Page 14 of The Masks We Break

I decide on a mix of all three.

“The only reading I plan to do is for this atrocious literature course, and then I never plan to read fictitious work again.” I yawn, clicking the TV off before returning my gaze to her. I let my eyes lower down her body, enjoying the way she squirms. “Unless you’d like for me to read you.”

“You’ve never wanted to read me before, Blaze. I imagine now isn’t any different.” Her small face looks impassive, and the lack of a stutter has me intrigued.

I chew the inside of my lip for a few seconds before standing. This time when I stride toward her, I don’t stop a foot away but mere inches. The tips of my bare toes touch her fluffy pink slippers, and if she takes an extra breath, our bodies will brush against each other.

Being this close, with her head tilted to look at me, I can see the yellow flakes in her eyes. They give the illusion of looking down at a sunflower in the brightest green grass. Without my permission, my eyes flash to her lips. Rather than my normal thought of a woman’s mouth around my cock, I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like pressed to mine. Even in high school, Remy has always posed a threat to my focus, but right now, I can’t find it in me to care.

This is a dangerous line you’re playing, Bardot.

Banishing the thought, I back away and find her gaze. “Trying to figure you out has become rather vexatious. I’d prefer if you just told—”

Remy moves, rising up on her tiptoes, an angry expression morphing her soft features into a fierce one. “Don’t play games with me, Blaze. We’re both grown now. I’m not some frail little thing anymore. I can handle you.”

Her breath quickens as I lower my face, my lips so close to hers I taste the liquor still on her tongue. “Oh, puppet, I’d like to see you try.”

Then, against every fiber of my consciousness screaming at me not to, I crash my mouth on top of hers, capturing her gasp.

EIGHT

This isn't happening.

I must have fallen asleep with a romance book, and the story is playing over in my dream.

Yeah, that's it. I mean, that explanation is much more believable than Blaze Bardot's lips actually being on mine. Something I heard he never does.Ever.

But the firmness of his mouth and the strength in his hold feels so real. I should stop this, dream or not, and hightail my butt back home, but the alcohol is making my body too heavy. At least, that's the excuse I tell myself.

Straining my calves, I lift farther on my tippy toes, pressing into him. I wrap both my hands around his neck, letting one grab his nape for balance. A growl from somewhere deep in his chest vibrates my body, sending a surge of electricity zapping through my veins. It forces all my fine hairs to high alert, and I latch on tighter.

Forget breathing, or that my heart is pounding so hard, I feel it in the tips of my hair. I want this to continue forever.

It's my last thought before two firm hands find my hips and slowly detach me.

I want to protest at the loss of his warm, hard body, but when my eyes manage to creep open in a drunken haze, the look on Blaze's face snaps me back to reality. His gaze is hooded, dark, with an expression that looks somewhere between angry and disgusted.

Unlike the fantasy playing in my head, it's clear he doesn't want me touching him, and I completely misread this.

This isreal.

I came to his house, drunk, barely dressed, and who knows how late it is.

The warmth that was just low in my belly shoots to my face, and I curl around myself. A rubber band snaps in my chest, the pain echoing through at his disdain and my stupidity.

What did I just do?

I stumble back, grabbing onto a blank space on his wall. "I'm-m so-o-o."

Ugh. Freaking stutter. I can't even muster the words to apologize to the man. My eyes squeeze shut, and I make it halfway to the door before his hand closes around my wrist.

"Sit down."

His voice is low and firm. He's not asking, and for some reason, finally listening to my better judgment, I jerk away from his hold. I've embarrassed myself enough for the night, and I'm sure staying here will just mortify me more.

He catches my wrist again, this time turning me around to face him. The look of disgust is gone, replaced by something darker, something…meaner. "Again, I wasn't asking. You're drunk."

I wiggle against the grip, but he only clutches tighter. "I live-e right—"

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