Page 34 of Trick of the Flesh
I mutter something back, unlock it, and slip out before anyone can corner me. The hallway is crowded, people pressed shoulder to shoulder. I push through toward the back, but then?—
A hand catches mine.
For a second I think it’s the girl from earlier, but the grip isn’t hard, but enough to make me stumble.Miguel.He doesn’t even look at me. Just tugs, subtle, like he has every right to lead me where he wants. And my body follows before my brain can argue.
We end up in a narrow hallway near the laundry room, quieter than the rest of the house. The door clicks shut behind us, muffling the music. My heart slams so loud I’m sure hecan hear it. Miguel crowds me back against the washer, his hands braced on either side of me. His smirk is pure fire.
“Running, pretty boy?” His voice is low and dangerous.
“I—I wasn’t?—”
“Don’t lie.” He dips his head, lips grazing my jaw, the faintest brush of teeth. “Even under all the alcohol and fake bravado, I can smell it on you. You want me to bend you over and take you right here?”
I grab at his wrist, not to push him off, but because I need to hold on to something before my knees give. “Someone could come in?—”
“And?” His mouth ghosts down my throat, lingering where the fake blood is smeared. His tongue flicks out, tasting, and I almost moan. “You like it. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
I do. God help me, I do.
“Say it,” he murmurs, breath hot against my skin.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My voice barely works. “I—want you.”
His laugh is soft and dark. “Good boy.My good boy.”
Miguel’s hand slides under my hoodie, fingers splaying across my stomach. I flinch, not from fear, but from how much I crave it. Every nerve ending sparks under his touch.
Then—footsteps. Voices that are too close. Someone giggling down the hall.
Miguel pulls back just enough to press a finger to his lips. His eyes dare me to make a sound.
I stay silent.
The voices pass, fading toward the kitchen. My whole body sags with relief, but Miguel’s grin says he planned it. That he wanted me on the edge of being caught.
“Say goodbye to your friends, baby,” he whispers, pressing one hard kiss to my mouth, quick and brutal. “I’m taking youhome to go to bed.” Then he’s gone, slipping out the door like a shadow.
I’m left slumped against the washer, dizzy, lips burning, body screaming for more.
The music roars on in the distance, the party spinning without me. But I don’t care.
I’m too far gone for him to not listen.
TWELVE
MIGUEL
The door creaksopen just past midnight, the sound that feels too loud in a house that’s already fallen asleep. Caleb slips in first, the hood of his sweatshirt half up, hair sticking out at odd angles. His cheeks are flushed pink from all the beer, his steps a little clumsy, but his eyes are too sharp, too restless.
I expect him to bolt straight upstairs. Hide. Pretend tonight never happened. That’s what he does best—bury everything until it suffocates him.
But halfway down the hall, he turns.
And then he’s on me.
His hands fist in my shirt, shoving me against the wall, and his mouth crashes into mine. It’s reckless, messy, and full of heat and desperation, but it’s him. Caleb. Kissing me. Taking. For a beat, I’m frozen. Then instinct takes over, and I kiss him back just as hard. My hands lock around his waist, hauling him closer, swallowing his ragged breath.
“Fuck, Miggy… I need you.”
