Page 46 of The Hand that Frays

Honeymoon, in full effect, as he called it.

Though he’d given me plenty of options for which historic sites that we could tour and what five-star restaurants he’d take me to, I’d chosen to go to the movies.

It’s mundane, but it’s something he and I haven’t done, something normal.

None of the reasons we’re here in London are normal. Lately, I long to feel like the Lyla I was before I crawled to a madman with his anti-psychotics on my tongue.

When the car stops, and Neo helps me out of the back seat, I take in the building’s outershell.

It looks old.

Neo pays the driver and taps the top of the car to see him off as I turn around and grin.

“Why have we come all this way? Is there something special about this particular theatre?” I ask him as he slides his hand into mine, entwining our fingers together.

He shrugs. “It’s been open since 1911, and it was rated at the top of the list when I Googled.”

I laugh, and he narrows his gaze.

Stifling the laugh with a hand over my face, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I thought you were going to go into specific detail. Something other than it was on Google.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have disappointed.”

We buy tickets for some film about a biker gang, but we don’t care about the movie itself. I want the experience.

Neo chooses seats in the very front row.

“How are we supposed to watch it without getting a headache?” I ask him.

“We’re not watching this movie,” he says, sipping his drink as he settles in and taps his lap.

I lift my brows.

“Sit, stupid girl. Don’t be shy.”

Looking around, I find only a handful of people in the theatre with us, and they’re rows away from where we are.

Because who the hell would want to sit this close?

I drop my cup into the cup holder beside his left hand, easing myself onto his lap.

His massive, tattooed hands come around me, tugging my dress up over my hips as he pulls me flush with his chest.

“Put your feet on either side of my thighs.”

I’m breathless as I listen.

The position is awkward and uncomfortable, but mycenter is thrumming as it’s exposed. The thought of someone seeing is causing a wicked thrill in my sick brain.

The lights dim, and the previews start as Neo snatches my panties to the side, opening me to the cold air of the theatre.

“Neo,” I breathe, looking around to ensure we’re still the only ones this close to the screen.

“Shut up, stupid girl.”

As a pang of embarrassment rushes me, I only get wetter.

“Someone could see,” I tell him, turning my face to look at him, but his other hand grabs the top of my head, turning my gaze back to the screen.

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