Page 74 of Warmer, Colder

Instead of ecstasy, I feel panic as her hand skates down my thighs, heading for those bows I don’t want to explain right now. Not in this moment when everything feels so right and like our stars have finally aligned. I use my considerably heavier weight to my advantage and flip us so I’m on top. Raising one arm above her head, I lean down for a kiss, capturing her sweet lips in mine and teasing her with my tongue. I love how she seeks out the piercing—one of the lasting reminders of my devotion to Aphrodite. I can’t help but wonder if she’d be proud.

But I don’t let myself get lost in the moment. Pulling back, I disentangle our fingers and allow mine to caress her leg, following the winding vine, and eventually stopping at the top of her thigh. “Your turn. What does this tattoo mean?”

Becca laughs nervously. “Nothing. It’s just pretty.”

“Fair.” I kiss her skin, attempting to chase away the embarrassment that has her pulling back into herself. I stroke my thumb over the four butterflies she has tattooed just above her inner elbow. “What about these?”

“We got them for my last birthday—my friends and me. The butterflies represent the four of us. We used to call ourselves the ‘core four’. I know it’s silly,” she laughs, embarrassed. “It was supposed to be symbolic of our enduring friendship. Butterflies have always been my favorite, and since it was my birthday, we thought it was fitting.” She sighs and looks away. “That was before our relationships became more complicated.”

Stroking the tattoo again, I resist the urge to refute her. Friendship isn’t something I really understand. It’s something I never got the chance to further explore after she was done withme. I couldn’t allow it. That kind of hurt is something you only need to experience once. I’ve heard from others that friendship breakups are some of the most life-changing, but what about when you’re in love with that friend? I’d never been willing to risk finding out whether it would be a pattern I would fall into. Although, I’d never felt anything remotely similar to the draw I have to Becca. Nothing has ever compared, not even close. She’s been my one and only. Maybe I’m not even capable of loving anyone else; I certainly never gave myself or another person the chance to find out. Doesn’t matter now.

I’ve only ever had eyes for Becca.

I’ve only ever had space in my heart for her.

There was always only one outcome—Becca was always going to be mine. But I can’t deny that there’s a spark of jealousy about Meg being permanently inked into her skin, while I’m not.

“Did you love her? Meg?” The resentful words escape me before I have the chance to bite them back or reshape them into something less sharp.

“As a friend, yes. As something more? No.” Becca rubs a hand over the cluster of tattoos. “She’s an amazing person. I just never thought of her that way. Never even crossed my mind until... until she confessed everything to me. I hated that I had to disappoint her.” Running a hand through her hair, she attempts to dispel the uncertainty that clings to her around the situation. “Does it even matter, now?”

Yes.“No.” I press my thumb between her lips, rolling it around her seeking tongue that winds around it, then bring it to my clit. “From now on, you’re mine.” The words trail off in a moan as she slides her hands up my thighs and pushes up my skirt, giving herself a better view. I want her to claim me as hers, too. But seeing her become more comfortable with touching me is a big step. “I don’t care if there was ever anyone else.” I suck the last syllables between my teeth with a hiss. “From here on out,you’re mine.” A groan escapes me with her responding squeeze. The craving for her to mimic the words turns my stomach, but my appetite for commitment is too big for where she’s at right now. Knowing that she wants me. That she’s willing to admit she wants mehasto be enough.

And yet, instinctively, my tattooed hand collars her slender throat, the thorns and roses perfectly encapsulating our dynamic. The look of surprise on her face is almost as satisfying as the way her hips press up into mine. Her body and mind always seem to be at war. I wonder if she has a preference. Would she accept my rougher tendencies? My grip firms, the metal of her necklaces digging into my skin. Her brows furrow over questioning eyes and she wraps her fingers around my wrist, stroking the side of it.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she says slowly, like she’s surprised by it.

“Good; I can’t give you soft. I don’t know soft.”

“Why not?” The question is light with curiosity as she continues to brush her thumb over my wrist.

“Nobody treats fat girls with softness.” My words become shallow. My chest scraped out hollow with unexpected vulnerability. “Softness meant digs and cuts and bruises.” She returns her hands to my legs, gliding them upward and moving in slow circles. The tender touch makes the words flow from my lips without thought. “Instead of getting ripped apart, I became hard, untouchable. Perfect hair, pretty makeup, the right clothing—my armor. Sharp tongue, intimidating persona, casual sex—my weapon. I was unfuckingbreakable.” I suck in a breath when she grips my love handles, her hands fitting just so. “But I was fake. At least until I found Aphrodite. She helped me find the real me.”

The truth of those words doesn’t register until sympathy rises in her eyes. Her gaze moves over me like a cold sweat and regretswells in my throat. I search for a way to retract that statement. To make myself seem just a bit less pathetic. But when Becca’s hands begin to rove over me, it’s a touch of feathers and silk that lulls me into stillness as I feel, soothing, worshipping, smooth palms and appreciative fingers exploring me. She works her way over every inch within reach—my shoulders, my arms, my sides, my ass—everywhere except the parts of me that most people would fixate on. I feel like a luxury being sipped slowly as she takes her sweet time kissing, sucking, licking, and tasting her way over my skin that’s becoming increasingly sensitive. Even without any purposely sexual stimulation, I’m dripping.

It’s impossible to know how much time has passed, but it’s been a while judging by the way my thighs burn as I hover over her lap. Everything she does drives my need higher and higher. The moment she touches my pussy, I’m going to come.

Her tongue is like velvet as it flicks lightly against my nipple, coaxing it to harden. Cashmere lips kiss the arching tip causing my back to strain and brush it across her mouth. When she refuses to take the bait, I slip a hand in her hair and thrust them forward. “Suck,” I demand as I cradle her head, but she’s rigid beneath my touch. My stomach is in my throat and chills skate down my spine as she remains silent and presses her fingers to the birthmark on my side, the one that’s usually tucked beneath my rolls in most positions.

“What is that?” The flat tone of Becca’s voice scares me. I didn’t know I could be afraid anymore; what’s worse than death?

“Becca—”

She jumps up, forcing me from her lap, and staggers back. Anger brackets her willowy body but she’s silent, her mouth covered with her fist.

Oh fuck. She knows.I was going to tell her just not like this.

Chapter 32

Becca

59 Days Dead

“Becca, listen to me.” Stasi stands slowly, moving quietly as if I might sprint away like a terrified rabbit. But I have no intention of running, I intend to get the answers I’m owed—as soon as I put my thoughts back together. I need a second to pick up the pieces of the shattered facade of safety she’d lulled me into—that we’d just instilled in each other.

“This whole time,” my voice cracks, “this whole time I thought that familiar feeling I had with you was telling me that this is right, that this is what I always needed, that webelonged together.” I scoff. I see now that that was a completely absurd notion. “But no, it’s just that you’re a liar. You tricked me,Anastasia.” I bite out her name, teeth tipped with poison that I hope attacks her sanity. Some of those comments Nate and his friends used to leave interrupt my train of thought.Such a naive little girl.Just a useless slut, only worth what’s between your legs.I clap my hands over my ears trying to shut out the voices that insist on playing on a loop.

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