Page 50 of A Breath of Life
Seemingly satisfied, Diem hesitated by the door as though knowing he should go but was unable to convince himself.
“D, I’m fine.”
“Don’t leave the building.”
I stopped short of rolling my eyes.Don’t provoke a fight. Don’t provoke a fight.“I won’t.”
“Not even for coffee.”
I guffawed. “How am I supposed to last all day without a second coffee? I didn’t plan for this. I have needs.”
“I’m serious, Tallus. Do. Not. Leave. The building.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah. Fine. I hear you, but I feel the need to reiterate that I am not a helpless heroine, and you can’t tell me what to do.”
“Tallus.”
“I’ll stay put. I promise.”
The look in his eyes suggested he had more to say, but my tongue-tied boyfriend simply nodded. “Five thirty?”
“That’s what time I lock the door every night.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“It’s ingrained into my personality. I really can’t help it. Sarcasm is about all I have right now.”
He glared.
I forced a smile. “Yes, Diem. Five thirty. That is when I’m done working. I’ll wait out—”
“In here.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a brisk nod and no affection to be found, he left. The door slammed, but before I could let out a resigned breath—or a pterodactyl scream of frustration—he powered through it again and barreled toward me.
I startled at the abruptness of his advance and didn’t have time to find words before he grabbed my face between his oversized palms and kissed me with bruising force.
Diem backed me against the counter, lifting me with ease until I sat on top, and drew my legs around his waist. The possessive aggression turned me stupid, stealing oxygen, reasonable thought, and every remaining ounce of snark that had surfaced with his miserable attitude and demands.
When he finally let go, the look in his eyes made me fumble. Torment, fear, and something like desperation peered back.
He clung to my face like he couldn’t let go. With a raspy, “I’ll see you tonight,” he spun on his combat boots and vanished.
The door banged shut with a resoundingthunk.
It didn’t open again.
I stared at it for a solid five minutes, processing all that had happened over the past forty-eight hours. I couldn’t decide if I was angry, frustrated, or simply confused. When I regained control over my limbs, I jumped from the counter and retrieved my phone, hitting Connect on Memphis’s number.
He hadn’t responded to my earlier text, and I had a sinking suspicion it was his day off and he was still asleep, but I didn’t care. This crisis required immediate attention.
The line clicked, followed by a groggy, “Whoever this is, if you aren’t willing to come over and suck my cock, I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Eww. It’s me, and that’s not happening ever again.”
“Tallus?”
