Page 23 of Moth to a Flame

As I cross the street on foot on my way to Everglow Repairs, I ignore the alarm bells going off in my head. With my hands shoved into my jeans pockets, I tell myself nothing will happen to her. I’m in control. And she…She’s mine.

“Sorry.” A guy half my size in a flannel shirt bumps his shoulder into me.

I brush it off. He hasn’t noticed me while he’s been on his phone, and I’m not in a fighting mood. I’m in the mood for Regan.

Getting my hands on her, punishing her for being such a temptation. Showing her I’m the only one who can give her therape fantasy she’s looking for while making her come so. Many. Times.

These cravings are so strong that I had to cancel all my meetings for the day. Legal, R&D, marketing. They’ll wait for tomorrow.

Being here is more important.

Being here is all I could think of since I touched her last night. She hasn’t left my head as I drove back home. As I forced myself through this torture of walking on the beach and getting sand on my jeans this morning.

Mine.

The word is a whisper. It’s a promise.

A warning.

Twenty feet from their store is where I stop, staring at the black and white sign that saysEverglow Repairs.

My blood is hot in my veins. The long, black T-shirt I’m wearing is stifling.

A reminder of how wrong it is of me to be here.

This is the last chance I have to leave here.

Leave her.

I run a hand through my hair, bite my bottom lip, and curse. I don’t care that I look tormented out in the open. Don’t give a fuck what a street full of people makes of me.

They have no idea how tortured I truly am. What a grave mistake I’m about to make.

Too late now.

I’m at Regan’s storefront before I can do anything about it.

Fuck. Me.

The sight of her behind the counter is a punch to the gut. A blow to the chest.

Yesterday, while I was watching her back as she walked Mojo, I got hard. My heart delivered blow after blow to my ribs.

Today, my body’s reaction is far more visceral. I’m brimming with the need to have my hand around her neck. Make a fist in the hair she wears loose in thick waves down her shoulders.

I want to tear her long-sleeved T-shirt right down the middle and claim what’s mine.

Hold her. Kiss her. Touch her. Fuck her.

Not kill her. Never kill her.

She’ll stay with me, alive. I’ve got this. I’ve…

I don’t have any fucking thing.

I realize that when she picks her head up from the laptop on the counter. She still wears the concentrated expression as she looks up.

A second doesn’t pass before she realizes it’s me.

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