Page 45 of Paper Thin Love

Too bad it won’t last long.

He grabs a pair of boxers, then drops his towel. This time, however, he uses his hand to cup his sex.

He’s shielding it from me. Trying to make me more comfortable. Why is he trying to protect me?

I reach for the tape, my fingers gliding over his damp skin. The air thickens.“I’m sorry, this might hurt,” I whisper as I peel the tape off. If it does hurt, he shows no sign. I grab the boxers and touch his foot, guiding him to lift it slightly so I can get his boxers on. There is something intimate about grasping his leg and raising it. Guiding it. He allows me to control this entire moment, and all my stress, worries, and fears diminish.

I stand and swallow.“I’ll see you in the morning.”

He nods.“Give me your phone fast.”

“Why?”

He raises a brow, and I watch mesmerized as a droplet of water falls off it and rolls slowly down his sharp cheek. He really is so stunning.“I want you to have my number.”

Slowly, I get my phone and give it to him. The tips of our fingers touch; I feel his eyes look at my index finger, which I poked with the needle. He pauses at the wallpaper image on my phone.“I didn’t picture you as a Pollock fan. I thought you’d have a ballet shoe as your background.”

“You know Pollock?” I reply in surprise. I never thought Dash would know art.

“Everyone does, Mila. Being‘known’doesn’t make you special.”

“What does?” I ask.

What does Dash King find‘special’?

“Being exposed does,” his voice deepens, carrying a weight that demands my attention.“Stop trying to please others. Find an artist that truly speaks to your soul.” He clears his throat, his eyes locking onto mine with intensity.“And stop insulting my intelligence,” he adds, crossing his arms over his hard chest, his tone both challenging and commanding.

I snort.“I just figured you’d be more likely to know the names and works of serial killers than artists.”

He watches me, those cold blue eyes both haunting and thrilling me.“Oh, I know those too. But just because I can name a few killers doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate art.”

“Multifaceted, are we?” I tease, unable to hide my amusement. I forget who he is, and it feels like we’re just two young kids flirting.

“Don’t act so surprised. Nothing and no one is as they seem, Mila,” he says, smirking.

“Well, you’ll never cease to amaze me,” I admit, feeling a bit more relaxed.“Maybe next you’ll tell me you’re a secret chef.”

His smirk deepens.“Now that would be telling. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. My knife skills aren’t used on vegetables.” The lightness in his voice starts to vanish, and I’m back to remembering that we aren’t normal.

I grab the trash bag and tape we used and toss them in the trash. Then I pick up his towel and set it on his bed.“Sometimes I wish I could just be normal. Do you ever wish that, Dash?”

“Wishing is for people who hope, Mila. Hope isn’t taken or claimed; it’s often watched as it slips away. If I want something, I have to take it before someone else does.” His eyes find my lips, and instinctively I roll them in so he can’t pry them open with more replies.

He leans closer and hands my phone back to me.“I don’t think Pollock suits you.”

I grasp it, feeling the warmth from his touch.“Why?”

“He’s too generic, too popular. He’s not rare enough for someone like you. You don’t have to be conventional, Mila. Let your darkness shine.”

I let out a dry laugh.“Isn’t it supposed to be‘light,’not darkness?”

“We were never born with light, Mila. One day you’re going to have to accept that and stop wishing for an escape.”

There’s his cruelty again. It’s like we get close, glimpse inside each other, and then he pushes me ten feet back.

He shifts back to sit on his bed.“Text me when you get to your dorm. Make sure you lock the door.”

“Why?” I grip my phone tighter, suddenly feeling smaller, like an intruder in his space.

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