Page 74 of Forget Me Twice

But it’s me. It’sus.

I’mcertainly feeling allkindsof things.

Dark, possessive, monstrous things.

I blink. She’s gesturing to her head again. “I don’t really experience emotions like most other people.” Her arm flops back down to her side, almost dejectedly. “So the idea of kissing just feels…I don’t know…wrongto me.”

There’s something in the way she says that, though.

The idea of kissing.

“Wait. Are you tell me never kissed anyone?” A new emotion surges in, shoving aside the apprehension.

Sabine nods once, jaw clenched tight.

I can’t help it. I roll off her and onto one elbow with a howl of laughter. If only she fucking knew.

Wait ’til they hear this.

This is fuckingpriceless.

Of course, her face goes carefully blank again, all vulnerability wiped away. There’s only a slight crease left between her brow. “Why are you laughing at me?” She demands firmly.

I can only shake my head. Wiping the corner of my eye, I say, “Alright. We’ll work on that another day. But let me put my mouth on you now.Please.”

Her blue-gray eyes are locked on mine, pupils blown wide with a heady combo of the weed and her arousal. She watches hungrily as I start to slither down her body, not moving to stop me at all.

Before I can finish settling myself between her legs, however, she seems to change her mind. I hesitate, lingering, as she begins to sit up, forcing me back onto my haunches.

That fucking insecurity starts crowding back in again, looking to find a new stranglehold in my chest.

But Sabine doesn’t make me wait long. Fingers are suddenly spearing into my curls and she’s switching our positions, yanking my head at an angle and guiding me roughly onto the flat of my back. All the air in my lungs squeezes out as I hit the pillows.

Before I can even register the motion, she’s following me down and straddling me with a knee on either side of my head, giving me a breath-taking, unobstructed view of a lacy black thong.

Holy Christ.

For a moment, she just stares down at my face, features carefully schooled but eyes shining with unconcealed lust. If it wasn’t for her chest rising and falling, she could almost be a Greek statue of one of those wild forest Nymphs.

She still has a tight grip on my hair, and she jerks it viciously, tilting my chin back and making my scalp burn with the most delicious spike of pain. I hiss out, before tapering off into a moan.

Although in theory, I could easily flip her, I feel like my entire body is paralyzed. Somehow, the very idea that I’m here with her—under her, letting her take control, and completely at her mercy—it sends an intoxicating wash of calm over me.

Surrender.

“Hope you're hungry,” she purrs.

“Yes,” I breathe, my entire being lazer focusing into one pinpoint—the sight of her pussy floating above me.

“Good boy, that’s what I want to hear. Now get to work.”

Almost like my body no longer belongs to me, I watch with fascination as my hands slide up the outsides of her legs, lifting her skirt as I go. The rising hem starts to reveal a set of large, intricate tattoos on both her thighs and I hum in admiration.

One looks like the skull of a raven, or maybe a crow, and it’s surrounded by a bunch of wilting wildflowers.

The other has more rotting flowers flanking a set of chess pieces.

The Queen standing over a fallen King?

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