Page 56 of Feed Your Fiends

I swallow as he pushes my hair off my collarbones.

“Ihatethis outfit.”

The switch in conversation allows me to breathe. For a millisecond. “The patrons would disagree.”

“That’s why I hate it. If you wanted to be a bartender, you could’ve done it here.”

If there’s a damn cinema, why should I be shocked that there’s a bar?

I roll my eyes. “You can’t stop me from having a job. I told you I don’t want your money.”Lies.I’m claiming that bounty, and the sooner, the better.

“I have no objections to you working.”

I snort. “You flooded the bar.”

“You know how to swim now. Remember all those naked private lessons in the spring behind Beaulieu?”

“Gant—”

His nose grazes my hair. “You stink.”

“Thank you.”

“You smell like them. Like the most popular colognes and perfumes of the month, seasoned in a layer of smoke. It’s clinging to your hair, to your skin. You don’t smell like you, and I hate it.”

His fingers sink into the neckline of my corset, his knuckles brushing my breasts. Before I can blink he’s tearing the cheap fabric, shredding it, so my tits bounce free, and all the little beads I’d spent six hours sewing on, pop off one after the other.

“What are you doing!?” Before I can cross my arms over my exposed breasts, he’s pulling me through another door.

“You can’t get into our bed smelling like other men or women. I hate that fuck ass perfume you wore at the hospital, it doesn’t suit you.”

Our bed…

“Are you a perfumer now?” I snark, but there’s no bite to it. I’m breathless as my feet leave the warmer hardwood for the cooler tile of a bathroom the size of my old bedroom. “Did you take a summer course in Italy?”

I’m saying anything to stall what I’m petrified of happening, free-falling into that pseudo-love connection I know his cock will give me the moment I sink onto it. Because I am craving it. I want the lies and the warmth, if only for a few hours. But how can I try to love myself if I’m willing to sacrifice myself to a demon?Again.

“France, actually.Your usual scent is like vanilla drizzled with honey.”

“Honey and vanilla? How boring and plain.”

“It’s warm and sweet and slightly lactic. It’s addicting. That perfume was a jammy rose. Heavy and dark.”

“Maybe you should wear it. You thrive in the darkness.”

“I’m dark and cold enough for us both. It’s your soft warmth I need to sink into.”

“And what about what I need?”

“I’m right here,” he says, reaching into the shower and spinning a lever. A blast of steamy water shoots from the rainfall shower head. “Whenever you need me, take me. Don’t even ask because I’m already your possession. So, possess me.”

I refuse to look as he slips the blazer off his shoulders and pulls his shirt over his head. I won’t follow the etches in his abs or the shredded V of his hips that are the perfect holders for my thighs. I won’t even trace that little dusting of jet-black hair or that prominent vein that disappears into his briefs…the briefs he’s rolling down his thick, muscular thighs.

It’s nothing but a trap.

“You said we’d just sleep,” I say thickly, stepping into the massive shower. “I can shower by myself.”

“I want the stench out of your hair, and you’ve put your feet through enough tonight.”

---