Page 16 of House of Clowns

If I wanted answers, I'd have to get him to trust me. Trust enough to open up the vault of truths he was hiding behind all his drunken stories. We all had secrets—some darker, some deeper—but I knew one thing: eventually, they would all claw their way out. And when they did, the truth wouldn't just come out quietly. It would tear through our lives, piece by brutal piece.

I slipped into the room, shutting the door softly behind me, the click of the lock loud in the quiet. With Bart and Chico still out, I had the space to myself, and for one brief moment, the silence was a weight I wasn't sure how to carry. I took a step forward toward the bed where she lay, her breathing steady and deep. I couldn't help it—my gaze followed curves outlined half-hidden beneath the blanket that had shifted just enough to reveal the line of her hip, the smooth stretch of her thigh. My shirt was draped over her, hiked just above her waist, and she held one arm over her chest, the other tucked beneath her head, her face peaceful.

My hand drifted to my side, my fingers twitching as I wrestled the urge to reach out. She looked like she belonged here, like I'd always known her this way, wrapped in my shirt, breathing my air. And the need simmering under my skin was almost painful, sharp in its intensity.

She's teasing me, even in her sleep.

The concentrated low of heat stirred every nerve, and I gritted my teeth, looking aside for a moment to gather myself. I turned back to the door, rechecking the lock, knowing it was just another excuse to stall what was wanted upstairs. Coming back to her side, I let my shirt slide from my shoulders; cool air grazed my skin.

I dabbled my fingers over her skin, wondering what she'd feel like, wondering if she liked soft touches or something rougher, something that'd leave a memory in her bones.

Do you like being touched?I thought, almost said to her as my hand hovered over the curve of her hip.

I let my fingers glide gently down her thigh, only skimming enough to feel the soft warmth of her skin. I stopped myself, lifting my hand away as I shook my head.

No,I told myself, but it was hard not to want more. The blanket fell further and revealed her back and shoulder, a vulnerable exposure of her body, and my fists knotted in the restraint I had to call.

Then she stirred; a soft murmur escaped her lips, and I turned, catching my breath.

"Hi," she said with a low, very sleepy voice as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Hi," I replied, my back still to her as I tried to drag every thought back that had run across my mind. I could feel her shift closer, and the warmth seeped into the space between us, it took every ounce of control not to turn and close that distance between us.

"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep," she whispered, her breath against the back of my neck. I could feel the tension coil tighter, the pull to reach out and claim her overwhelming. But I knew better. If I moved now—if I let the hunger take over—she'd think this was all I wanted, that this was why I'd saved her. I clenched my fists tighter, the faint sting of glass buried in my palm drawing me back to reality, a quick, grounding pain.

Her eyes dropped to my hand, her brow furrowing, and she reached out. "You're bleeding," she said softly, grasping my hand in hers. Her touch was soft and warm, but the second her fingers made contact with mine, something inside me urged me to pull away.

"It's okay," I muttered, trying not to let the favorable urge inside me to keep her hand there, to cling onto her touch just a little longer.

"It's not fine," she insisted, stepping closer, her expression softening as she caught my gaze. "Let me take care of it."

Her eyes locked with mine, those large, expressive orbs filling with warmth—a softness that cloaked a fierce side, one I knew could be merciless towards anyone who crossed her. But somehow, I was the lucky one to whom she seemed to care. Something inside me stirred at her look, a small spark, curiously even comforting. I leaned my head sideways, nodding toward the closet. "First aid kit's in the bottom drawer."

She walked across the room, and my eyes followed her. The way my shirt shifted over her frame as she moved made a hot pulse run through me. I turned away, trying to regain myself as she snatched up the kit and sat beside me on the bed, placing the box on the sheets.

"Can I?" she asked softly, her fingers already reaching for my hand.

I nodded, and she took my hand delicately, but at the same time firmly. I swallowed, feeling the warmth of her fingers as she started to pour alcohol over my cuts, sending this brief sting through my skin. Her face was inches from mine while she focused intently on leaning in with the tweezers to remove a shard of glass.

"This might hurt a bit," she said, her face close enough that I could make out flecks of gold in her eyes looking up at me. I didn't flinch, just felt my pulse thudding evenly. Then she drew out the first shard, and her fingers touched mine as she readied to reach for another shard.

One stray strand had kept working its way out from behind her ear to tickle her face as she worked, and she kept pushing it back with just this little sigh of annoyance. And the second time, when it fell again, and the third, and the fourth—but the fifth time, I couldn't help it. She was just… so adorable.

I didn't think, just lifted my free hand, my thumb brushing against her chin to angle her face up toward me.

I gently tucked the rogue strand behind her ear, my fingers lingering near her cheek. Her eyes locked onto mine, and at that exact moment, the world faded into the silence between us. All instincts yelled in my head to pull away, to keep the boundary I'd set between them and me. But my heart had other plans, and I found myself thinking,screw it.

I leaned in and closed the space between us, my lips finding hers in a soft, tentative kiss. She met me there, and all at once, that light, tiny spark roared into being, something all-consuming. Her lips parted, and our tongues danced together, exploring, tasting, moving as if we’d done this a thousand times before.

I tugged her closer, deepening the kiss, savoring each second of it until a smile tugged at the corner of her lips and broke us apart for a breath.

"I'm not sorry I did that," I muttered, clenching my jaw as I looked at her, anchoring into the now. "Just so you know."

She gave a soft, quiet chuckle. Her voice was still soft as her teeth bit into her lip. "I'm not sorry either."

She turned back to my hand then, her touch light as she cleaned the remaining wounds, dabbing the blood away with care. Finally, she wrapped my hand, the warmth of her touch lingering, even through the bandage.

"Am I all fixed up?" I asked, raising my hand playfully.

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