Page 21

Pinning her it is.

“London. London. London,” I whisper into her ear, closing my eyes.

She’s small, fragile, and perfect, like I could snap her in two. Her heart is pounding erratically, and she shivers uncontrollably from the cold.

Don’t fucking leave me, then, sweetheart. Then, you won’t be so fucking cold.

She peers up at me, her dark eyes wide as I grip her waist, thrusting my hips, and shove my lips on hers, my tongue dominating her mouth. I have so much I want to say, but all I can do is kiss her because her mouth tastes so fucking sweet and the urgency to consume her takes over. I inspect her with my hands—every part of her deliciously frosty body—while keeping my tongue inside her mouth.

I grab her face, then her chin, before I run my hands down her arms, her stomach, and the hand I’m desperately trying to fix. I keep my lips on hers, and she bites my bottom lip, kissing me with more vigor than I’ve gotten from her in weeks.

“Micah, I can’t breathe,” she finally gasps. “Let me talk for a second.”

She wants it… She wants me more than she has in days. It’s as if the fury simmering inside me has sparked her fire again. Witnessing her helplessness and how dependent she really is on me has also sparked mine.

My nostrils flare. “Where the fuck were you?” I grit, ripping my lips from hers, and arch my brow as she tilts her head toward me.

She blows out a breath. “Micah, I went out. Just like you, I needed space and fresh air. I’ve been cooped up here for six weeks.”

I grab her chin and force her to look at me. Only at me, surrounded by silence and the sound of my teeth as they grind together. “I had one rule, London. One fucking rule. You could have gotten lost, you could have…”

I don’t finish the thought.

She sighs as if realizing the anguish she caused me by leaving. “You thought I died?” She grabs my hand, running it over her chest and the swell of her breasts. I keep my head low so she can’t see how fucking distraught I am or how fucking turned on I am. “Feel this, Micah,” she whispers.

I pause and let her have her brief moment of control… because I plan on taking it back soon enough. “What the fuck for?”

She leans in and moves her mouth to my cheek. “Because it’s beating, and it’s yours. I just went for a walk, that’s it. I was only thirty feet away in the woods; I didn’t go far. This place is suffocating me. I just needed some time outside these walls.”

The sensation of her lips against my skin ignites a fiery rush through my veins, intensifying my frustration. I may pretend I’m in charge, but this girl owns me. I slam both hands beside her head, and she winces. “So I suffocate you?”

Her gorgeous eyes flash. “I didn’t say that,” she responds carefully.

My hands trace up her back as I notice the sweater she’s wearing. It looks like I’m not the only one thinking about Maison today. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Micah, don’t be like that.”

I’m being childish, but I don’t give a shit. “Take it off.”

“Micah…”

“Take it off, now.”

Her pupils flare as she pulls the sweater off, wincing when she tries to use her injured hand. This time, I don’t help her dress like I usually do. Her hand is yet another example of something I can’t fix or change.

Just like I can’t change the fact that Maison is dead.

Her real boyfriend is dead.

My fucking brother is dead… My twin, my best friend, my lifeline is fucking gone.

The pain of that thought hits me so hard in this moment. It’s like the last two months of feeling absolutely nothing culminated into this very moment where I feel everything.

I run my fingers down her cheek. “Were you thinking about him today while you were away from me?” I keep my voice soft, even though I’m screaming inside. “Is that why you left?”

Tears form in her eyes as she stares at me with pity, and all my emotions reflect in her eyes back to me. She doesn’t answer me. My jaw clenches as I watch her. The flicker in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. I keep my hands positioned so she can’t move. She can’t avoid my questions.

If words can slice, I want mine to make her bleed. “When you dream at night, do you dream about me… or him?” My breath hits her cheek. I already know the answer since she cries out for him almost every night, the memory of his death replaying in her mind as it does in mine. I’m not the only guy in her world and never will be.