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“I thought you needed that thing?”
“I thought you had me,” he counters.
“Fair point.”
Then he falls back as if he’s exhausted, or just done with this whole dating thing already. I look away.
Guilt and disappointment swirl inside me… among other things that were making me hot and bothered.
Maybe he was right. Maybe this was impossible.
For him.
I’m already falling.
With my cheek pressed against his bare chest, I blow the hair out of my face. Any moment now he’s going to throw me off of him the same way he handled his scythe, but despite knowing this, I can’t find the strength to let him go just yet, even though it would be less embarrassing and less of a letdown for me to get up before he can cast me aside.
Problem is, I’m oddly comfortable right where I am.
I like the way he feels against me. He’s cold, but I feel hot. He’s hard, but he feels so soft. And somehow, though I must be crazy, he makes me feel so at ease. Like any problem is a tiny one so long as he’s by my side. I could snuggle up against him all day without a single care, especially not that this otherworldly, deadly creature of a man wants me as dead as he is.
He shifts. Knowing this moment is at its end, I take one more second to savor this—
A sudden tickle on the top of my head has me jolting upward until I’m straddling Grimm like a horse.
“Something’s on me!” I shout, frantically reaching into my hair to remove whatever just crawled around my scalp. “Do you see it? Can you get it?”
Instead of a spider, or some other bug, my hands meet Grimm’s cool ones. Our eyes meet. His exasperation shows through his mildly amused but mildly annoyed frown.
“You had a kernel in your hair.”
He gently plucks it out, and it looks like he’s about to flick it away, but I quickly steal his hand back in a final attempt to steal more contact from him. I don’t want to do anything else. And besides, he touched me first.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Don’t pull away. Don’t cast me aside. Don’t end our dates just yet.
“I’m not ready to leave just yet,” I tell him.
It’s not an answer, but it’s the best I’ve got despite his confusion. My arms prickle with awareness, as if my body is more aware of what’s happening than I am because right now I’m moving without a plan or a clue.
Taking his hand, I place it directly above my racing heart. My hands tremble and my breaths are unsteady, but I don’t stop. I’m barely aware that I’m calling his name, or that I’m slowly crawling up his body to reach for his face because those lips…
I want those lips pressed against mine all over again.
Sure, I was the one who decided to kiss the first person who walked into my shop, but the only person I want to kiss now is him. Grim Reaper or not. Death at 2:45 or whenever he decides to finally collect me, he’s the only one on my mind, and for the life of me I can’t seem to think about anything else. Especially not since I mentioned the back row, or when he growled so damn deep it made me wet with need.
Facing him fully, I reach into the deep pocket of his hood, finding the nape of his neck and pulling him forward as if in a trance.
“What are you doing?” he chokes out, a hint of fear flashing across his face.
Good. I want him afraid. I’m afraid too. Of this. Of him. Of falling. Of what will happen after… And yet that doesn’t stop me.
“If you want to claim my soul, you need to claim me first,” I dare him, my voice but a whisper of urgent need and desperation.
Somehow, on the dirty floor of a theater in the middle of December, this Reaper has turned me into a monster in my own right, because as crazy as it is, I need him.
