Page 19 of Trick of the Flesh
The air rushes back into the space he leaves. I sway, dizzy from the absence.
Miguel’s head tilts, the mask catching moonlight one last time. “Next time, you’ll beg.” His voice is a promise, a curse. “And I’ll make sure you never forget how it feels.”
He turns, disappearing into the dark the way he came.
I slide down the tree again, trembling so hard I can barely hold myself up. My breath stutters, ragged, shame choking every inhale. My hands shake when I press them to my thighs, as if I can hold myself together with sheer force.
The woods hum with silence. My body hums louder, traitorous and hungry, still aching for what he denied me.
I bury my face in my hands.
I don’t know if I want to cry or scream. Maybe both.
But one truth settles heavy in my gut, undeniable and cruel.
He’s right.
I’m starving.
And it’s him I’m starving for.
EIGHT
MIGUEL
He’s still shakingwhen I find him.
Crouched against the tree, sweatshirt plastered to his chest, head in his hands like a child trying to hide from the dark.As if the dark isn’t me.As if I’d ever let him hide.
I linger in the shadows longer than I need to, watching the way his shoulders rise and fall too fast, watching his knees knock together like he might collapse. He’s wrecked, humiliated, so close to breaking—and I’ve never seen him more beautiful.
Every nerve ending in me sings with it. The hunt, the chase, the capture—it all leads here. To him on the ground, trembling, too ashamed to look up.
To me, taking my prize.
My mask itches against my skin. I’ve worn it long enough.The game’s already over. I’ve won.
I step into the faint light that spills through the branches. His head jerks up, eyes wide, wet lashes clumping. The moment he sees me, he flinches back against the tree like it could swallow him.
Fear looks so fucking good on him.
I reach up, slow, and peel the mask off. The cool nightair rushes against my sweat-damp skin. The elastic snaps as I drop the thing into the dirt.
No need to hide.Not anymore.
“Better?” I ask, voice low. My lips curve into a humorless smile.
Caleb stares at me like he doesn’t recognize what’s been underneath the mask.Maybe he doesn’t.The mask covered my face, but it didn’t hide the hunger in my eyes. Now he has to see it, raw and unfiltered.
If he thought the mask was terrifying, looking at me is worse.
I crouch in front of him, close enough so that he can’t pretend he isn’t staring at my mouth, my throat, and the way my chest rises slow and steady while his stutters.
“You wanted the monster,” I murmur. “Now you’ve got him.”
He swallows hard, throat bobbing. His gaze flicks from my eyes to my hands, like he expects them to close around his throat any second.
He’s not wrong.
