Page 23 of Carnival
My throat goes dry, and his name rolls off my tongue sweetly, like the most desperate plea. “James.’’
He groans, getting on his knees in front of me. He covers my eyes with his hand, and darkness is all I can see. Then, I can hear some shuffling before he buries his face in the crook of my neck. He moves his hand from my eyes, slowly pushing the turtleneck away, inhaling the scent of my neck.
From this perspective, I can only see his cheek and a little of his eyebrow, but his face remains a mystery. The scent of peppermint and musk hits my nose, my fingers twitching, itching to touch him, to run them through his hair, and to feel if it’s as soft as it looks. Yet, the restraints don’t move, and I’m left caged, his hands coming to my waist, gripping tightly.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, hellion,’’ his muffled voice is soft against my skin, his breath tickling and causing goosebumps to appear. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to have you like this. All to myself. All mine.’’
Under normal circumstances, if a man were to say this to me, I’d cuss him out, kick him where the sun doesn’t shine, and probably get a restraining order. So why is it different with him? We’ve met three times in total, tonight being the third. Realistically, I’m a fool for allowing this, a fool for seeking him out, and a fool for enjoying his touch. I shouldn’t do this; I shouldn’t let myself get greedy and addicted to his touch.
“James,’’ I whisper. “This is insane. You’re a killer.’’
His body freezes, and he distances himself from me, allowing me to get a good look at his face, and wind gets blown out of my lungs.
His eyelashes are thick, dark, and curled to perfection. His nose is on the bigger side, reminding me of Greek sculptures in the best possible way. His plump lips are in the prettiest shade of pink, and my eyes are instantly glued to them.
But his eyes, oh God — his eyes.
Now that I can see them fully, without the mask, I’m left speechless. The irises are in the deepest, richest shade of dark brown, with some lighter specks dancing near his pupils. Almost like a shade of gold.
Something flashes behind his eyes, but it’s gone before I can figure out what it is. The expression shifts to a stoic one, though there’s intensity; if anything, it seems to be growing with each passing second.
“That makes you a hypocrite.’’ His voice is low. “Your best friend and the people you call family are also killers. What’s so different about me?”
He’s right. Looking from a logical standpoint, there’s no difference. This only confirms that he is, in fact, the killer thatthe cops have been chasing for two years. Just like Noah and Hudson, he also kills for someone, and there’s no difference between the two, except the methods used.
When I first discovered what Noelle and Hudson did for a living, as well as Aria and Arlo, I was scared shitless. I isolated myself from Aria, always looking over my shoulder, trying to see if she’d come and kill me if I dared to look at her the wrong way.
She didn’t give me a reason to fear her, but I was young, and I didn’t know what to make of it all. Eventually, I came around, and Aria filled me in. They’re doing many illegal things, but then again, so do I. The moment I accepted to stay with them, under the very same roof where all of the illegal activities were being conducted, I became an accomplice, oftentimes helping them from the sidelines in the arms-dealing business.
My eyes flicker up to meet his, and I should be scared. The way his eyes narrow to slits, the way he’s waiting for me to speak, impatiently tapping the armrest near my wrist. I take in a sharp intake of breath, the fluttering in my chest only speeding up when he tilts his head to the side, silently challenging me.
“It’s not different,’’ I admit. “It’s just…’’
“Just what?” He demands. “You’re scared of me, aren’t you? You’re scared of what I could do to your soul, just how much I could taint you, and how much I could corrupt you. Is that what you’re scared of? Of allowing yourself to belong to me?”
I fucking hate this bastard.
My jaw clenches, and I can’t put into words what I’m feeling. My mind is a brewing storm, and somehow, his words anger me. I clamp my mouth shut, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of answering and not wanting to admit that he is fucking right.
When I don’t respond, a wide grin splits on his face. Chills run down my spine — his eyes remaining as emotionless as the moment before, and the sadistic smile causes something in my body to churn.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” He leans in, his lips mere inches from mine, his breath fanning my face. “It’s alright,’’ he chuckles. “You don’t need to admit it. I can tell by your body language, hellion. You want all of this, but you’re scared of what might happen.’’
“No,’’ I grit my teeth, stubbornly looking away.
He grips my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t you dare look away from me, Rose,’’ his voice is barely above a whisper, but the command is indisputable.
A loud gasp slips from my lips when he pulls my bottom lip between his, sucking on it. My eyes widen in shock, my body reacting to the contact. It’s pathetic how little it takes me to get aroused, how little effort he has to put in to have me all putty and needy in his hands.
He licks the inside of my lip before releasing it, a hum of pleasure leaving his lips. “Fucking delicious.’’
For a while, I seem to forget where we are and that I’m supposed to be trying to get out of this place. Aria slips my mind, and my main focus is James; the way he’s looking at me, the way his hands go inside my turtleneck, and his hands against my skin causing me to shiver.
“So sensitive,’’ he murmurs. “So breakable.’’
“I’m not breakable,’’ I hiss.
He lifts a brow, and his free hand goes down to his pants, unbuckling his belt with ease. My eyes follow his every move,like I’m hypnotized and can’t force myself to look away. He pulls the belt off and wraps it around my throat, securing it tightly.
