up to mine. They’re darker than before, so much more intense. Could just be a trick of the light, but his pupils look dilated. He releases me slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Eat it.”

I obey. Because when he uses that voice, I always obey.

Every second he watches me, a low ache grows in my core, until I have to say something if only to break the tension.

“It’s so fucking good.”

“Better than my pasta?” He brushes his thumb against his nose, sniffing. Something about the gesture makes me forget what I was saying. “It’s okay if it is. I never claimed to hold a Michelin star.”

“Right, sorry.” I hold out a hand. “Yes, your pasta was delicious, but this is chocolate.”

He dips his chin. “I’ll allow.” His eyes skip to the glass on the floor, which I quickly pick up and take a sip from. “Better than the wine?”

I nod, swallowing, and immediately set it down so I can grab another peanut butter cup. “This has gotta be better than sex.”