Page 32 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

“That’s it, baby. Come for me. Soak my fingers,” Thatcher coos in my ear. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

For a split second, my vision turns white. The room spins as my toes curl into my mattress. I cling to Thatcher’s shoulders for dear life as I convulse around his hand. My teeth find themselves buried just above his collarbone in order to muffle my screams.

Every breath makes me shake, my orgasm ebbing through me like crashing waves, washing over me again and again, an endless ripple of bliss. My skin buzzes, humming with the aftershock.

He strokes my hair with soft pats, consoling my body until I’m pliant in his arms. I let him rest me on the bed, feeling the blanket being pulled up towards my neck.

I reach for him or try to reach for him, wanting to keep him close as the tidal waves slow. But exhaustion wraps me up and pulls me beneath the surface. I’m not even sure if I lift my arms before snuggling deeper into the comforter.

A shiver tickles my spine when I feel Thatcher’s lips graze my damp forehead. It’s a whisper of a kiss, and I want to reach out for him, pull him in and force him to stay in my room, but my eyelids grow heavy.

Darkness is quick to pull me into slumber, but just before it all fades to black, I hear his voice in my ears.

“I wish you’d stop me from hurting you, darling phantom,” he whispers, “because I cannot stop myself.”

WINTER ROSE

NINE

Thatcher

It’s my third shower today, and I can still feel her in my skin, crawling, rippling beneath the surface, and finding a home deep in my veins. I could blame it on the fact she’s a parasite of a woman that doesn’t want to leave anytime soon. But that would be a lie.

I don’t make it a habit of telling myself those.

I’d been the one to seek her out Saturday night. There were plenty of opportunities for me to leave. She hadn’t even noticed when I opened the door—it would have been easy for me to slip away back to my room unscathed.

But.

I couldn’tnottouch her.

Not when she looked so tormented, her face twisted in pain from frustration. The moon was her spotlight, the bed her stage, and she was a breathtaking performer. I stood no chance the moment I saw her. The nail in my coffin of control had been my name coming from those lips.

How could anyone walk away from that? From her?

Since she’d snuck quietly back into my life, I’d been at war with myself. A battle that left no winner and my insides shredded with confusion. But last night, I’d raised a white flag.

Maybe it’s the isolation, the lack of human contact, or maybe I’d just accepted that I am, in fact, weak for one dark-haired girl with eyes that tell stories of the dead. That someone had found a way inside, and I don’t want her to come out.

I can feel my father’s disappointment as if he somehow knew of my transgression. His voice lives in my head.

“How could you be so pathetic, Alexander? How could you be so weak? You’ve failed.”

But he hadn’t seen the way Lyra looked at me. Hadn’t been in that room, hadn’t smelled her skin or tasted her lips. I hate myself a little for giving in to it, but I would’ve hated not making her come more.

I’d wanted her and don’t yet feel guilty for indulging in that desire. Not when she feels like an angel to a touch-starved demon. I might have made it my entire life not needing to touch another person, but now that I’ve had her skin against mine, it feels painful to go without.

It’s Monday, and like a coward, I’ve hidden away in this room, avoiding her and the conversation I know she’s desperate to have with me. I’m hoping it’ll be easier for us to separate now that classes have started back.

My distance isn’t because I don’t want her.

It’s because I want her too much, and living in this house with her is hell.

I’m incapable of denying her. It’s easier just to avoid temptation when you’re not directly faced with it. I know the closer she gets to me, the more danger she will find herself in. I can’t focus on catching a killer if I’m constantly thinking about her safety.

*Buzz* *Buzz*

I walk towards the burner phone on the bed, rubbing a towel through my wet hair. The caller ID reads unknown, but I recognize the number immediately.

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