Page 32 of Sacrifice
"Hmm." He studies me, head tilted. "How about this—I'll stop touching you when you stop wanting me to."
"I don't?—"
"You do." He cuts me off, certainty in every word. "You want my hands on you. My mouth. My?—"
"Emil!" My face is on fire. "We're at the clubhouse. My family is here."
"Then stop arguing with me, and they won't hear the rest." He grins at my expression. "Unless you want them to? I'm flexible."
"I want you to leave me alone."
"No, you don't." He steps back, giving me space, but his eyes stay locked on mine. "You want me to chase you. To prove you're worth the effort. To show you that all those safe, boring men you date are nothing compared to what we could be."
"We could be nothing. We are nothing."
"Keep telling yourself that." He starts walking backward, still watching me. "Enjoy dinner with your family. Try not to think about me too much."
"I don't think about you at all!"
"Sure you don't." He winks. "See you around, Saga."
He disappears into the clubhouse, leaving me standing there like an idiot, fury and something else churning in my gut.
"So," Soren says, appearing at my elbow with two plates. "Mom said you’re having man troubles with Emil?"
"Mom said what?"
"Oh shit." His eyes widen. "I wasn't supposed to mention that."
"Soren, what exactly did Mom say?"
"Just that you were working through some stuff with someone and to be nice if you seemed grumpy." He hands me a plate. "Though honestly, that looked less like man troubles and more like foreplay."
"It's not—we're not—" I stab a piece of brisket viciously. "It's complicated."
"Doesn't look complicated. Looks like you want to bang him and he wants to bang you. Pretty simple shit, sis."
"When did you get so direct?"
"College. My roommate's a psych major. He analyzes everything." Soren takes a huge bite of food. "So why aren't you banging him? He's intense, but like, in a hot way."
"Soren!"
"What? I'm secure enough to recognize an attractive dude. Plus he looks at you like you're Christmas morning and his birthday combined."
"He looks at me like he wants to own me," I correct.
"Maybe." Soren shrugs. "Or maybe he looks at you like you're the only thing in the room worth looking at. Guess it depends on your perspective."
I don't have a response to that, so I focus on my food. But I can feel Emil's presence even when I can't see him, like a weight against my skin. Every time I glance toward the clubhouse, he's there—talking to someone but watching me. Always watching.
"This is nice," Soren says after a while. "Being home. Seeing everyone. Even if the sexual tension between you and biker boy is making the air thick."
"There's no sexual tension."
"Saga, I could cut it with a knife. Everyone can see it."
"Everyone's wrong."
