Page 9 of Dark Wishes

Focus... focus...I beg my useless brain.

“Slow down,” I pant. “We can’t do this.”

“Do what? Kiss? We already have.” His thumb pulls my bottom lip downward. “You think stopping now will change what we’ve done?”

“Yes... I mean—maybe. I don’t know.” I try to lean away, to create space to help me think. When I bend my back, it forces my hips into his again. Thethumpagainst my clit makes me see stars. “Fuck,” I whine.

“Sounds like we’re on the same page,” he growls.

“No, wait.” I splay a hand on his chest and give him a nudge. “We have to stop.”

Jamison raises his eyebrows; he sees right through my pathetic argument. But to his credit, he backs away, allowing me more air. I take the chance to breathe oxygen that isn’t mixed with his delirious scent. “You really don't want this?” he asks dubiously.

I nod my head.

His eyes narrow, his smirk crooked as a one-winged bat in flight. Bracing his hands on the counter on either side of me, he leans close, his lips just above my ear. “Think about this carefully, Selena. If we stop here, it’s over forever.”

“What are you talking about?” My heart is going wild.

“I won’t try to kiss you again... or...” He uses his leg to rub against my pussy. Each scrape is maddening, the heat rising to a boil. If he does this much longer I’ll come right here. I won’t be able to control it. “Anything else,” he continues. “Just cold, platonic, sanitized, for the rest of our time together.”

“That’s... fine,” I groan through my teeth. Jamison straightens up to stare at me. I hold his gaze, summoning all my ego—what's left of it—to disguise that I’m on the cusp of orgasm.

He slides his leg from under my skirt. The wet spot staining his jeans is as big as the dinner plates we ate off. I blush hotly, catching his smug smile before turning away. “I’m serious,” he says.

“So am I,” I shoot back. Fixing my shirt, then my skirt, I stomp towards my backpack on the chair by the table. I’m acting as normal as I can, but it’s a challenge. “We need a professional relationship. That’s all. Okay?”

He leans on the sink with his hands in his pockets, ankles crossed. “I hope you don’t regret this.”

“I won’t,” I scoff. Hoisting my backpack to my shoulder I look side to side. “I need to shower.”

“Up the stairs, back that way.”

Holding my head high, I climb the steps. It’s a miracle I don’t slip; my legs are quaking. The bathroom is to the right of the landing, and I hurry inside, locking the door behind me.

Holy fucking hell.

Bracing myself on the door I gape at the mirror over the sink. It’s my first look at myself since we bleached my hair. The blonde strands are wiry, frazzled, badly in need of some moisturizer. Scrunching my nails in my scalp I focus on how beet-red my face is. My shirt matches the color.

There are wrinkles in the damp parts of the cloth—he caused those when he yanked it out of my skirt. Shivering, I let go of my hair, flexing my arms at my sides to get the tension out.He kissed me.I freeze as a lightning bolt of desire spikes in my belly.He was good at it. Why couldn’t he be terrible? Shit.

Telling him to back off was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Jamison’s casual threat about me regretting it hangs over my head like a guillotine.No,I scold myself,It’s fine. I did the right thing. Having sex with him... of all people... is the worst idea.

What I need to focus on is my ratty hair. The bleach wasn’t kind to it, though it did the job of removing the pink. Eyeing the blue ceramic tiles lining the shower, cataloging his selection of toiletries, I sigh, then step back into the hall. “Jamison,” I call, descending the stairs. “I need something.”

He’s waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. Thelookhe gives me brings me up short. “Need?” he teases. His implication isn’t subtle.

“Not like that,” I mutter. “I need to get something for my hair. It’s damaged from the bleach. Is there a pharmacy nearby?”

“Can’t that wait until the morning?”

“It won’t take long.”

“It’s getting late,” he says crisply.

“No it isn’t,” I laugh, lifting my eyebrows. Pulling out my phone from my skirt pocket I check the time. “Barely after seven.” Navigating to my map app I spot a Walgreens three blocks away. “There’s one right at the base of the road we took to get here.”

Jamison climbs a step, his hand clenching the banister. “It’s a steep, twisting road. You complained the whole drive up; you don’t want to walk that.”

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