Smiling? I don’t need smiles. Certainly not ones like that while the wind tussles his hair around and blows his shirt up to reveal muscles and breadth. Fuck. No. Going. Back home to my brothers and a life that, whilst isn’t entirely real, is at least sane.
“Alice Marie Contreas.” Nodding at the words coming out of my mouth, I open the door behind me and edge towards the seat. They’re the only ones that make sense to me at the moment. They’re real and honest, they’re who I was before I had to hide. “I don’t know who you are Malachi. And this isn’t me. Here isn’t me. Maybe it’s you, and that’s fine if it is. I don’t know, but it isn’t me. I’m someone else and I can’t be this. I need sense, reasoning.” He’s in my space before I manage to get in, his hand slamming the door so I’ll I’ve got is leaning on the car’s cold frame.
I’m caged in, his arms planted either side of me.
“Move.” It’s such a pathetic tone coming out of me, even I don’t believe it.
I let the knife push into his chest, watch as he puts more pressure on the tip of it.
“No.” Fuck. Too close. “I don’t want you to leave.” The blade moves lower because of him closing in until it sits just under his ribcage. “Push Alice. Do it.”
My chin tips up, less than a foot of space between our mouths. “I could.”
“I know. Feel free to make a choice for me.”
I frown, confused with that line of thought coming out of him. I might not want to be here, but I don’t want him dead either. People like him shouldn’t die. I don’t think they should anyway. Either way, that’s isn’t up for discussion at the moment.
“It’s not your choice if I leave or don’t,” I snap. Kind of is, but I’ve got hope on my side that he honours what he said earlier. Doesn’t look like he’s moving, though. And damn my own mouth stuttering around wanting him to kiss me again. It’s hot all of a sudden, flames of fever running all over me instead of the air that was freezing.
“I think you should stay. At least until we’ve fucked properly.”
Well, at least I know we haven’t then. Or not fully apparently.
Sadly, my insides seem regretful of that fact, as does this feeling that will not fucking leave me no matter how freaky he is.
I rear back slightly, as much as the hard car will allow, and look at his softening features.
“You hurt me.”
“Yes. I said I would.”
No apology. No sense of remorse either. I guess, in this fucked up world, pills seem sensible for that, especially considering I can’t remember a damn thing about being on them. Maybe that’s how the women manage the pain underground here – by being completely off their face.
“Push the blade. Hurt me back if it’ll make you feel better.”
I look down briefly, unsure what I’m thinking about, or why I’m questioning anything. I can’t push this knife into him, not now. Not with this fever running through me again and his mouth so close.
And then that mouth is on mine again.
Surprise, disbelief, fear and adrenaline shoot all over me, my hand still clinging to the car. It doesn’t matter how still I try to be, how much I try to ignore the want. I’m failing at both. A moan escapes me, chin softening as he grabs the knife between us and pushes his weight on me. His tongue, lips, even scratch of stubble and masculinity consume me just as they did before. He’s all there is. Nothing around us. Nothing in my head but him and this closeness again.
His hands reach down, gripping my ass to pull me off the car and closer to him. It’s not fair. Not fair at all. I’m all in his hands with no want to get out of them. Years of fear and hiding seem to dissolve, some part of me letting him scoop me closer until I’m lost in a world of nothing but him.
And it goes on. More soft kisses. More solid arms and solid skin. It’s so intense that my whole body relaxes into it, gives in without wanting to escape it. I’m safe here. Held tight and wrapped up in something that keeps me together regardless of wanting to fall apart. Not real, though. Can’t be. And then his lips pull back, breaking just enough to give me air again.
“Stay, Alice. We’ll get lost together.” My brow furrows, eyes trained on his, as he moves backwards and holds the knife out to me. One step, two, until he’s almost back to the steps and still tempting me with every fucking step.
“You hurt me.” I’ve already said that. Why I’m saying it again is unknown. “I didn’t like it.”
“You’ll get used to it.” That’s just freaky. Like him. And why does he have to be so fucking attractive? It’s rude. And what sort of answer is that anyway? Get used to it? How about a simple apology and admission of regret? “You just have to focus. I’d like you to learn.”
Learn? He’s a fucking enigma. And I don’t even want to focus on him. I am doing, though. I’m so focused on him that I can feel my feet moving towards him rather than getting in this car like I should be doing. Why are they doing that?
I look down at them, rightly stunned at their audacity.
“Up, Alice.” What?
And then I’m looking at him again and he’s crooking his finger seductively. It’s a good move. I suppose it works on everything he plays with here, especially with that face and that ass and those legs that seem to float rather than walk.
