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Yes.
Biting my lip, I lower my head and refuse to answer. What am I even supposed to say when he talks like that?
“You’ve been seducing me this whole time and now you’re backing off,” he adds and there’s an edge to his tone as if saying that if I back, he’ll back with me and then we’ll both fall off the edge. And maybe that’s just what we need. Maybe we need to let go.
Just once. One single time doesn’t count.
And I don’t think I could ever walk out on him without knowing him intimately. Turning feverish, I take a couple of deep breaths to calm myself down but it doesn’t help and I open up one of the big windows.
“Can’t breathe in here,” I murmur, “from all the fumes of the paint...”
“Baby, I can’t breathe either. And it has nothing to do with the paint.”
My limbs tremble and I drop the brush and wrap my arms around me. Why does he have to be so consuming? Why couldn’t he have been old or ugly or stupid or mean!
Filling with frustration, I fidget and struggle to not bite my nails. It doesn’t matter what I do. He knows I want him. I took a bullet for him. And that means something.
“Come here,” he moans, reaching out with a hand and his eyes fill with longing. “I won’t touch you. I just want you to sit next to me.”
“Why?” I whisper. “Why would you want that if you can’t touch me?”
“Because I want to look into your eyes and be reminded of what a damn miracle you are.”
Chest stirring from his words, I give up and saunter over to him. To make sure I’m still the good girl he thinks I am, I choose to sit on the armrest. He relaxes, his jaw loosening and he straightens as if he’s won a round.
If only he knew I’m doing this for him too...
“I’m not the miracle you think I am,” I whisper and his brows knot. They’re so much darker than his hair, giving him almost a supernatural appearance. It toys with my temperature, with my mind and it would be so easy to just throw myself at him.
He’d catch me without hesitating. Ravage me. Use up every little part of me because deep down his knows it’s only his to use. It feels like I’ve been made for him, despite my small height and despite my age. None of that matters. As soon as we touch we electrify.
It shocks me, thrills me and it’s a pain to not be able to do anything about it.
“Are you saying that because of your supposed bad thoughts?” he says as his mouth twitches. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I scowl.
“Don’t make fun of me. If only you knew how bad they were, you’d be horrified.”
He lets out a hoarse laugh that’s more of a cough. “Angel, things like you don’t know what a bad thought is.”
“Yes we do. It’s the forbidden ones that are the worst.”
Grinding his jaw, he replies, “What’s so damn forbidden you can’t tell a fucking mobster about it?”
“You won’t get it out of me,” I murmur, rising but he takes a hold of my wrist and his eyes flash with need.
“Angel baby... just relax. Don’t work yourself into knots,” he rasps, pulling me down to his lap and I wiggle to get loose. The groan he lets out echoes in the apartment and I moan in tune before realizing what I’m doing.
This is risky...
“Easy,” Phantom purrs. “You’re so damn tense...let me take care of that for you.” His hands go to my shoulders and he works on said knots. I swear his hands are so big and strong it’s like being massaged by a machine.
His masterful manipulation works so well that my head lolls, eyes rolling back and I move my hips in circles on his lap, feeling the penetrative strength of his shaft probe me with fervor.
“No!” I cry, swiftly getting up and nearly stumble before regaining my balance. Turning around, I stare at Phantom who watches me like he doesn’t know what to think.
“The fuck...,” he curses under his breath and I pace, dragging my fingers through my hair.
Oh what is this? I don’t even know what to do anymore...
