Page 38 of The Circus

A tremble begins to take root in my core and flare out through all of my limbs. Why does he have to look at me like that? And say such things? Especially because…he can’t really mean them, right? Bristling, I snap at him. “Don’t lie to me.”

He strides across the room, eating the distance between us in two steps, a voracious sneer on his lips that ignites something deadly in his eyes. Before I can even gasp, his long fingers have curled rather gently over my throat, and he walks us back until my shoulders hit the wall. Blinking up at him in utter shock, that mad glint in his eye slowly fades, hiding behind simmering annoyance. As though I just provoked the Antichrist, but something aboutmemade him back down.

“I’ll never lie to you, Eden. So remember that when I earn your secrets.”

Gulping against his palm, I can do nothing more than nod quickly. When he gets like this, the only thought in me is to obey. In my past, I would have done so out of fear, but with Teddy…I do it out of trust. After what happened the other night, where he protected me, where I knew he was willing to kill to keep me safe, it’s easy to trust him.

I’m free to fall, because he won’t let anything happen to me.

He smirks, eyes flicking between mine, the storm clouds departing in his gaze and the sun shining through. “I’d love to keep you pinned here all fucking night, until you begged for me to stop, but we’re on a tight schedule, little ghost. C’mon.”

Head positively spinning as he turns away and walks nonchalantly into his bathroom, it takes my body a minute to react to those wanton words. My tongue feels thick, unable to move, my legs are trembling, and my nipples are as hard as they’ve ever been. The electricity that precedes a devastating storm crackles through my veins, and I follow without a second thought, addicted to this man in a way that I seem to know stretches even the most subjective view of normal.

TWENTY-THREE

EDEN

Teddy standsbetween my dangling legs as I sit upon his bathroom counter. An array of makeup litters the clear spot on the other side of the sink, palettes of eyeshadow, all manner of tubes and sticks and brushes—all of which I never learned to use. Painted faces were for whores, my mother used to say. But she was so ugly, not even the most expensive shit would ever make her look better.

He pinches my hoodie, tugging it away from my body, and I glance down at it.

“What?”

“Do you have something easier to take off?”

My cheeks flame, and a strike of fear jolts my veins. He…wants to do this…now? He grins and chuckles. “No, goofball. Not like that. I just meant something that won’t mess up my masterpiece when I’m done.”

Even more confused, my brows pull together. “You…you’re doing my makeup?”

He smirks. “What? Don’t trust me?”

“No…just…surprised, I guess,” I mutter, slipping my arms through the sleeves.

“I helped make your dress, too, if you were wondering.”

I tug the hood over my head and peel my sweatshirt off, shivering on his counter in a plain black tank top. His eyes dance, but they never leave mine. Nervous, I fill the heavy silence. “Seems there’s a lot to learn about you.”

“Same goes to you,” he says with a raise of his brows, reaching over to sort through the different brushes, fingers deftly plucking skin-tinted moisturizer and a sponge from the surface.

“I…I was thinking…since tonight is going to be pretty, umm, intimate…maybe we should ask each other questions,” I suggest. I feel like we are doing this all backwards, having sex before we even know what the other person’s favorite color is. I’m hoping this helps stem some of my nerves regarding tonight.

Maybe it will make him seem less godlike, and more human, and therefore less intimidating.

He smiles gently. “Deal. I’ll even let you go first.”

“Favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes with a chuckle, but brushes the tendrils of loose hair off my cheek with the back of his knuckles. My eyes flutter, heart racing in ecstasy, and I have to force myself to focus on his answer. “Black, obviously. You?”

“Blue.”

He nods, blotting my cheek with the damp sponge. “Favorite flavor of ice cream?”

I smile, slowly kicking my feet to the beat of the metal music playing in the background. “Birthday cake. You?”

His smile is permanent, his eyes focused on his task, his breath minty as it fans across my face. “Coconut.”

“Weirdo,” I giggle. He laughs, pulling the sponge away.

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