Page 83 of Darkest Deception

Touching.

His shoulder, too. His body is so close that I can smell his strong gardenia cologne. I can see the small tattoos that are creeping up his shirt collar, can feel the heat from his body seeping into mine.

My heart races at being so close to him in the dark, on the sofa, alone.

He could reach over, and his hand would be in my lap. He could rip the blanket off of me; he could kiss me and no one would notice.

He could—

I shut my eyes tightly.

What is going on with me today?

The movie starts, and everyone grows quiet. I don’t reply nor look at Helia beside me.

I force myself to keep my eyes on the TV when he shifts.

I don’t look at him when we reach forty minutes into the movie and a soft sigh falls from his lips. Lips I have kissed.

I don’t let my curiosity win when I feel his hand graze mine under the blanket on my thigh. My legs are crossed, touching his big, strong thigh next to me.

My heart spikes when I feel a feathery touch on my neck. Thinking it’s a trick of my mind, I don’t look over.

My stomach dips when I feel it again, as if he’s brushing a strand of my hair away from my neck.

The girl in the movie is running through the woods, a hooded figure running after her with a knife in hand, and the music in the background is getting louder and louder. The girls in the room grab their blankets and cover the lower half of their faces.

But I’m not scared. I am too aware of what Helia is doing.

“I’m bored,” he whispers in my ear, his hot breath fanning my bare shoulder.

The girl in the movie trips.

The music grows louder, and my heart thunders.

“I’ve watched you all night long, Ambrose,” he continues, his lips softly skimming over my shoulder, making me suck in a sharp breath.

“You make me lose my mind.”

The killer reaches the girl with his knife, the music louder than ever.

“You make me a crazy, crazy man.”

The killer lifts his knife and slams it down on the girl.

And Helia’s lips kiss my throbbing pulse. I gasp along with others in the room, though not for the same reason.

Helia grazes my shoulder with his teeth, licking and nibbling at the skin there, and I don’t do anything to stop him. My hands tightly fist the blanket on my lap, my eyes on everyone else while they watch the scene intently.

“Helia,” I whisper, pushing at his chest softly.

A pulse throbs between my legs.

He lets go, his eyes hooded. The light from the TV illuminates his face, revealing lust, desire. His eyes hold mine, and I have a hard time looking away.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I murmur.

He drops his head back against the sofa, jaw tense, looking up at the ceiling while I watch him.

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