Page 49 of Burn

She sighs, releasing her weight back into my arms, and whines, “You’re never gonna fuck me.” The smallest smile plays on her lips, and I’ve waited what feels like a lifetime to see her smile at me, but I’m not in the joking mood. I press my fingers back into her neck, returning my eyes to the clock on the wall. It’s slowed and is closer to a normal rhythm. My mind swirls with all the ways I failed her by giving in when her hand touches my face, pulling it back to her.

“Look at me, Adrian.” Her tone is sweet; she’s placating me. “You didn’t do this. I’m a fucking adult who can make their own decisions. I made this choice.”

I swallow thickly; guilt is a bitter meal.

“You need a doctor, Lex,” I respond.

She scoffs at the suggestion, “Don’t be ridiculous. If sex were out of the question, they would have told me that when I was leaving the hospital.”

My tone is angrier than I mean it to be when I bark, “They said not to exert yourself!”

She laughs in response, coughing a little.

This girl is such a fucking brat.

“Adrian, you really did all the work there, and I don’t recall orgasms being on the ‘no list.’” That saccharine sweet laugh could start and end wars, because I want to scream, but I can’t. Not when she’s looking at me the way she is right now. When she tries to push herself up again, I wrap my arms around her tightly and push myself to my feet.

“Adrian, I’m not an invalid. Put. Me. Down!” she snaps, thrashing against my hold in a feeble attempt to free herself. The color returns to her cheeks as they flush with embarrassment. Now it’s me who chuckles, holding her even tighter until she stills and growls in indignation.

Her frame is so small against mine, light as a feather, as I move through the gym, collecting my water bottle, phone, and her shoes. We’re about halfway to the elevator when she rests her head on my chest, curling in against me, and fuck, nothing has ever felt moreright— even with fear clawing at my mind. Over the thrum of my heart, I listen intently to the sound of her breathing, looking for anything of concern, but she sounds clear and strong.

I’m about to suggest that she lie down when we get to my place, when I realize how even her breathing is. She’s fallen asleep on the short trip from the third floor. I pause just inside the door, taking a deep breath, and look down at her. Her face is relaxed, except for a slight crease between her brows; her lipsare slightly parted, and her lashes fan out against her flushed cheeks. I study the tattoos visible on her arms and hands. A small rose trails up the side of her hand toward her thumb. Up her left arm, there’s barely an inch of untouched, vibrant skin, and I’m curious what, if anything, they mean to her.

She stirs slightly, pulling me out of the trance. She sighs; her dreams clearly don’t haunt her the way mine do. I step into the bedroom and lower her onto my bed, and my arms physically ache from the absence of her weight in them.

You’re so fucking soft, Adrian.

Get it together.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I watch her sleep, and feel my self-loathing slither up my chest. All I want is to crawl into this bed and pull her body into mine. Keep her safe. It’s fucking pathetic. I’ve been gentle with women. I’ve seen how far it gets me. To a fucking jail, and I won’t put myself in that position again.

Bringing her here was a mistake.

Every protective instinct in me, the parts that want to bury my face in her neck, to offer her tenderness, wars with the urge to fucking destroy her, to own her, to break her piece by piece. I lick my lips, and she’s still there, lingering, sweet like honey, and it pushes me off the bed and out of the room, closing the door behind me.

My father’s words ring out in my head: “Ensure she knows exactly where she’s supposed to be.”The last piece of advice, the last words, my best friend said to me.

I walk to the couch, sinking into it, and look outside. The city is blanketed in darkness, and the usual noise of the day is gone. It’s late. I know I should sleep, but we didn’t discuss that arrangement, and I don’t trust myself to be that close to her,so I sprawl out on the couch, drifting into a restless, dreamless sleep.

It feels like minutes pass when a pounding on my door wakes me. I sit up, dropping my head into my hands and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. The sun shines through the balcony door, and it’s bright enough for me to know it’s mid-morning. I scan the space around me, locating my phone on the floor, and when I lift it to check the time, I see I have four missed calls: three from Ronan and one from Cally. Another round of banging, followed by the voices of my two best friends, has me on my feet.

I peer through the peephole. They’re talking and laughing, and when I see Ronan lift his fist to assault my door again, I reach for the handle and rip it open. They both look far too amused for this time of day, and my annoyed expression does nothing to change that as they both push their way inside, each slamming my shoulder as they pass.

“Please,” I deadpan. “Won’t you come in?”

Ronan’s laugh cuts through the silence of my apartment, “You’re too kind, sir. Got any fuckin’ coffee in this desolate place you currently call home?” He stalks over to the cupboards, pulling them open.

I shift my gaze toward the closed bedroom door, expecting her to walk out, but it stays shut. I’m still staring at it when I reply, “Nah, man. I don’t have any fuckin’ coffee. There’s a coffee shop on the next block. Why don’t you go there?”

Cally is the one to reply. His tone is playful. “But, we miss you, sugar. You haven’t returned any of our calls.”

“Yeah,” Ronan chimes in, slamming a cupboard closed. “You don’t call. You don’t write. Might give a girl the wrong impression.”

The sound pulls my attention back to them, and I snap, “Be a little louder, will you. Please.”

They both laugh. It’s too fucking loud. They’re going to wake her up. I’m about to lose it when Lex’s tiny alien hops up onto the counter next to Ronan. He rears back, a look of genuine horror and confusion on his face. “What, in the actual fuck, isthat?”

“Jesus Christ,” Cally balks. “Is it inside out?”

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