Текст книги "The body painter"

Автор книги: Pepper winters

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“You paid me for a kiss. You—”

“That’s what you think?” He threw the money down as if it was contaminated. “What an idiotic thing—”

“Gil.”

His nostrils flared, anger glowing on his tortured face. “You’ll take a kiss, you’ll goddamn lie for me, yet my money isn’t good enough for you?”

I stepped toward him, carefully, fearfully. “Pay me in answers. I’ll accept those.”

His chest heaved as he sucked in a breath. “That’s a currency I can’t afford.”

“Why? What’s happened to you, Gil? What’s going on? What are you so afraid—”

“I’m not afraid.”

I smiled sadly. “You are. It’s painfully obvious.”

He crossed his arms, forming an impenetrable barrier around him. “Stop.”

“But if I do, you’ll still be dealing with this nightmare...alone.” I dropped my arms, spreading my hands in surrender. “I found you again by some crazy twist of fate. Our connection is still there, even if you deny it. I’m willing to help you, Gil, just like we helped each other in the past. I forgive you for hurting me. I’ll be patient if you need time. But...I can’t walk away when I know—”

“You know nothing.”

“I know enough that you’re alone in this and I made a promise a long time ago that you’d never be alone again.”

He flinched. “Promises are easy things to break.”

“Not mine.”

“I broke plenty.” His voice trespassed on bitterness. “I left you.”

“You said you had reasons.”

He laughed icily. “You’re willing to forgive me for that too? Fuck, what do I have to do to you to make you hate me?”

I smiled forlornly, remembering a simpler time in my kitchen, the sweet scent of pancakes around us, the joy of having Gil in the place where I’d been so alone.

We’d agreed to be together—to always have each other’s backs.

“It’s almost a challenge to see what else I can make you put up with.”

His voice echoed in my head as if it’d been only a few hours, not years, between that moment and this one.

I didn’t know back then that he would honour that joke-given threat. That he would hurt me worse than anyone and push me away again and again, and yet...

“Go ahead. I’ll still be here.”

My own voice sounded young and innocent, dragged from the past, threading with his inside my mind.

I’d made a promise that day.

I intended to keep it...until Gil no longer needed my help.

“I’m going home, Gil.” I dropped my hands. “I’m going home to rest, but I will come back.”

“Don’t. Don’t ever come back.”

“Why?”

His temper acted like a shield, a suit of chainmail cold and heavy around his heart. “I can’t enlighten you, O. No matter how many times you ask.”

“I won’t ask. I’ll just pop by and offer support.”

“You can’t. I owe you a debt for today, but that’s where this ends.” Snatching the money again, he held it out. “Take it. It’s the least I can do.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Gil.” I turned to go, to somehow make my way home when my entire body was in pieces. To nurse my bruises and tend to my wounds alone.

“Wait.” The command was a snap, a grenade.

His teeth ground together, making his jaw tight and veins thread visibly down his neck. “The phone call...I need...” He grunted as if talking about such things drove splinters into his mind. “I wasn’t going to ask. I would...prefer to use another canvas, but...I need to do another commission.”

I paused, hiding my hurt. “You’d prefer another canvas because of my tattoo?”

“I’d prefer another canvas who isn’t you.”

I stumbled at the force of such a nasty phrase.

His face flickered with untold things. “I didn’t mean...” The contrition in his voice punished him worse than I ever could. “I...” He rubbed his eyes, seeking truth but battling lies. “I should have the strength to stand here and tell you that the ridges of your scars are hard to hide. That your ink isn’t worth the time it takes to camouflage. That you have flaws I’m not prepared to fix.”

“I see.” Tears prickled my eyes as anger settled in my stomach. “How stupid of me. The Master of Trickery would never paint flaws.”

He stepped toward me. “You don’t have flaws, O. You never have.” The way his tone thickened with remorse made my anger falter.

“Don’t.” I held up my hand. “It’s fine. I knew when I applied for the job that I wasn’t perfect.”

He swallowed a groan. “Fuck.” Dragging hands through his hair, he bared his teeth at whatever had him cornered before breaking its hold and swooping toward me. His hands captured my cheeks, shaking and full of tenderness. “I promised myself I’d be as cruel as necessary to keep you away. That I’d hurt you all over again if that’s what it took. But...I’m too fucking weak. You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect.”

His lips crashed onto mine, kissing me swift and true.

My mouth opened under his, shock and surprise making me totally his.

His taste was dark and distressing. His tongue violently claiming.

He kissed me as if this was all my fault—as if he blamed me for making his life ten times harder when I’d only tried to help.

His arms shuddered around me, clutching me close.

He kissed me until I was breathless from his pain. Only then did he let me go, drop his touch, and back away as if distance could somehow erase what he’d just done.

Clearing his throat, he balled his hands. “He knows you’re here now. You made him think there is an us.” His gaze caught mine in a fatal web. “You should never have seen what you did, but I can’t change that and now...” He stopped talking, his body stiffening to steel. “Now, everything is all fucked up and you can’t keep disobeying me. Be my canvas once more, have a reason to be here, accept my money and keep business our only reason for meeting, and then...” He stood taller as if facing an execution. “Walk away and never come back.”

I licked my lips where his taste still lingered. “Is that what you want? For me to never come back?”

He looked away; rage imprisoned in his gaze. “Yes.”

“Liar.”

“It’s what I need.”

I didn’t bother asking why.

There were only so many times I could ask an unanswerable question. Instead, I asked something I hadn’t verbalised, even to myself. A question that’d been haunting me. “Are you so determined to give me your money, because you think you owe me—”

“I do owe you.”

“Not for today, but for all the times I hid money in your backpack so you could get something to eat.”

His eyes snapped shut, his body quaked. He rubbed his mouth as his green eyes reopened with shame. “No. But by the end, I did owe you more than I could ever give you.”

“You owed me nothing. It was given with love. A gift.”

He flinched with ghosts of our past. We balanced on words—words that could heal the history between us and pave our future. But Gil rearranged his face from pained to impatient, and he was no longer the boy I was in love with but the body painter I couldn’t figure out. “Talking about the past won’t change anything. It’s over between us. It was over seven years ago. All I can offer you is money. Come back tomorrow and—”

“I can’t.” I cut him off. “I just agreed to work for another company. I start tomorrow.”

His face stayed carefully blank. “I can paint you in a few hours. Come by after work.”

The thought of being in his presence again so soon? The energy it would take to survive him? I honestly didn’t know if I had the strength.

I opened my mouth to push the commission back. To plead exhaustion and beg for time to put my pieces back together again. To be whole enough to help him, even when he was adamant he didn’t want such a thing.

But Gil stood frozen, a raincloud of torment overhead, a crack of lightning forking right through his chest. He smiled gravely, tasting my reluctance and hurting because of it.

He nodded. “It’s for the best. I won’t ask you again.” Stalking toward the exit, he murmured, “Please don’t come back here, Olin. I mean it.”

I followed him, waiting while he unlocked the door, and sucking in courage when he opened it.

Stepping over the threshold, I twisted to face him and raised my hand to cup his jaw.

He winced. His face was a torn mask, cold indifference slipping to reveal passionate concern.

“I’ll be your canvas, Gil.” Dropping my touch, I slid into the dusk. “I’ll help you in whatever way you need.”

He shuddered.

Looking back at him, imprinting him, I added softly, “See you tomorrow.”

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Fourteen

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

MY PHONE VIBRATED in my handbag.

I heard the vibration even as it tickled my foot beneath my desk where I’d tossed it. I did my best to ignore it. After all, this was my first day at my new job.

I hadn’t slept.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Gil.

But I’d made a commitment and did my best to be a model employee.

The first hour had been spent being dragged around the whole floor, smiling and nodding, knowing I would never remember the names of all the people Shannon—my new manager—introduced me to. She’d shown me the coffee break room, the balcony where smokers and vapers hung out, and the glass walled boxes where the bosses kept the cogs running.

Afterward, she sat me down in a bare cubicle that would become my home and showed me, with her sparkly pink pen, how to log into their servers, answer the phones, and what my job entailed.

I’d focused on her red lips and bouncy blonde hair. I’d jotted notes on her advice and mentally did my best to be present.

But Gil still lurked in the back of my mind.

I could never be free of him.

Only a few hours before I would see him again. A few more hours of calmness before my heart careened off my ribs and my insides tied themselves into knots.

I’d agreed to be his canvas for two reasons.

One, I would stand by my promise to be there for him.

Two, I couldn’t bear the thought of him painting another, laughing with another, letting down his walls with another.

Being happy with another.

I’d never really seen him happy.

Even at school when we’d been close, sadness always shadowed his happiness.

He’s in danger.

Until he’d solved his mysterious predicament, I doubted he would ever be happy, regardless of the company.

Stop thinking about him.

That was an impossibility.

My mind switched from worrying about him to worrying over the design he’d paint me with tonight.

What was the commission?

Who was the client?

He seemed in high demand. He could command untold riches if he wanted. So why did he still come across as the boy from a penniless beginning? A lonely man living in an empty warehouse that whispered of destitution instead of richness?

Stop it, O.

You’ll drive yourself insane.

I was already insane.

There was no other explanation for my going back to him or my tolerance of his behaviour. My head still ached from what he’d done. My body still flighty from the kidnapping attempt.

My work computer pinged, announcing a new email.

I sighed, clicking on it and reading the generic request for warranty terms and conditions of our product.

My fingers flew over the keyboard, typing a scripted response that Shannon had given me.

My phone buzzed again.

I forced myself to finish the email before bowing to pressure to check. I didn’t receive many messages these days. After cutting myself off from my friends and dance troupe, no one bothered to reach out. Even my parents never texted to tell me where in the world they were.

Ducking down, I fumbled in my bag. Grabbing my phone, I swiped it on and clicked on the messenger app.

One new message from someone I didn’t expect.

Justin Miller: Hi, O. Hope you’re good. Quick question. Is Gilbert with you?

What?

Why would Gil be with me?

I bit my lip, looking over my partition as if Gil would magically appear. Staff milled about as sunshine beamed into the high-rise building. Some people had pulled blackout blinds to prevent direct light on their computer screens. The babble of voices and scents of coffee and warm machinery were a total contrast to Gil’s chilly, unwelcoming warehouse.

And he wasn’t anywhere to be found.

Not that he has any clue where I work.

Olin Moss: Hi Justin. Nope. Haven’t seen him since yesterday. Why?

A phone call came in on the office line, making me jolt. Placing my personal mobile on the desk, I did my job and answered the work one. The entire time I dealt with a customer requiring a new battery for a computer that was ten years out of date, I waited for Justin to reply.

The little dots bounced beside his name, signalling he was typing.

By the time I hung up, a message popped onto my screen.

Justin Miller: I’m at his place, and he’s not here. He’s ALWAYS here. I’ve literally never come here and he’s not. It’s just odd is all.

My heart picked up a strange beat.

Olin Moss: Why would you think he’s with me?

Justin Miller: Come on. It’s obvious you guys have unfinished history.

I had no response to that. He was right.

Olin Moss: He’s probably at the supermarket or something.

Justin Miller: He gets food delivered. Doesn’t like people, remember?

Olin Moss: Maybe he needed some fresh air?

Justin Miller: In the year since we’ve kinda been friends, he’s never needed anything but his art.

I didn’t reply straight away.

What does he want me to say?

Justin had been friends with Gil far longer than me these days. I’d entered Gil’s life and he’d promptly tried to shove me out of it. Why would I know his schedule?

Olin Moss: Sorry, Justin. I don’t know where he is. Wish I could be more help.

Justin Miller: No worries. It was a long shot. I’m just...jumping to conclusions. He’s a grown man. I’ll call him again tomorrow if I haven’t heard from him. Cheers.

I sighed, ready to lock my phone and return to work, but a final message popped up.

Justin Miller: I haven’t forgotten about dinner by the way. Let me know what night works and I’ll pick you up!

Shannon caught my eye from across two cubicles. She had another trainee who probably wasn’t on their phone like I was.

She waved and flounced over to me in her floaty skirt and cream blouse.

I quickly locked my phone and shoved it into the desk drawer.

“Hey, Olin. Everything going okay so far?”

I nodded. “Yes. Great.”

“Awesome.” She grinned. “Well, you know where I am if you need any help.”

“I do.” Turning to my computer, I placed my fingers on the keyboard, doing my best to seem a worthwhile employee and not one with her head full of things she shouldn’t be thinking about.

A head full of someone she shouldn’t be thinking about.

Another email chimed. Shannon looked at me expectantly.

I gritted my teeth, shoved Gil and Justin from my mind, and did my best to enjoy my new job.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Fifteen

______________________________

Olin

-The Present-

I KNOCKED.

It was the polite thing to do.

No crazy kidnapper lurked outside. No sounds of fists and curses came from inside. The normal, brisk Birmingham evening boasted typical background noises of pigeons and traffic.

My knock went unanswered.

My second knock was ignored too.

I looked at my phone. Nine p.m.

I’d taken longer than I wanted, what with a new job, going home to shower and change, I’d borrowed more time by eating a sandwich and gathering the courage to spend an entire night with Gil while he painted me.

I would admit I’d been weak. I’d dragged my heels, searching for strength.

I was late.

But Gil should be here.

Checking he hadn’t messaged me to postpone our arrangement, I put my phone away before I gave into the temptation to message Justin.

He might know where Gil was...or he might not. Either way, I didn’t want to enter a messaging flurry while standing on Gil’s doorstep in the dark.

Knocking again, I called, “Hello?”

Deep, dark silence.

“Gil?”

Nothing.

I tried the handle, expecting it to open.

It didn’t.

I paused, chewing my lip.

What do I do?

Go home? Wait?

What if Justin was right?

What if Gil wasn’t just missing...but taken?

My heart exploded into gear, taking that question and drowning me in terrible scenarios. Of him inside, beaten and bleeding. Of him in the van, tied up and gagged. Of him dying—

“Gil!”

Backing up, I studied the large brick warehouse. The Total Trickery graffiti didn’t hide any other entrances: no fire escape ladders, no back-alley sneak-ins. The only other way was the large roller door used for trucks reversing to empty and pick up supplies.

My thoughts grew evermore gruesome.

I didn’t stop to think. I didn’t tell myself to calm the hell down.

This was Gil.

This was important.

I’d handle his temper if he’d just changed his mind and didn’t want to paint me. I’d allow him to kick me out if he just wanted to forget I existed.

Those I could get over.

I could never get over failing him if any of the awful images my head turned out to be true.

My handbag slid off my shoulder as I ducked and tested the roller door.

It moved a fraction.

I froze.

I’d expected it to be padlocked to the ground, but either it wasn’t chained down or it was loose.

Dropping to my haunches, I squirreled my fingers under the metal and pulled. It screamed and squeaked, creeping slowly from the ground.

A large chain clanked by the pedestrian access, jangling in place and preventing the door from going any higher than a foot and a half.

It wasn’t exactly a method of welcome, but I’d never been afraid of unconventional entries. Gil had taught me the allure of going to places we weren’t supposed to be at night. The park, the local swimming pool, even the school.

We’d broken in one evening when my parents forgot I’d danced at the school hall as Beauty from a ballet rendition of Beauty and the Beast. They’d never turned up—even though I’d pinned their invitations to their pillows every night for a week.

I hadn’t even told Gil that I’d danced as Belle, too shy to tell him about the performance. But somehow, he’d found out and waited for me outside my house when I got home. No one was inside. Just him sitting on the stoop with his sad smile and knowing gaze.

I’d given him a shrug, fighting back tears. I’d wanted so badly for my mum and dad to watch me.

He’d looked at my dangling ballet slippers and my still-painted face and hugged me close. “You were amazing, owl. Absolutely spectacular.”

I pulled away, shock making my heart skip. “You saw?”

“I saw.”

“How?”

“I broke in.” He kissed my forehead, took my hand in his, and walked me all the way back to school. “I want to watch you again.” He brushed away the strands of hair that’d come loose from my bun. “Would you do that for me? Give me a private dance?”

I no longer needed my parents’ approval or smiles.

I only needed his.

I wanted to dance for him more than anything in the world.

“Yes.”

The minute I agreed, he climbed the storeroom behind the gym to the roof, jumped the distance to the main building, slipped through a skylight into the science lab, and made his way through dark and empty corridors to unlock the main door for me.

With a secretive smirk, he’d led me to the school hall, picked me up and placed me on the stage that still held the backdrop of a magical castle where a beast was trapped by a curse, then commanded I put my ballet slippers back on and dance.

To start with, I’d been so nervous I could barely walk, let alone dance.

Dance was my special place; my vulnerable place.

But his pride and affection soon became the music I needed to lose myself in my art.

I didn’t need other dancers.

I didn’t need the guy who played the Beast to hold me, spin me, throw me.

I only needed Gil as he held his breath, devoured me with his eyes, and after—when I breathed hard and my body hummed with an endorphin rush—he’d climbed the steps to join me on the stage. “I’ve watched you dance a thousand times, but this...you stole my heart, O.”

I’d thought he would kiss me.

I’d hoped he’d make love to me.

I believed he would have with the way his eyes glowed with love and pure desire etched his face.

I’d never known lust had a recognisable mask.

But it did.

Gil wore it that night.

Lust so deep and powerful, he didn’t have to touch me for my body to burn, my nipples to harden, my core to dampen.

With our eyes locked and starlight our only illumination, it was the best foreplay I’d ever had. The only foreplay. We were two teenagers desperate to become adults, hungry to share, not just our hearts, but everything else too.

The air sparked with electricity as he’d breathed my name. My hair prickled. My heart flurried. We stumbled into one another, only to scatter as a torch swung into the hall, and the grouchy voice of the groundskeeper complained about rats scurrying in the corners.

I shook my head, dispelling the memory. My body still sang from that night. My toes still pinched from my ballet slippers. My heart still ravenous to claim Gil’s.

Gil had always held such a raw power over me. I’d never gotten over what could’ve been between us because the almost-was was unbelievably special—the reality of it would’ve been our undoing.

Hurry.

I lay down on the ground and scooted under the door, dragging my handbag with me. The heavy metal clanged and banged as I let it fall to the floor, effectively announcing to every turpentine bottle and air compressor that a stranger had entered uninvited.

Find him.

Leaving my handbag by the door, I stood and brushed off dust and grime. “Gil?”

My voice echoed in the unfurnished area.

No response.

“Gil, are you okay?” I kicked off my high heels and jogged in my stockings toward his office. The air hung heavy and still as if trying to convince me no one was there. But something tugged me forward. The silence was a pretender because my skin prickled the way it did whenever I was in Gil’s company.

He’s here.

Somewhere.

His office was empty, the door slightly open as I pushed through and kept my shoulders braced. Even though I’d been in his home before, I couldn’t shed the sensation I wasn’t welcome.

“Hello?” My voice fell to a whisper as I entered his apartment.

Nothing.

No sounds, no smells, no Gil.

I stood by the couch, noticing the bottle of painkillers and the glass of water we’d shared.

The clutter hadn’t been moved.

Surely, he would’ve cleaned up after himself. His place seemed tidy. His warehouse was paint-speckled, but his equipment was clean and put away after use.

“Are you here, Gil?” I strode toward the bathroom. The longer I stayed, the more uncomfortable I became. What was I thinking breaking into his place? Why did I think I’d have better luck finding him over Justin who’d been part of his life for the past year?

Ego.

That’s what this is.

I thought I’d find him because there was something unexplainable between us. Because every word he gave me, no matter how harsh, begged me to keep coming back.

The rainforest mural glittered in the glow of a single lamp, this time I spied an owl on fern branches, a symbol of me—just like my tattoo was a symbol of him.

He’d never forgotten me. Never stopped wanting me.

“Gil?” My chest hurt as I turned, taking in the space.

A soft snick of a door opening behind me made me spin around at super speed.

My hand flew to my throat as Gil tripped out of one of the rooms hidden in the graffiti rainforest I’d just admired.

No lights illuminated behind him. I couldn’t see into the space he’d just vacated, but the faint whiff of strawberry followed him.

My insides tangled.

Strawberry.

Like in his bathroom yesterday.

I backed up as Gil turned around and closed the door. He locked it with a key that vanished into his pocket a moment later. He didn’t turn to face me; he didn’t show any sign of realising I was there.

Pressing his forehead against the door, his hand stayed glued to the handle as if he couldn’t face life outside the room.

My heart physically ached to touch him. To do something, anything, to eradicate the sorrow cloaking his shoulders.

I was trapped.

I’d found him, but I wasn’t meant to see this.

I wanted to vanish, but if I moved, he’d notice me.

I had no idea what to do, so I just stood there, blushing and afraid as he inhaled a shaky breath and turned slowly.

It took him longer to move than normal, his senses dulled and reactions compromised. His gaze fixated on a mostly empty vodka bottle on the kitchen countertop. He made to move toward it, his eyes hazy and body loose from drinking.

But then, he froze.

His head whipped to me, his lips pulling back in a snarl. “Olin.”

His eyes shot to the door behind him as if afraid of what I’d seen. “How shlong have you been standing...there?” His voice dripped with alcohol.

He swayed; his face shadowed with fury.

Out of everything that could’ve happened tonight, seeing Gil drunk was the hardest.

Not because I feared he’d be violent and a threat to my safety but because of the many moonlight conversations we’d had about his father’s drinking.

He’d been fiercely adamant he would never drink like him. The smell and taste of liquor repulsed him. He never wanted to ruin his life with a bottle.

Yet seven years later, he was slurring and swaying before me.

“Gil...what happened?”

He stumbled to the side, shaking his head as if trying to eradicate the drunkenness he swam in. “You’re not meant to be here.”

“You told me to come, remember? You were going to paint me.”

“Ah...” His eyes unfocused as something brutal and damaging cast over his features. His breath hitched in such a helpless way, tears confiscated my vision. “It’s too late.”

I rubbed at the liquid in my gaze. “What’s too late?”

“Everything.” His face tried to settle on furious but just kept melting back into grief. His jeans and grey hoodie were grass stained and muddy. An area by his elbow was torn while blood marked the neckline. Green, taupe, and black paint speckled his skin.

Needing to touch him. Crippling with the need to soothe, I dashed forward and wound my fingers with his.

I couldn’t not touch him. I couldn’t not care. “Gil...what’s going on? Where have you been? You’re hurt. You’re filthy.”

Yanking his fingers from mine, he groaned, “Get out.”

“I can’t.”

“Go.”

“I’m staying.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Leave.”

We’d had this conversation far too many times. I should honour his wishes. This was his place. There was no law about drinking alone.

But...

But.

“I’m not leaving. No matter what you say or do, I’m not going anywhere. Not while you’re like this.”

“Like what?” His eyes clung to mine, icy green winter.

Dirty.

Hurt.

“Drunk.”

“What I do or don’t do is none of your conshern.”

“It is when I know this isn’t you.”

“You don’t know me.” He stormed off, beelining for the kitchen as a thread of strawberry scent followed him, along with a trail of mud from his boots. “If you knew me, you’d run from me.” His voice thickened. “You should run. Please, God. Run.”

I balled my hands and chased. “I’m not running, Gil. I’m going to help you.”

“You can’t.”

“Let me try.”

He reached for the vodka bottle, but I beat him to it.

“Don’t.” I held it out of arm’s reach. “Alcohol can’t cure your problems.”

His face twisted. “But it can drown out the pain.”

“No,” I said sadly. “It only amplifies it when it wears off.”

“The reprieve is shworth it.” He swayed as he pounced on me, pressing me against the kitchen bench, trying to reach the bottle behind my back.

I sucked in a breath as the air crackled like it always did when we touched.

He stiffened.

The outside world vanished.

His focus slipped from the bottle to my lips in a heartbeat, imprisoning me in a different type of hell.

I stopped breathing as his gaze darkened, hiding any vulnerabilities and secrets, turning him into an angry, intoxicated stranger.

A stranger whose nostrils flared and hands landed on either side of my hips, trapping me all while his body pressed indecently into mine.

“Gil...”

“Don’t.” He shook his head fast, his lips twisting into a grimace.

I shivered as he ducked his head and nuzzled his nose against my neck. The way we fit together, the way he knew instinctually what made me come apart said we’d done this a thousand times. As if it was acceptable, normal, real.

The bottle clattered out of my fingers, banging against the tile and spilling its crystal liquor around our feet.

Gil didn’t stop.

His fingers dug into my hipbones, yanking me into him. His teeth grazed my neck, and the world erupted in fire.

I moaned as he bit me.

I melted as his tongue licked my neck and his hips thrust hard into mine.

“Fuck, O...” His tongue became his lips, kissing me, decorating me in nips and worship as he worked his way from my throat to my collarbone. I shuddered as he unsheathed his teeth and bit me harder, making me liquefy.

My hands landed in his hair, sinking deep.

He wasn’t the only one drunk.

Suddenly, my brain swam. My mind shut down. My very chemical makeup drugged me.

I should push him away and run.

I should remember what he did to me the last time I was here.

I should scream and tell him to stop.

I couldn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop what I’d fantasised about for so long. Even if it was the biggest mistake of my life.

His hands climbed my body—heavy and dangerous. His touch was not gentle or kind as he thumbed my nipples and captured my jaw in both hands.

Pulling away, he blinked with vodka-hazy eyes. “Tell me to stop.”

I licked my lips, begging for common sense to answer him, but only lust replied. “I can’t.”

He squeezed his eyes together, his face a tortured mask. “You should.”

I nodded in his imprisonment. “I should.”

“But...you won’t.” His eyes met mine again, misery and heartbreak mixing in the frosty green.

“No.” I struggled in his hold, arching my chin up, giving him every permission to kiss me.

My pulse pounded in my ears, matching the drumming of his in his neck. We stood there, snapping in chemistry and drowning in need, both of us desperate but so afraid.

There were things we should say. Rules we should discuss. Futures we should protect.

But with alcohol stealing his power and desire stealing mine, we were both ruined.

“Fuck,” he groaned. His mouth descended on mine. Swift and sudden, sharp and sinful.

My eyes snapped shut as our lips bruised each other, our bodies breakable things beneath the hunger quickly consuming us. We’d played a dangerous game when we were younger. We’d denied ourselves. We’d fallen in love and let life steal us apart without ever indulging.

We were about to pay the price of that war.

Gil wrapped a fist in my hair, yanking my head back, bending me into pain as he kissed me deep. His tongue broke my lips apart, plunging into my mouth, possessing me.