Page 47 of Paper Thin Love

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant for food.” Why did I ask him that while his dick is exposed to me, and to make it worse, it’s level with my blabbering mouth?

“You’re the one who made it sexual,” he smirks. I feel my heart grow, then wither; it all happens so fast. In this moment, it feels like we’re just two somewhat innocent young adults twisting words playfully. I love that Dash gives me moments where I can escape. If only he’d allow more of those and not his mind games.

When will dealing with the devil feel normal?

Standing hastily, I pull his shorts up over his cast. I was at his dorm at 7:30 sharp, and I knowthis, along with his nightly showers, will be a new routine for me. Dash grabs a shirt and tugs it on over his head. I watch his muscles flex, and my sex tightens along with it.

“How long do you have this cast, anyway?”

Dash grabs the zipper of his shorts and zips it up. The sound feels like fingertips gliding over a sensitive spot of my flesh.“8 to 12 weeks. If I’m lucky, in a few weeks I can get a mobile brace. Then I have physical therapy.” The lightness in his eyes dims.“Counting down your days, Mila?”

Every time he speaks my name, my core clenches.“You,” I pause, then shake my head.

“Spit it out, Mila.”

I swallow.“You should milk it. That cast is keeping you safe. Once it’s off, you’re a target.”

“Worried about me?”

Yes.“No. I’m concerned about that favor you owe me.”

His smirk slowly falls like the curtain on a stage.“Let’s go get food. One more day before classes start. You can fill me in on what topics you’ve been learning here.” He grabs his crutch.

“Oh, I skip breakfast in the cafeteria. I have dance practice at 8:00.”

He shakes his head.“No.”

“It wasn’t a question, Dash.”

He squeezes the back of his neck.“You’re not skipping meals.”

“I had my protein bar and a handful of almonds in my room. I know I’m thin, but I also have to maintain my muscles. A dancer’s body is different from your expectations.” Okay, so maybe I am a little too thin. I do eat; I just dance every spare hour of the day away. On average, it’s over six hours a day. That burns a lot of calories.

He shrugs, his shoulders dropping as casually as the ebb and flow of the tide.“Don’t care. You have,” he looks at his phone,“twenty minutes, and you’ll come with me to eat actual food, not the regimen a squirrel desires.”

He’s giving me his fire alright. This time, it pisses me off.

“You men are impossible. You want a woman that’s thin, fit, with big tits and ass, yet eats like a truck driver.” I roll my eyes.“I’m thin, but I work hard on my body. I don’t starve myself, Dash. I dance every single hour away. That makes me lean, but if you’d care to look, I’m also strong. I have to be in order to live this life.”

His chin dips, casting a dark shadow over his eyes making the hazel in the center look molten.“I never said I wanted fake or a fantasy.”

“What do you want?” I cross my arms. Why do I care?

“Real. I want pleasure and pain. Faults and cracks. A bumpy ride is more adventurous than a smooth one, Mila.”

He strides to the door.“Oh, and I forgot,” he points his crutch to a large brown paper bag next to his desk,“that’s for you.”

“Me?”

“That’s what I said. Take it with you. I don’t like clutter.” His voice is laced with irritation, each word a sharp prick to my nerves.

“You got me a gift?”

“No.” He clears his throat, the tension in his body evident as his knuckles tighten on his crutch like a bowstring ready to snap.

With my hand on my hip, I retort,“You should be giving me gifts if you’re my pretend boyfriend.”

The way his throat moves as he swallows makes me squeeze my legs together, a forbidden warmth spreading through me. The thrill of playing with fire courses through my veins.

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