Page 41 of Riot Rules
I laugh nervously. “I beg your pardon?”
“Come…here.”
His eyes are blazing. His jaw’s already strong and square and masculine as all hell; when he clenches and the muscles flex there, it does something to me that I am really not proud of. It literally—yes,literally—makes me go weak at the knees. I wish I was better than this. I gave him so much shit before when I thought he was a drug addict, but it turns out that I’m the one with the problem. I know he’s poison. He’s so bad for me, in every way imaginable. He’s already warned me that he’ll ruin my life and any chance I have of being happy in the future, but I cannot stop myself.
As I child, I touched the iron and it burned. I never touched the iron again. I played with knives and cut myself. I stayed well away from the sharp steel from that moment on. I’ve already been hurt by Dashiell outside the Edmondson party and it stung like hell. So why is it that I can’t implement the lessons here that I learned so easily as a child?
It isn’t as simple this time. Dash is a disease; I’minfectedby him. The only way to recover is to take the antidote. Put some space between us. But I don’t want the antidote. I want the fucking pain, and I can’t convince myself otherwise.
Dash’s mouth lifts on one side. He looks like he’s bordering on disappointed. Slowly, with infinite care, he holds his left index finger to his mouth and bites down on the tip of the black leather glove he’s wearing, pulling it off his hand. The right one follows. “Carina.Come…here.”
Ever tried to stop yourself from falling? You put your hands out, try to grab onto something, sure, but once you’ve already tripped and your center of gravity shifts, there’s not much you can do to prevent the fall until you hit the ground. You brace for the impact, and you hope for the best.
That’s what I do as I slowly cross my tiny bedroom and stop in front of him: I brace for the impact. I hope for the best.
Breathing used to be so easy, something I didn’t even think about, but a huge chunk of my brain is focused on remembering how to draw oxygen in and out of my lungs. He’s so damn close. I’m dwarfed by him. He’s a foot taller than me and easily twice as broad. The cool, fresh smell of the ocean, and of mint and cut grass storms the back of my nose. He smells like something else, too. I can’t for the life of me put my finger on it. The unique scent underpins all of the other accents, marrying them together in an addicting way. I feel like I’m on the brink of a major sugar crash, trembling from my head to my feet.
Dashiell gazes at my mouth, breathing softly down his nose. I haven’t noticed him raising his hand, so when he brings his fingers to my mouth, I jump. “Easy,” he murmurs. “If you’re not careful, I might think you’re nervous.” This thought seems to entertain him. “Do I, Carrie? Do I make your pulse race faster?”
“My pulse is just fine, thanks.”
“Is that so?”
“Mm-hm.” The sound comes out in a strained squeak that isn’t fooling anybody.
Dash plays along. “Okay. So, if I were to—” He removes his fingers from my mouth, trailing them along the line of my jaw, down the column of my throat.
I react, grabbing him by the wrist, stopping him before he can reach a point where he might discover just what a shame-faced, wretched little liar I really am. He chuckles under his breath, undeterred. Instead of taking his hand back, he dips down, torturously slow, and nuzzles his face into my neck instead. It’s hismouththat finds my pulse. The tip of his tongue, licking at the sensitive skin right above my carotid, sends my already surging heartbeat into overdrive. Dashiell hums as he presses his lips to my skin.
“Carrie.” His breath is hot against my skin; the sensation of it fanning over my neck and my collar bone make my eyes roll back into my head. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “Keep the lie if it makes you feel better. I won’t tell.” He pulls back, and his eyes are so fierce that my bedroom fades away. The frigid night on the other side of the window is gone. The corridor on the side of my door, and the ten other girls all sleeping in their rooms no longer exist. There is only Dash, trapping me with a look so raw that I’m spellbound by him.
“How about this?” He winds a strand of my hair around his finger. “From here on out, we make a deal?”
“What kind of deal?” It’s a miracle that my voice doesn’t crack.
“From here on out, you give me what I want, Mendoza.”
“That sounds like…a very one-sided deal.” Breathe, damnit.Breathe.
Dash actually smiles. “Well. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said in the library, y’know. And…”
“And…”
“And maybe it’s none of my business if you’re a masochist, love. Maybe I’ll just give you what you want, too. Let the chips fall where they may.”
“What…what does thatmean?”
He leans in and brushes my mouth with his lips. Somehow, he’s gotten so close that his chest is flush with mine. There’s still a hair’s breadth of space between us—enough that my nipples graze his chest whenever either of us breathe. Every time it happens, I feel like I might die.
“It means you win, Carrie. I give in. You’ve got me. No takebacks. Whatever fucking madness happens next…you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The kiss is vertigo and adrenaline, mint and chaos. His mouth crashes down on mine, claiming me. I’m cut adrift from reality. Just like the first night on the hood of Pax’s car, Dash explores my mouth so ferociously that I lose all motor function. My limbs quit on me. The inner narrative that was chattering away in the background of my mind, reminding me of Alderman’s rules, warning me to be careful, falls deathly silent. Dash banishes all thought the moment he palms my breast through my night shirt and rolls my nipple between his fingers.
“I want to see,” he rumbles. There’s no question. No command. Just this statement. He tells me what he wants and waits for me to comply. He’s made himself perfectly clear, and this is part of our newly forged deal, right? We both get what we want, no matter what. I unbutton the long black silk shirt I wore to bed, my fingers working numbly at the buttons, but Dash can’t wait that long. I only get the first two undone before he stoops down, sliding the thin material off my shoulder, exposes me and takes my hard nipple into his mouth.
“Oh…holy….shit!” Electricity volleys up and down my spine, my back bowing. Dash destroys me with his mouth, flicking his tongue over the swollen, tight bud, grasping the swell of my flesh in his hands as he holds me still, sucking and licking at me until a prickling heat begins to build in my legs. When he looks up at me and our eyes lock, his mouth open, his tongue trailing around my areole, I let out a needy, desperate whimper that makes Dash’s pupils shrink down to pinpricks.
“Does that turn you on, sweetheart? Does that make you wet?”
