Page 40 of Devilish Ink

“Ry, what’s wrong?”

The initial shock on his face had quickly worn off, now there was only concern. He moved toward me as if he were ready to scoop me into his arms, to comfort me, to soothe me.

That was not how I thought this would go. He was supposed to argue back, get defensive. To stab me back.

Not…this concern. This compassion.

No, I couldn’t let him get near me. I couldn’t let him touch me. I’d falter. I’d utterly fail in my attempt to push him away.

I stepped back. “Only my friends call me Ry.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

I stumbled. Guess I wasn’t as prepared as I thought. I forgot to keep my hands up.

“What? Then what—?”

“Let me be clear,” he said, his voice hard, his focus narrowed on me as he advanced like a determined opponent. “This will only ever bemorethan friends—”

“How presump—”

“Let me finish,” he said, his tone more biting than before.

I slammed into the back wall. I was trapped. I had nowhere left to go.

He stopped only when he was toe-to-toe with me, close enough to me to make my throat seize.

He invaded my senses, his masculine scent filling my lungs, his heat crowding me, even though he kept an inch between us, not touching me.

Every inch of my skin screamed for him to touch me.

“I understand you have trust issues. That’s okay,” he continued, his voice softening. “I don’t need you to get over them. But I’ll be here every week until you learn to trustme.”

His response caught me on the chin. Warmed me like blood on my tongue.

I found my chest rising and falling a little too rapidly. The cool demeanour slipping off me like a dress, pooling on the floor. Why is it that he could strip me of my defences so damn easily?

“So, no.” He spoke low, his tone managing to sound both dangerous and inviting. “I’m not here to be yourfriend. I’m here foryou. All of you; the best and worst of you.”

My heart squeezed.

No. What he was offering wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Broken dolls like me don’t get their fairytale ending.

I should have demanded that he leave. Told him I was getting on the first train out of the city. Pushed past him without a word even, leaving him with my cold shoulder as his last memory.

But inside there was a part of me that still believed in fairytales. That hoped, dreamed, that one day a prince would come and save me.

It was a stupid part of me that was going to get me hurt.

“Y-you barely know me,” I said.

“I bet I know you better than most already.” He shrugged his shoulder, the one where I’d laid myself bare on him in ink. Twice.

I laughed, nervously. He was so close to the truth it hurt.

“What you’re feeling…it’s not special,” I said, trying to brush off the tension, trying to regain some sort of control over this sparring match. “I see it all the time, in fact.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

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