Page 51 of A Match Made in Hell
I want him to touch me.
My hand clamps over his, keeping it pressed against my leg. The warmth of his palm is a lightning strike to my every nerve ending, a welcome distraction from the burning in my throat. I try and shuffle closer without falling on him again. ‘But I like it here.’
He tries to pull his hand from mine, but I don’t let him.
‘Willow.’ His eyes darken. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I don’t know,’ I whisper, dragging his hand higher, until it reaches my knee. I just know this is a different kind of desperation to the one that had me climbing up here, and I don’t want it to end. ‘Is this so terrible?’
His thumb skims, just once, over my knee, a temporary indulgence before he tugs his hand from mine, more forcibly this time, and settles it safely in his lap. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing.’
‘Yes, I do.’ I pout.
‘Hm.’ His gaze drops lower, landing on the slit along my thigh, and then he clenches his fists. ‘You really should leave.’
That lock of hair has fallen over his eyes again. Before I can second-guess myself, I smooth it back, my touch lingering on the curve of his cheek. He gapes at me, shadows drifting off him in waves as I lean closer and murmur, ‘What if I don’t want to leave?’
‘Then I’ll offer you another drink.’ Despite his earlier protestations, his fingers dance around my ankle, teasing theidea he might touch me again. ‘And that would be bad.’
‘What if I want to be bad?’ My voice is raspy and hoarse. It sounds nothing like me. I don’t know what I’msaying. I only know the pounding in my head has returned, and my throat is parched, and I need something to cure all the aching parts of me.
‘In that case . . .’ Sath holds out a glass. ‘Drink.’
I stare at it. It’s everything I want. To quench the thirst, to lose control, to go down there and dance with everyone I can find, to dance withSath, if he’s willing, to see what happens when those fingers stop teasing and start doing; I spread my legs a little wider, and I have no idea if this is a good idea or not, but I’m not allowed to drink, I’m not, I’m not, and this seems like a suitable distraction, and –
Was that a chicken?
I saw feathers. A white tuft of fur atop someone’s head. Sath’s hand stills. ‘Willow?’
I swear it was a chicken.
‘I want nuggets,’ I mumble.
Sath pulls back. My skin feels cold.
‘Go,’ Sath says. ‘It’ll be over soon.’
I whip round to face him. ‘Can’t it be over now?’
I’m already gagging for another drink, for those nuggets, for Sath – I blink, and cross my legs. I am not gagging for anything where Sath is concerned. My breaths come out too fast and too uneven to be normal as I will him to declare the task completed.
He doesn’t.
‘You have two more hours.’ He jerks his head at the dance floor. ‘Go.’
And I’m dismissed, sent stumbling into the waiting crowd, my skin burning in every place he touched me and my thirst nowhere near abated.
A thirst I don’t think a dozen goblets of venom-laced wine could quench.
18
Time passes in bursts and fragments. The more I sweat, the thirstier I get, and the more I need to do to distract myself. I can barely see through the blinding lights, the stinging in my eyes, the crush of people surrounding me. There are hands everywhere. On me. Next to me. I can’t bring myself to care.
It was like this whenever I lost Sasha in a club and I had to find new friends for the night. They’d talk and I’d pretend to listen, feeling like the whole world was spinning round me while I stayed completely, utterly still, not knowing what direction to take.
All I ever wanted was for Noah to come and find me. To take me home and press a kiss to my forehead and tell me everything was going to be okay.
I want someone to tell me that now.
