Page 39 of The Dark Before Light

Leaving her shivering in the pool was the hardest thing I’ve done in ages. I don’t even care anymore whether she needs to tie me up or smack me around to get off. I’d tie myself up if it meant any part of me could be inside her. I’d punch myself in the fucking face.

I want her to destroy me.

I think it might be my only road to salvation.

By the time I get myself dry and into some sleep pants, I feel relatively sane again. The itch under my skin is gone. I may even be able to sleep tonight.

Then I open my bedroom door.

“Motherfucker!” I holler at Sven. “You tryin’ to put me in a wooden box? What’re you doing lurking outside my door?”

He sighs. “I was about to knock, jackass. I came to let you know I set up Dr. Stirling in the second guest room. She’s in the kitchen now.”

My face goes numb. “What? She’s still here? I thought she left.”

He glowers at me. “Whispering now isn’t going to erase the squealing you did two seconds ago.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “Fuck you.”

He rolls his eyes. “She can’t drive home, Kier. When I brought her the towel, she could barely keep her eyes open.”

“Okay,” I say, even though none of this is remotely okay. She’s still in my house. “Why is she in the kitchen?”

“For one of the smartest people on the planet, you sure can be an idiot. She needed food, so I told her to have at whatever she could find.”

He’s right; I’m a jackass.

“All right. Thank you. I’ve got it from here.”

He squints at me.

“I’ll behave myself, okay?”

He grunts. “Gabe’s on duty if you need him.”

I nod. He gives me another withering look, then finally ambles away. I listen for the sound of the front door closing and three beeps as he sets the main house alarm. Then I walk silently down the hallway, pausing at the corner so I can spy on Stirling without her seeing me.

Sitting on a couch with a plate in her lap, she nibbles half-heartedly on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She looks tired and adorable and real. Her face is clean of makeup. Her hair is a disaster: wet and frizzy and piled atop of her head in a listing knot.

I’m so charmed by her hair it takes me too long to realize what she’s wearing. Then I almost rub my eyes because I can’t believe it. Sven must have raided my closet while I was in the shower, the wacko, because she’s got on one of my old Stanford pullovers and a pair of my sweatpants.

I’ve never seen a woman look good in my clothes. Ever. They’ve always been too big. It’s weird when your girlfriend looks like a child wearing her daddy’s T-shirt. Stirling, however, looks perfect. Exactly like a woman in her man’s clothes should.

She’d probably call me sexist if she knew I thought that, but it’s not a gender prejudice thing. It’s biological instinct, one a thousand times more intense than I’ve ever felt. Quite simply, I want to mark her, mate her, and breed her.

I rub my chest, wincing at the sting of heartburn, and step into her line of sight. Her eyes lift from the sandwich, widening a little. Her lids are puffy. Was she crying?

The sting in my chest intensifies. “Ehm, hi.” Internally, I cringe. “Sorry I didn’t come back to the pool. I?—”

“Sven told me,” she says with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s okay. Thank you for the heated robe.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just gonna…” I point toward the kitchen.

“It’s your house.” She looks ten types of uncomfortable. “This is really…”

“Weird?”

Her eyes sparkle for a second. “Yeah. Pretty weird. I can finish my sandwich in the room.” She makes to stand.

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