Page 29

I place my hand on his as if that would stop him “It’s white…like my eyes and lashes.” I say it like a warning. “It’s ugly, Tommy.”

Other than my eyes, it’s my most distinguishable feature.

He runs his tongue along his bottom teeth. “Is that what you think about yourself? You don’t see what I see, firefly.”

He takes his time, then moves on to the next one.

“Tommy…” I squeak, desperately wanting him to stop.

He takes his time undoing the tight braid. He’s so soft, and he smells so good this close.

Once he’s done, he works my hair, running his fingers through the soft strands. I brush it every night, usually 100 brush strokes at least, and sometimes Mama does it for me. Perhaps if it wasn’t the color it was, I’d think it pretty.

His hands are warm as opposed to the crisp cool air around us, and he moves them behind my neck, caressing the soft spot beneath my ear.

I cower away from him, and he frowns.

“Diana, stop hiding from me.”

I take a deep breath as he pulls my hair over my shoulders, and it runs down my blouse. It’s long when I don’t braid it, and it easily flows over my shoulders and chest. He moves his hand to my cheek and my body tenses.

He’s just touching my hair, nothing more.

Mama would hate this. Mama would hurt me if she knew he was doing this.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Didi. Hasn’t anyone ever touched you before?”

“Not quite the way you’re touching me,” I breathe.

His kind eyes flash, his gaze lingers on my lips. “Didi…have you ever been kissed?”

My stomach backflips.

“Once,” I whisper. And that’s the reason Mama slapped the belt on to begin with.

He pauses for a second, keeping his hand around my neck. “Would you ever let me kiss you? I mean…not today or anything, but would you ever let me?”

I whip my hand to my mouth as shame boils up within.

Cursed. Wicked child.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I would let you kiss me.”

He keeps staring at my lips, and I stare at him. “You might be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, firefly.”

The bell’s chime snaps us back to the present. I can barely breathe, but I don’t dare move my hand, knowing he’d press those alluring lips to mine. I bet he tastes as good as he smells, and that thought ignites a sinful heat between my legs—where only a metal lock, leather restraints, and an eternity of suffering await.

He pulls back and stares at me carefully, and I drop my hand.

And by some holy miracle, he grabs my hair and re-braids it, probably in a tighter braid than before.

“I have a little sister,” he admits. “She used to make me do this with her dolls. I got kind of good at it.”

I am deceased… Is Tommy real? When he’s done, he stares at me, and a moment passes between us.

So much is left unsaid, and I can barely breathe.

He takes that moment to steal a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Didi.”