Page 60 of Irreversible

I glance down at the pages and make a face, scanning the chunky paragraphs filled with steely erections, aching cores, and quivering breasts.

Do breasts quiver?

“I don’t know.” Slapping the book shut, I toss it onto the mattress and lean back. “I don’t think it’s your cup of tea.”

“Mm. And how exactly do I take my tea?”

“With whisky or bourbon. These characters prefer their tea with a splash of warm, low-fat milk.”

I hear a low chuckle rumble through the wall. “How do you like your tea?”

Hesitation nips at me. I pull my feet up, moving into a cross-legged position while my head rests against the wall. My cheeks grow warm as I mull over a response. “Use your imagination.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

I’m positive he’s using his imagination, and the notion has my heart rate kicking up speed.

Am I flirting?

A stab of guilt clobbers me in the chest. My mind fills with Jasper. His gentle touches, tender embrace, the love seeping from every word, from each soft stroke of his hand. He cherished me. Adored me. And a dark, traitorous feeling still yearned for more.

How I’d giveanythingto be lying in his arms again, appreciating what I had while I had it.

“Tell me a story, Bee.”

Isaac’s voice is raspier, thick with implication, triggering a tingle to ignite deep in my belly. Something long-since dead, shriveled up and rotted.

“Bet you can do better than the vanilla adventures of Alessandra and Chadwick,” he adds.

Swallowing, I force a feigned huff. “I’m not talking dirty to you.”

“Wildly disappointing.”

His darker tone bleeds with a dash of teasing, but even that doesn’t erase the foreign feeling from thumping in my chest and tightening my stomach.

I hate it.

I embrace it.

“Fine.” I squeeze the skirt of my nightgown in two hands, blowing out a shaky breath. “There was this girl. Her name was…Chloe.”

“Describe her.”

Nervous energy filters through my veins, but not the harrowing kind. Not the anxiety that comes along with being here, listening to the screams and fearful moans that echo through these hallways and freeze my blood to black ice.

It’s different…it’s a flutter of anticipation.

“She’s known for her big hair,” I explain. “It’s a disaster most days, but she owns it. It’s not quite blond, but not brown, either. Dirty blond, I guess. All curls and waves spilling down her back. She’s petite, but strong. And her eyes are blue.”

“What kind of blue?”

“I don’t know…just blue.”

“So, she’s small, and she has not-brown but not-blond hair and just-blue eyes. Got it.”

“You make my descriptive abilities sound really subpar.”

A quiet beat, and I imagine him smiling. “Keep going.”

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