Page 97 of White Noise

“I could stop reacting to you,” I say, the words tasting like a lie even as they leave my lips.

That earns me a quiet, jagged laugh that sounds more like a glitch in the audio than a human sound. “No, you couldn’t.”

“So fucking cocky.”

“Doesn’t change that I’m right and we both fucking know it.”

The hum deepens, shifting from a buzz to a low, predatory thrum that vibrates in the marrow of my bones.

The sensation under my skin strengthens, a phantom current that makes my nerve endings scream.

My pulse jumps, hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal. My attention drops to his mouth for half a second—that cruel, thin line of a smile, before I snap my gaze back to his eyes.

Silas smiles, and it’s the look of a man watching a bug struggle in a web.

“See?”

“Shut up.”

“You threatened to stop reacting while your body is practically begging for me,” he purrs, his voice a low-voltage vibration that rattles my teeth.

“I’m aware of the irony, Silas.”

He closes the last of the distance between us until there is almost no space left. Static hums through the air, and the current rolling off him hits hard enough to make my fingers curl at my sides.

I know this feeling now.

My body does too, which is the fucked-up part. Every nerve wakes for him before I can stop it, heat settling low as instinct pulls me toward the same thing I know is trying to ruin me.

For one second, I almost give in.

I almost close that last inch and let the current take over.

His hand lifts toward my face, and I know what that touch will feel like before it lands.

His skin is always too hot, like an electronic device that has been running for hours, heat trapped beneath the surface with a faint current buzzing under it.

But the look in his eyes stops me.

There is no hunger there. No sadistic satisfaction. He is not looking at me like he wants to fuck me or hurt me.

He is studying me.

His attention tracks every reaction I fail to hide—the hitch in my breathing, the tension in my body, the way my pupils widen before his fingers even reach me. He is measuring what the static does, how much current it takes, which response comes first and which one follows.

And suddenly I understand.

Every time I react, I teach him something.

The realization hits me like a physical blow, cutting through the electrical haze.

I step back, breaking the circuit.

His hand stops mid-air, hovering in the dead space. For the first time since he crawled through the screen, the smugness shifts.

It’s a microscopic change. A flicker of genuine irritation, but it’s there.

“No.”