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“You had a hundred choices.”
My mouth comes down on hers, hot and fevered. I lick deep in her mouth, under her lips, all around her tongue. I taste every part of her, every nuance of her flavor.
“Don’t lie to yourself,” I say, my hand wrapped tightly in her hair, my lips against her ear. “You’re getting exactly what you want.”
* * *
12
REMI
“What kind of doctor are you, anyway?”
The books on his shelves aren’t what I’d expect from a cold-blooded physician:The Unconscious Mind, Tranceformations: Neurolinguistic Programming,andHypnotherapy,to name a few.
Dane’s eyes flick across the spines. “That’s more of a personal interest.”
My heart is still racing. He smoothed his silvery hair back, and now he’s standing there with his hands tucked in his pockets like he wasn’t just making me moan ninety seconds ago.
No, it was much more than moaning…he turned my brain inside out.
I’ve never come like that, looking at myself.
It was disturbing. Like watching someone I didn’t recognize wearing my own face.
I don’t like aggressive sex.
Or at least…I didn’t think I did.
But that was before I felt that kind of pleasure.
My whole body is still warm and throbbing. Everything inside my skin feels like a hot tub, liquid and bubbling.
Dane hasn’t broken a sweat.
You’d have to know how pale he is usually to see the hint of color in his cheeks. The shape of his lips could break my heart. His eyes are darkest honey. His smile is white and wicked.
When we’re outside, I’m bronze and healthy while Dane is pale and sweating. But inside the Midnight Manor, I fade as he comes alive.
He’s gorgeous like men aren’t supposed to be gorgeous—like he’s his own kind of creature.
No wonder they hate him in town. He can’t fit in, even in a place as weird as Grimstone.
I don’t believe he’s a murderer.
Maybe that’ll make me just another idiot on the news, but I don’t get that vibe. He’s strange—fucked up, even. But I don’t believe he’s some soulless killer. He’s too alive in the eyes.
I want him to touch me again. I want it desperately.
But that feels like the worst possible idea.
So I keep babbling.
“What’s it for?” I lick my lips. “Hypnotism?”
Dane’s expressions are like weather—sometimes they take a long time to form, and how they end isn’t how they begin.
When he looks at me now, I see a flare of something angry and painful, washed away by cold, clear calm.
