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Why did I use the word future?
“Smart…” Another smirk comes before Styx’s eyes land on mine. “So, you argue a lot, since you’reright many times.”
“Umm...” I chortle nervously. “Not really… unless they are customers, I don’t interact with many… ummm… h-humans.” The steam tappers off toward the end, and yet, as if my first three attempts weren’t sufficiently suck-worthy, I continue to embarrass myself byNevesplaining my awkwardness. It’s a vicious loop. “…I was trying to be sexy.”
Stop. Stop talking,I tell myself.
“…ish,” I tack on earning myself a wide-ass grin from Styx.
If banging my head wouldn’t end up in a head butt, I’d do it. Repeatedly.
Hell, maybe that would work.Violence seems to be his thing.
Before I can create chaos, Styx runs his fingers down the length of my throat, stilling me.
“You don’t have to try very hard…” He presses a finger against my jugular and waits a moment, maybe to measure my pulse, but I can save him the time.
A thousand.
A thousand beats per minute!
“I find every ounce of you...” The embers flick inside his once coal pupils, the desire seeping out with every blink. “Pretty fucking sexy.”
A million. A million beats per second!Flutters are no longer, just pangs—large, echoing, painful pangs.
He’s going to give me a heart attack.
My hand flies up between my boobs to massage, or stretch—I’m not quite sure what I’m doing since I don’t feel my heart anymore. Something is going on inside my chest, and Styx is the culprit. The Pulse Thief.
He slides his hand down to where I’m rubbing—where I’m vulnerable: my heart.
When his finger slips against my hardened nipple, I hiss into the air and arch my spine like a snake on the attack.
“You’re the most interestinghumanI’ve met in a long time, Snow.” His teeth graze against my neck, tongue slicking over the goose bumps at the collar bone. A slippery line is paved from collar to lobe.
Styx breathes; warm arm air glides over skin like prickling whispers.
“T-t-hanks.” Forming words is much too difficult when he makes my insides stutter.
“F-for w-what?” he mocks me.
Scorching cheeks, burning ears, singed nose hairs—that’s me, a ball of growing heat.
If I don’t do something, I’ll puff out smoke soon.
“Don’t m-mock me.”
With a slow head nod, Styx dips a thumb into my mouth, cutting me off from my neurons, not that I was much connected to them before. “What did I say about stuttering?”
It sounds like a threat, a sinful little threat.
“Y-you…” He gives my tongue some space to move, but I can’t really focus on what he said before. I keep replaying his words about every ounce of me being sexy. There’s math to be done there, but having extra pounds comes in handy. “You s-s-aid n-not to, b-but—”
Pinning my tongue down with his finger, he gives us some un-necessary breathing room—just a few inches, which I loathe.
With my inability to speak, I rely on action. On touch.
My fingers graze over his bare chest. Hard and electric. Sizzling.
