Page 81 of Silent Schemes
I cross the space between us, slow and careful. “And I know you’re starting to feel the same about me.”
She snorts. “You’re insane.”
I take her jaw in my hand, thumb rough on her cheekbone. “Maybe. But you don’t love your father, and you don’t love this life, and if you’re here it’s because you want something else.”
She jerks away, backs into the counter, but there’s nowhere to run. “You’re full of shit.”
“Prove it.”
She’s still for a second.
Then she grabs my face and kisses me, open-mouthed, biting down hard enough to taste blood.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not even passion.
It’s need, pure and ugly.
I match her, hand on the back of her neck, pulling her in until we’re both gasping.
She breaks away first. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means everything,” I say.
She shoves me, hard, but not hard enough. “You’re going to get us both killed.”
I lean in, lips to her ear. “Probably. But at least it’ll be honest.”
She laughs, bitter. “You want me to choose.”
“Yes,” I say. “Me or your father. Life or death. Choose.”
She stares at me long enough, I think she’s going to lie. Then she nods, once.
“Fine.”
That’s all. No speech, no drama.
We fuck on the kitchen counter.
No knives, no blood.
Just heat and skin and the kind of desperation that leaves marks you can’t see.
She rakes my back, but it’s not about pain.
She lets her guard down for the first time and lets me touch her, really touch her, and when it’s over, she slumps against me, breathing hard.
We stay there, not speaking, her head on my shoulder.
The city gets brighter, the clouds burn away.
She starts crying.
At first it’s a little, then it’s everything.
I hold her, hands steady on her spine, and let it happen.
