Page 78 of Darcy
She’s late, which isn’t making the anticipation crawling beneath my skin any easier to bear. When she finally steps up on stage, she steals the breath from my lungs, and Arlo stiffens beside me.
“Shit,” Prophet mutters, too quietly for her to hear.
She’s not foregone her usual nerdy style, but her N7 dress is skin tight and clings to every curve of her body as she climbs the six steps up to the stage. I make a mental note to send a thank you note to whoever designed it, because the cut of the neckline shows off her gorgeous tits to full advantage. The hem is short enough that I want to get on my knees and beg her to lift the skirt just a few inches higher.
Add in the spiked collar around her throat, just begging me to replace it with my hand, and I’m a goner. She might as well walk all over me in her Doc Martens.
Then I meet her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. The cool, indifferent stare she levels at the four of us over her clipboard freezes my ardour in my veins.
Yeah, her gaze seems to say,you gave up all right to this.
“The flamethrowers are going to announce you onto the stage, as normal,” she begins, all business as she turns to point out the front of the stage.
Dios mio.Her ass in that dress is lethal.
“Fuck me.” Dodger coughs to cover the curse.
To make matters worse, two minutes later, she drops her pencil and ends up bending over directly in front of us. Her heart-shaped ass is rightthere, and only two paces and her panties are between her pussy and my tongue. If I fell to my knees and tasted her, would she be tart with anger, or would she be just as sweet as before?
That’s when I understand what this is.
Revenge.
We’re the latest in a long line of disappointing jerks who’ve dumped her, and now she’s trying to kill us.
We’re going to be on stage with the mother of all erections, knowing she’s down below, wearing that damned dress.
Prophet’s eyes go heavenward in a prayer for deliverance, but I’m pretty sure the closest any of us could get to salvation is between Darcy’s thighs, and we’ve locked ourselves out.
Not one of us manages to get any words out. We just follow her around like dumb sheep as she delivers the talk.
Then, when she disappears at the end, and we’re left alone, her perfume lingers in the air.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Dodger mutters under his breath as he passes me, his expression tortured.
“Some stupid, noble bullshit,” I grunt. “I vote we go back to the plan.”
Prophet’s hand comes round behind me and cuffs me upside the head. “No.”
I glance at Arlo, hoping for backup, only to find him spacing out.
“You okay?” I ask, softly.
“Yeah.” One word, delivered softly, but by his sides, his hands are trembling. “Aching a bit.”
No, he’s not okay. “Come on. Let’s get something to drink.”
It’s important to keep him hydrated; plus, I can hear Miguel heading towards us, and I don’t want to risk him sneaking Arlo anything while the temptation to take more to stall the comedown is still strong.
Taking his arm, I guide him off stage on the hunt for a vending machine.
“Why haven’t you all just given up on me?” he asks, breaking the silence.
I miss a step, stumbling before I manage to right myself. “Why the fuck would we do that?”
“I’m an addict. I got you all into this mess when you warned me not to get involved with Miguel. Now we’re back to this again, all because I couldn’t deal with my own shitty emotions.”
“I’m a pushy bastard with a temper,” I retort. “Dodger can’t deal with stress to the point where he goes AWOL for hours at a time. Prophet is so stubborn that we could literally shove proof he was wrong in front of his nose and he wouldn’t believe us.”
