Page 135 of These Tears

As he reaches for the napkin, he wipes his hand and takes the book with that same calm of his that always sets me on edge.

‘Tonight,’ he says, raising it between us, ‘we establish a new routine.’

The silent threat sits there, writhing. It swells as the fire snaps softly beside us.

Elias opens the cover, then presses a finger to a line on the contents page, as if marking the beginning of something unavoidable.

‘Page ninety-eight,’ he murmurs quietly. ‘Start reading. Aloud.’

He hands me the book. I lower it to my lap as I hold his gaze for longer than my heart can comfortably bear. But I can see the decision calcifying without having to say anything further.

My shaky fingers fumble through the pages, catching on corners, skipping too far, then back again.

Ninety-two. Ninety-five. Ninety-seven.

The paper whispers beneath my touch, but all I can hear is his words echoing from last night – when he said he does not like being touched.

Did he mean any kind of touch? My touch? Touch he cannot prepare for?

My mind snags and tears open on every possibility until my eyes hook to Chapter Twelve printed at the top of the page in thin, eerie font.

My attention descends to the first paragraph.

A breath leaves me.

Reluctant, I start quietly, ‘Fingers dipped into the dark preserve and drew it slowly over his length.’ My gaze flicks to the smeared mound of jam on the plate as I close my eyes to banish the breath that brushes over my neck as he leans in.

It doesn’t work. I continue. ‘He watched her move, while the fruit glossed against skin and made hunger into something living. When she bent lower, his fingers tangled in her hair, a cruel smile streaking his face because he’d always known that she would kneel for the taste of him.’

His hand is in my hair before the sentence finishes – a fistful at the roots, controlled rather than rough.

I jolt so hard the book nearly tumbles from my grip, the next line dissolving into a strangled sound.

Elias drags me closer with barely any pressure, until I feel him breathing against my ear. Though it doesn’t hurt, it’s enough to remind me how easily he could make it hurt, and my body follows on instinct. His nose presses to the side of my throat. His forehead follows, hot against my skin. And he inhales the scent of me.

Long.

Deep.

A shiver travels over me for reasons I can’t understand. Then a slow ache unfurls at the base of me a second later. The two reactions collide hard enough to leave me staring at the space between the lines for a beat.

‘Have you ever?’ he asks.

The words scrape against my pulse. My fingers clamp around the covers.

‘Have I… what?’ I hazard the question.

‘Knelt for a man like that.’

Instinct surges with a plea half-drawn, but I push it down. I won’t give him the first answer that this tangled mess of emotions throws up.

‘Elias, this is—’

His hand tightens slightly in my hair.

‘You want to run?’ he growls darkly. ‘I’m giving you something to run from.’

That rough note darts straight through me in the wrong direction, but the threat yanks it right back until I don’t know if I should cry or not.