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I swallow hard, jutting out my chin, as he leans up into me, brushing his nose over my jaw. He sniffs and I clench my fists at my side.
He cocks his head and blinks into a frown, his full lips squishing up as he meets my gaze directly. “But you’re not so little anymore, are you? Still quiet, but it’s a good quiet.” He nods as if confirming it for himself.
And then in a move too fast for me to catch until it’s too late, he’s suddenly gripping my dick through my khakis. So preoccupied with the one holding a knife next to my head, I forgot about the other hand.
A grin slides up his face. “Big everywhere, I see. Hard too.”
Rage whites out my vision, and the next thing I know, I’ve flipped our positions. I’ve got a hand wrapped around Aston’s throat, and I’m pinning him against the yellowy, popcorn-textured wall I was just resting my back against.
His laughter reaches my ears, prompting me to tighten my grip on him until it stutters out.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
I can barely get the words out through the gnashing of my teeth. I can feel the vein in my temple throbbing, and I’m pretty sure my face is just as red as Aston’s is slowly turning.
He’s not scared, though. If anything, he looks…enraptured. Shocked in the best kind of way. The sight of those bright gray-green orbs swirling with happiness inches away from me sends a spark rocketing through my body, but I’m quick to snuff it out.
Nope, nope. This is so fucked.
Heavy pants work their way out of my nose, and my heart pounds in a way it never has before. Not from what I can recall, and I recall everything.
“And don’t fucking look at me like that,” I tell him quietly, roughly. “When I walk out of here, you’re going to forget this conversation ever fucking happened. You’re going to forget my name, and forget we ever, ever knew each other. Understood?”
Something dark skitters across his eyes.
Finally. Something to work with.
My mouth ticks up cruelly. “Don’t like that plan? Well, too fucking bad.”
Easing my hold on his neck, I smirk when he sucks in a couple harsh gasps. I reach down, and grab the wrist of the hand still holding tight onto that stupid, precious knife of his, and I bring it between us at chin level.
Biting my nails into his pale, bony wrist, I shake his hand. “Is this supposed to scare me?”
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even glance at the knife between our faces. He merely watches me. As if nothing else exists.
“Go ahead then,” I say. “Stab me. Gut me like a fish.”
I regret the words as soon as I say them. Rather than flinch away from my words—from the reminder of what he’s done—Aston rolls his lips in like he’s fighting a laugh.
My gaze volleys between his. “Jesus Christ, you really are crazy, aren’t you?”
“What?” he says, his voice raspy from being choked out a moment ago. “It’s funny.”
Disturbed, for more reasons than one—some of which I’d rather not look too closely at—I step back, releasing him. I take another step back and slowly shake my head.
He’s no longer smiling. In fact, his face dulls into something utterly blank. Devoid of any identifiable emotion.
What the hell just happened?
He scratches the back of his head with his free hand, while he closes the switch-blade with a nimble, well-practiced flip of his fingers, before shoving it in one of the pockets lining the inside of his blazer.
For the first time since he blew his way back into my life, I feel…wary.
Nervous.
“Do they know?”
I tense. “Know what?”
