Page 46 of Bend & Break
It’s not sweet. I don’t think anything between us ever could be.
It’s hot, demanding, messy. Her fingers fist in my shirt before she can think better of it, and when she kisses me back, it’s with teeth. Her mouth opens under mine, asking me to take more.
I do.
My hand slides into her hair, the other to her hip, pulling her in so snug I can feel every shaky breath she releases. She gasps when I shift just enough to press her against the nearby set wall, and I can already tell it’s going to be a problem how much I like that sound.
When she finally pulls away, her lips are slick and bright pink, her eyes a little glassy. “If I don’t go now, I’m not going to.”
I release her reluctantly. “Go, then. You’ve got thirty seconds.”
She backs away slowly, eyes still locked on mine like she doesn’t quite trust me not to drag her back.
Honestly? She shouldn’t.
When she disappears behind a hanging plastic curtain, I exhale and press the heels of my hands to my eyes for dramatic effect.
Okay. Counting. That’s a thing I can do.
One.
I want to eat her alive. That’s fine. Totally manageable.
Two.
Why the fuck is every kiss with her the hottest kiss of my life, and why does the taste of cherry lip balm really do it for me?
Three.
Focus. Game. Objective. Find her. Then, maybe pin her against the nearest flat surface. Don’t beg.
Four.
Actually, maybe beg a little. Light begging. Tasteful begging.
Five.
Shit, how long has it been? I wasn’t looking at a clock, and I am probably counting too slowly. Should I just—no. No, I am not going to blow this by being impatient.
Six.
But also, what if she’s somewhere ridiculous, like crouched behind the fog machine, inhaling god knows what fumes, breathing heavy, flushed, and waiting for me to find her and?—
Seven.
Nope. I’m gonna combust.
Eight.
Okay, eight is enough.
I drop my hands, pull the mask back on, and step into the shadows to hunt her down.
I realize I barely gave her enough time to disappear into this cursed funhouse of props and splintered plywood.
I move slowly at first, footsteps light against the warehouse floor, scanning the shadows and wondering what kind of idiot lets himself get this worked up over a girl crouching in the dark. But it’s not just that she’s playing along with me. It’sher.
The first place I check is behind a stack of faux-gravestones, all chipped foam and flecking spray paint. There’s a mannequin arm peeking out, and for one deranged second, I think maybe she staged a fake body to throw me off. Wouldn’t put it past her. But there’s no Blake. Just the vague smell of dirt and spray adhesive.
