“I don’t feel anything for him,” I reply breathlessly.
He chuckles darkly. “Yet, you gave him your lips.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“But your red lipstick smeared on his cheek meanseverythingto me,” his tone dips into uncharted territory.
I swallow hard. “I’m sorry?” My brain is still replaying his explanation from before. I’m his salvation?Me? He’s a full-blownromantic addicted to me and I’m feeding into it. “But Dean, it’s you for me. Admitting it seems wrong because it’s a part of me. We don’t tell people when we have a working heart or if our lungs are functioning, so I kept it inside. Let these feelings fester and do their thing. But it started growing and growing and I’m pretty sure my heart doesn’t exist. All that’s there is whatever you’re made of replicating whatever a heart should be. Can’t you see?” I take his palm and press it to my chest. “This is more thanlike.”
My heart pounds beneath his hand.
Impossibly, his greens take on a darker tinge. “Sorry doesn’t cut it.”
“What will?”
A bright glare on a golden tube hits me in the eye.
My lipstick.
He undoes the cap, tucking it between his pinky and palm.
Dean grabs my chin, moving the lipstick closer to my face.
“These aremylips,” he says to himself. “Mineto look at.Mineto touch.Mineto kiss.”
My lips part for him.
Carefully, Dean traces the shape of my lips with the tube.
His breath mingles with mine. A dance of sorts. No cameras. No microphones. Just two people who’ve been walking on tiptoes around each other using truth as foreplay.
I grab his forearm.
“Do you forgive?—”
“Don’tmove,” hetsks.
He paints my lips in contradiction to how I coloured his tattoos.
With precision and patience.
Then leans his head back to look at it with a buzzing hum. He doesn’t smile, tucking my lipstick away. Dean unties my mask, lettingit fall to the ground next to his.
Whispering, “This doesn’t feel like we’re respecting my space.” I lift my head with a surrendering smile.
Dean stares down at my lips, holding my chin up with a knuckle. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip when he looks up. Not a single hint of green remains.
“Fuck your space, Nova.” Dean smears the lipstick.
Then, he pushes me against a wall and kisses me.
And all I can say is that yes, I’m his.
CHAPTER 28
Sunlight slips through the curtains.
A blush creeps up my cheeks at the memory ofus.
