Page 73 of Tell Me Why
Damn.How is it possible for Christian to make me feel this way about him? I hate him, but then again, I don’t. And I’m starting to trust him, which is something I never thought I’d say. Not in a million years…
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
Eve
I’m sittingcross-legged on the bed, my psychology textbook spread open in front of me as I try to hammer definitions into my brain, when the door abruptly swings open.
I glance up, blinking away the study haze I’ve been in, and notice it’s dusk outside. How long have I been doing this? Straightening, I stretch, and my back screams in protest, stiff from being hunched over my book for hours.
“There’s a ceremony tonight,” Christian says, his tone lazy, casual.
My heart stutters to a halt, and dread sinks like a stone in my stomach. This is the thing Skye mentioned earlier. I can’t let on that I’ve been talking to Skye, so I blink at him, surprised.
“A ceremony?” I shut my textbook with more force than necessary, suddenly aware of how small I feel in this enormous bed—hisbed. “For what?”
He circles around to my side of the bed, each step dripping with authority. Goddamn, the way this guy moves—confidence in every subtle movement—it makes me wonder if he’s ever questioned himself. Ever. Or, in his mind, is self-doubt just something that happens to other people?
“Come with me,” he says, his voice dropping to that register that makes my thighs automatically clench. For once, it’s not a command, but an invitation.
“I’m tired,” I say, even as adrenaline spikes through me. Part of me wants to go—to learn the Burning Crown’s secrets, to be close to him—but this is myonechance to find that office while everyone is distracted.
With the tip of his finger, he traces my jawline, his touch light. Gentle. One part of me wants to lean into it, while the other part wants to pull away. It’s exhausting.
“I’d like you there,” he says, pushing off the bed post.
Something in his voice shifts—less command, more request—which is weird for him, and somehow more dangerous. It’s so much easier to defy an order than it is to decline a polite request. But I have to.
“I have to study.”
He grabs my arm and tugs me against him with one fluid motion. My breath catches as my body collides with his, the heat of him seeping through my skin. I don’t try to pull away, because I already know I can’t. Or maybe—and this thought terrifies me more—I don’t want to.
“Why do you want me there?” I ask. “So you can parade me around like I’m your prize? No, thanks.”
A thick band of tension stretches between us as his eyes lock onto mine, searching for the truth I’m desperately trying to hide.
“This thing between you and me is more than that,” he says smoothly. I shake my head, and that makes him laugh. “Are you really going to deny the raw, messy, volatile energy between us, Little Fox?”
My throat tightens. Of course, I’ve felt the crazy energy between us—I’d have to be brain-dead not to—but admitting that to him feels too much like surrender, too much like giving him the last sliver of control I’ve been desperately clinging to since I arrived.
Scraping my teeth across my bottom lip, I glance away. My resistance to Christian is weakening by the second, and looking at his face will only make this harder to say. “There’s nothing between us, Christian.”
His lips stretch into a devious smile. “Have you already forgotten what happened downstairs on the pool table?”
“You’re hot and I hadn’t had sex in a while…” I shrug, braving a side-long glance at him. “So, yeah, it was a moment of weakness. Any cock could have gotten the job done.”
I can see the exact moment that last sentence lands, because his expression hardens. His jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare.
“You’re lying.” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper as he pulls me a fraction closer. “You know how I know?”
He dips his head, and my breath snags as he traces his warm lips along my neck, creating a path of goosebumps that erupt across my skin. “Because every time I touch you, your skin flushes.”
When he reaches my ear, his hot breath makes me shiver. “Your pulse races at the base of your throat…” His tongue snakes around my earlobe, and he bites down. My clit throbs. “Your bodyfuckingsingsfor me, Eve…” The way he growls my name is pure sin, like he’s claiming it. Like he’s claimingme.
My composure cracks, and a little moan escapes my throat. I hate that I’m literally proving him right, but masking my response to him is like trying to hold my breath—there’s only so much control I have before natural instincts kick in.
There’s still a microscopic flame of defiance buried deep down, though. I draw on it, twisting my head to the side, pulling my earlobe out of his mouth.
“Lust is a natural human mechanism,” I say, quoting one of my psychology textbooks. “It’s designed by nature to encourage reproduction and genetic propagation…” I turn to look at him dead in the eyes. “In other words, any animal can fuck, Christian.”
