Page 41 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

“Dorian,” I say. “It’s just me. I want to talk.”

A moment passes. He doesn’t appear.

Frustration pricks me. “I know you’re here. Show yourself!”

I’m still turning to search the room, but I jerk to a stop as he appears. He’s suddenly standing in front of me, looking down from behind his mask. I step toward him, and he steps back. He folds all four arms over his chest and tilts his head toward the door behind me.

“Really?” I clench my jaw, teeth grinding in frustration. “I’m not leaving here until you explain what’s going on.” I step closer, and he steps back. I circle around him, forcing him to turn to watch me. As ifhe’sthe one who needs to be wary here. “Why are you avoiding me? Ezra and I are trying to help you—” His eyes flash behind the mask, and I pause. “What?Ezra?” He turns his head. “Has he done something?”

Dorian gives the tiniest shake of his head, like he loathes to admit it.

I sigh. Relieved, despite myself. “So you’re just…what?” I stop circling, one hand on my hip. “Are youjealousof him?”

With his head still turned away from me, I can see the hard line of Dorian’s jaw as he clenches it.

“You’re ridiculous,” I whisper. I feel ridiculous too, having a conversation out loud by myself, but when we’re this close, it’s like we don’t need to talk. “There’s nothing between me and Ezra.” Dorian turns back to me, rolls his eyes behind the mask. “Fine, there’s something, but we’re justfriends.”

His eyes darken.

“Iamallowed to have other friends.”

He is radiating silent fury. But when I step closer, he doesn’t retreat this time. I reach out and grab the front of his suit, digging my fingers into the fabric. Real,solidfabric bunched in my hand.

“But you and I are something different,” I say. “Something more. I remember enough to know that.” I search his eyes, so very dark behind the mask, his pupils huge and black and locked on me. All four hands clench like he’s physically holding himself back from touching me.

Why?

“Just tell me what’s going on,” I beg. “Tell me what to do.”

He reaches with one gloved hand to touch my face, but when I lean into the feather-soft contact, he pulls away. Another hand points at the door behind me.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” I say. The words taste familiar. “I’m not afraid of the MRF. I’m getting my powers back. And my memories.”

The lights flicker above us. A burst of static comes from the radio. I glance at it, and then back at Dorian—and his hands wrap around my throat. He forces me backward until I hit the wall, and leans in close, his mask brushing my nose.

“It’s not them you should be afraid of,” he whispers, his voice coming both from behind the mask and the radio, dark, distorted.

I smile, even with his gloved hands wrapped around my throat. I tilt my head back, surrendering to him.

“Are you trying to scare me away?” I ask. “It’s too late for that.”

His grip on me goes slack. I wrap my arms around him before he can pull away. He rears back, but I hold him close. After a second he gives in, shoulders slumping, mask resting against my forehead.

“My Dorian,” I murmur. He’s so warm and solid against me. I hadn’t realized until now how long it’s been since anyone touched me. I arch against him, pulling him closer, asking formore, more.

There is an answering desperation in his touch. One of his hands grips the back of my head in a possessive motion; two others slide down over my hips. The last still grips my throat, but it’s more of a caress than a threat.

“Dorian,” I say, lower this time, hoarse, a plea. I’m not sure what I’m asking for, but he seems to know.

He lifts me, carrying me to the table. In the mirror behind him, I see only the reflection of myself sitting on the edge with my legs spread and my dress rucked up around my waist. Mortified, I move to close them, but Dorian is standing between them, making it impossible.

This isn’t what I came here for. There is so much I need to talk to him about, to understand why he’s acting like this, to form a plan to help him escape. But…he is so close, and I’ve missed this so very much.

“We shouldn’t,” I whisper. But as Dorian leans closer, I tilt my head back, lips parting, opening myself to him.

Dorian lifts his mask just enough that he can kiss me. It’s hesitant at first, but when I kiss back, he grips me harder, kisses me more deeply. Urgently.

“My Dorian,” I say again, my fingers digging into the muscles of his back. He groans at the sound of his name in my mouth and kisses me again, his tongue moving against mine. Two of his hands caress my breasts while the other two slide up my thighs. My skin is hot and sensitive, each touch making me whimper. My power sizzles beneath my skin—and when Dorian kisses me again, it flows through me andintohim. His body feels harder, hotter, as he grinds against me.

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