Page 67 of Paper Thin Love

I turn with a victor's grin. Good, he knows I can play mind games too.

Chapter 27

Dash

“So,” Cillian grumbles as he takes his fork, folds one pancake in half, then in half again before shoving the entire thing into his mouth. He’s halfway through chewing when he barks out,“Who do we think did it?”

I feel Dante’s intense stare on me.

“It wasn’t me.” I press. I didn’t kill the dance teacher. I wish it was me, knowing he has hurt Mila time and time again without any repercussions kept me up all night. So did her echoing pleas to have sex with her.

She was so responsive, wet and needy and…the devil in me says I should have done it. The man losing the battle of controlling over his mind is happy I didn’t. Even though I so badly wanted to.

That same dying man inside my fucked up mind knows one day we both will lose. One day I’ll give Mila what she begged for. Another day she won’t be able to look at me in return.

“I’m guessing word got back to her father.” I express.

“Could be.” Cillian agrees.

I look up at Dante.“I think it’s a warning.” He declares a fear that has been festering in my belly.

“Could be.” Cillian agrees again, folding his second pancake into one massive bite.

“Keep her close.” Dante hints.

I snort, feeling the blood rush to my cock.“That’s easier said than done.”

They have no idea the lines I wanted to obliterate with Mila. How I wanted to devour her, giving into both our depraved souls. I wanted her to scream my name, the name of the dying broken prince she thinks I am. I wanted her wet walls to squeeze my cock. I wanted her lips to burn from having kissed my sinful flesh.

I wanted her to have a taste of me while I was still untainted.

Here’s a shocking truth. I’ve never killed with my bare hands before. A gun doesn’t count. Hands are attached to my body and soul. I was able to drop the gun in the past.

How can I drop my hands? I can’t because then I’ll never be able to touch Mila.

The tips of my fingers tingle. One day they will itch with a need to clean the blood off of them. When that day breaches the horizon, when the light of my dark moon pierces Mila’s sunny skies, I’ll never be able to touch her. I’ll be my father, a man similar to her father. A man she detests yet so desperately tries to please. I don’t want to fuck someone who is trying to satisfy me. I want my first time to be with someone who wants me. The broken prince.

Yes, I said thefirsttime because like my little broken ballerina, I haven’t fucked anyone else either. I’m probably the only seventeen-year-old guy here who hasn’t. I wanted to. I’ve had plenty of opportunities.

One thing keeps holding me back. However, each day, that promise grows into a distant memory. The thing about ropes that bind you is the further you drift away from them, the weaker their knots feel.

The past.

I grab the tips of my mother’s fingers in a tight hold before I yank her back. She spins gracefully into my waiting arms, then I guide her across the dance floor.

I hate these charity galas. Mom always drags Dad to them, but he’s stuck on a business trip, so I got the honor.

It is my honor to stand by my mother’s side. I’d do anything for her, as would my father. Tonight, that meant putting on a black suit and dancing with her when she asked. Mom only wanted to dance so she could get a break from all the phony conversations she had to endure.

For the first time in my life, I think being a man in my world is better than enduring the bitchy-as-fuck females who suck up to my mom’s six-inch heels.

Mom tips her chin up. Her giggle softens into a melancholy smile.

“What’s the matter?”

“I remember when we used to dance, and you only reached my knee,” she replies. A sadness touches her eyes like a cloud on a bright sunny day.“And now you’re fifteen, but you're so tall I can barley grab your shoulders. I’m scared one day you will grow so tall and strong you’ll forget to look down.”

I don’t know what to say. I’m not good at the sappy shit.

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