Page 62 of The Dark Before Light

“I wasn’t being totally honest. I did feel that way. Until very recently. Now I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to know you. I want you in my bed and my life. It’s as simple—and complicated—as that. I’ve decided I don’t care that you’re my therapist. In fact, you’re fired.”

My breath catches. “Don’t.”

A spark of amusement lifts the corner of his mouth. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

“Like I ever could,” I growl.

He fights a wider smile. “Let me amend my statement. There’s one scenario in which you can order me around to your heart’s content.”

Panic sparkles over my skin. “We’ve made so much progress the last few weeks. Wednesday night was huge. Didn’t you feel it? We really got somewhere.”

“I did. You’re a great therapist, no question. I just don’t want you to be mine.”

“Please reconsider,” I say, not caring that I sound desperate. “I can still help you.”

The vestiges of humor vanish from his voice. “If you want to help me, Talia, tell me why you’re fighting this so hard. I already know you’re attracted to me. Fireworks don’t hold a candle to what happens when we touch.” Darkness passes through his eyes. “Is it the security issues? My restrictive lifestyle? I know it’s a lot. I’m selfish for asking you to accept?—”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it!” I explode.

He leans forward, expression taut. “What’s the problem, then? I’m smart, fit, and relatively charming. I don’t have any STDs or illegitimate children. I’m a good cook. I do my own laundry. My bank account balance has an obscene number of zeros. Most importantly, I want to eat you out until you pass out and then go back for seconds.” He pauses, head tilting. “You’re blushing. You like the idea, don’t you? My face between those beautiful thighs?”

“I’m frustrated,” I hiss.

“You’re aroused.”

“You’re delusional!”

His voice lowers to a growl. “I’m perfectly sane, and you know it.”

I hit the red zone of emotional overload. My eyes start to sting. Horrified, I spin away before the first tear falls and swipe angrily at my face.

“Talia,” he whispers. “I know you feel something for me.”

Forgetting my tears, I whip around. “It’s in your head!”

He stands and swallows the distance between us in three strides. I suck in a breath as his fingers curl around my throat, tilting my face to his. My knees weaken; I lock them but can’t prevent a full-body shudder. His palm is hot and dry, the press of his fingers excruciatingly gentle. My heart pounds in my ears, my neck. Between my legs.

“This is in my head?” he whispers, his mouth dipping toward mine but stopping a hairsbreadth away. “Your pupils just blew. I can feel your racing pulse. Try another lie, or admit you want me and I’ll kiss you.”

More tears leak from my eyes—of resignation, this time—as I stare up at the man who’s consumed me in one way or another since I was fourteen.

I’ve been such a fool. I really thought I could be his therapist. I thought if I could teach him to bend, I’d be able to prevent him from breaking. I could save him. Repay him.

I was so wrong.

He’s the resilient one. The king who bows to no one. And I’m the one breaking against the walls of my own mind.

My fall was always a foregone conclusion, the tightrope an illusion. Deep down I’m still the girl in that graveyard, overweight and acne-prone with braces and bad hair. And he’s still the beautiful boy who took my secrets and gave me the courage to grow claws.

Now those claws flex, ripping through scar tissue to the girl beneath. Freeing her to experience her first and favorite fantasy coming true. Awe spreads through me, honeyed and hot. And it suddenly doesn’t matter that his feelings for me are transference.

My feelings aren’t.

I’m done fighting them.

Pushing forward against his hand, I fit my mouth to his. For a moment, I hear rain. Feel it. Then there’s only the soft, hot texture of his lips against mine, and his gasp of surprise or maybe relief. He was right—fireworks don’t hold a candle to what happens when we touch. This is the birth of a universe.

I lick his perfect lower lip. His groan is gasoline on the inferno inside me, and my restraint snaps. I yank his hand from my throat and surge against him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair for leverage as I devour his mouth. He tastes like every sin I’ve ever craved. Better than even my wildest fantasy. He kisses me back like he feels the same but keeps his hands on my waist. They tremble and flex like he’s holding back. And he is. For me.

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