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But then she speaks and her voice sounds like it belongs to a stranger.
“Hey there, sailor.”
Darkness robs me of the ability to use the sense I rely on most. Eyes might be the windows to the soul, but they’re also the most easily deceived. People love to say that when you lose one sense, you gain another. But there’s a reason that the superhero has to go blind before he develops preternatural hearing. My sight is telling me that things are just fine, but she doesn’t sound or smell like herself.
“Gigi…”
“Shh.”
I tell myself that I’m still dreaming when her lips press against mine and the sensation feels awkward and new, like we’ve never done it before. She wouldn’t sneak into Havoc House in the middle of the night because it’s way too big of a risk.
But that realization doesn’t stop me from allowing her hands to roam over my chest, the touch so light that it makes every muscle twitch in reaction. Tickling me. My abs flex under searching fingers as warm breath coasts over a patch of bare skin near my nipple, close to touching, but not quite. Cool wind from the open window doesn’t do much to chase away the heat of a body pressed up to mine. I don’t remember taking my shirt off before going to bed, but I must have.
As a general rule, I don’t have sex dreams. Most people don’t dream about the things that routinely happen in real life. That just isn’t how the human brain works. When lips touch my lower belly, the feel of it sears hot against my cold skin. I know for a damn certainty that I’m not dreaming.
My dick is too hard for this to be anything but real.
I grab her shoulder with one hand and fumble for the lamp switch with the other.
Harsh light illuminates her features, making her face look almost skeletal as she stares at me from the foot of the bed. Her eyes have gone a little too wide and sunken cheekbones make her look like a wraith.
“What the hell, Gigi?”
“I missed you.” She presses closer despite the grip I still have on her shoulder. “Didn’t you miss me?”
Relief is definitely the primary emotion I feel, but it’s tempered by the growing awareness that something is very wrong here. “Of course I did, but what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
“I heard you were back, and I needed to see you.” She rubs her lower body against mine, her thigh grinding against the part of me that is unequivocally happy to see her. “I couldn’t wait until the morning.”
“You’re not even going to ask what happened?”
“Tell me after.” She darts forward to kiss me, but I hold her off. “You’re hurting my feelings.”
“Are you drunk?”
“You think I need to be drunk to want to see my boyfriend?”
“I think you’re acting pretty fucking weird.”
Gigi backs away enough to lift her shirt up over her head and toss it to the side. She isn’t wearing anything underneath it. “Don’t you want me?”
“Always.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Light plays off her tattoos, the spiral patterns that I dreamed about tracing with my tongue every night I spent in jail. But I still hold my hands up when she tries to sidle closer. “I’m just not in the mood.”
“Drake Van Koch is always in the mood.” Her hand reaches for my crotch, but I knock it away. A scowl briefly twists her features before it turns into an exaggerated pout. “Or do you just not want me anymore?”
“Of course I want you.”
She leans close enough that I can smell the sharp scent of perfume. One that I’ve ever smelled on her before. “Then just fuck me already. I’m so ready for you.”
I push her away again. Even though our relationship started out as dishonest as it can get, I’ve never seen Gigi act like this. A sick suspicion pools in the pit of my belly.
I suspect something that shouldn’t even be possible. But I know down to my bones this isn’t right.
This isn’t the girl that I fell in love with.
