Page 23 of Dash

He reaches for me, and this time, I don’t flinch.

What is he doing?

I freeze as he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. His fingers lingering a beat longer than they probably should and I’m fairly certain I’m panting like a dog.

“Managing is just code for surviving, Dayna.” His voice is low, soft. “You deserve better.”

My chest tightens, as if there are bands of steel wrapped around my ribs. Is he joking? This part of some elaborate plan to laugh at my expense?

I scan his face, looking for the mockery, but his expression is as serious as the heart attack I feel like I’m having.

Say something. Say anything.Break whatever the hell this moment is between us before you do something even more embarrassing like pass out or cry.

I need to reclaim this conversation.

“If I’d known you were going to be this clingy, I never would’ve fucked you.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could swallow them, barbs and all. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, hurt maybe, irritation definitely.

All wrapped up in confusion.

I have that effect on everyone, so I’m not surprised to see it in his eyes. What I am surprised by is how much it cuts me to see it, and the fact he’s still fucking here. None of my usual defences are working on him.

He takes a steadying breath. “Which is your apartment?”

I jolt back. He doesn’t press me or get angry. Now, I’m really starting to panic. The walls are built around myself are weakening and I don’t know how to shore them back up.

When they get too close my words push them away. Usually.

He’s not taking the bait.

So I do the only thing I can. I kiss him. I show him with my body that I’m what everyone thinks I am. Dirty, loose, only interested in spreading my legs.

I don’t know what I expect him to do. Push me away, thrust me against the wall and take me like I’m nothing, but he doesn’t.

He kisses me slowly, reverently, like I mean something.

His fingers thread through my hair, resting at my nape, while his tongue slides along the seam of my lips.

I am so out of my depth right now that I’m drowning. Every part of me screams to stop this, but the way he’s kissing me, I can’t. He’s everywhere, touching, lighting me up and I’m melting into him against all sense. He touches me like I mean something, like I might be worth loving.

Am I worth loving?

I press my hand to his chest, pushing back as I tear my mouth from his.

He’s breathless, so am I, and he’s watching me like he’s afraid I might bolt at any moment. I don’t speak. I can’t. It feels like there are shards of glass in my throat.

“You should go,” I say.

He doesn’t.

He lifts my chin so I have to look at him, his head dipping so that we’re on eye level.

“Dayna.” Every instinct says run. “Talk to me.”

‘Talk to me’ is the most dangerous phrase in the English language.

I shake my head, stepping back from him, putting distance between us.

“What are we doing?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself so tight my ribs ache.

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