Page 36 of The Kiss Of Death
“I don’t see the same darkness,” I said. “Is it because you lied to me, or is it because you secretly enjoy this? Don’t tell me you’re into me?”
She pursed her lips together. “I can’t see any sane woman wanting to date you.”
“That’s because I attract the unhinged ones who have a penchant for trying to hit me.” I arched my brow. “Is your father aware of that naughty kink of yours?”
As soon as I wrapped my hand around her waist, my fingers pressing into her rib cage, her breathing turned uneven. I sensed her abdomen tensing beneath me. I was tempted to reach higher, to cup her breast, while feeling the pulse of her frightened heart, but I didn’t. Yet.
“Remember, you were the one kissing me, throwing yourself pathetically at my feet,” I whispered to her.
“Is that the excuse you’ll tell yourself when you abuse me against my consent? Because that’s your plan tonight, right?”
I didn’t like to use physical force to obtain what I wanted because physical touch with others repulsed me. But right now, it didn’t. She teased every fiber in me to be a brute. And that outcome, if I were to touch her, would be terrible.
“I’m offended, Dalia. I’ve been nothing but courteous with you. If I really was that low-grade pervert you portray me as, I would have already exposed your breasts, pinched your nipples, and treated you like my own slut. I’d have branded my broken doll with the red marks of my bites and kisses all over your chest.” My fingers reached higher on her rib cage, and she held her breath. “But maybe I should review my tactics? Maybe I should do filthy things you never ever dared to watch before? Maybe I should even take a picture of you, so submissive and—”
“I choose the drink,” she blurted out.
“Disappointing.” Of course she would pick the cowardly option instead of the truth. I pulled away from her, going back to my seat and discreetly adjusting my hardness in my trousers. “We have until midnight. Your alcohol tolerance won’t last until then. It’s not the wiser decision.”
She seized the whole bottle and served herself a drink. “Don’t pretend to care about me now. It’s your doing.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it won’t work.”
As soon as she drank it, she coughed. She didn’t seem like she could handle alcohol. If her strategy was to gain time, she wouldn’t last. Not that I should or would care about her well-being. Alcohol was a poison to this world. A brain killer. I’d stayed away from that shit since my mother’s funeral.
“Is this the first time you’ve ever drank?”
“Willingly, yes.” She was still coughing. “Dad never allowed me to drink, but Grandma sometimes spiced up her dishes with wine.”
I nodded. This whole rebellious act was against her daddy dearest and not directed at me. “How did your mother die?”
She poured herself another drink, spilling most of the liquid next to it. “You’ve got a morbid fascination, Levi.”
My jaw clenched. I shouldn’t have given her a choice, but she was sealing her fate. All she had to do was answer me, but she wanted to prove she was stronger, fighting me and her father by the same end.
“Probably because you’re the epitome of death, Dalia.”
Killing each of my neurons with those oversized green eyes. Haunting my sleepless nights since the day we met. Losing my sanity the moment I heard her music again. Everyone hated how fucking powerless death made them feel. Just like how she made me feel.
“Why was my mother so fond of you?”
“I don’t know,” she sulked; moody already.
“That’s not an answer.”
She took another drink, still coughing, with a disgusted grimace plastered on her face.
Then I asked another question.
She drank.
And again.
Again.
Again.Dammit.
I pinched my lips, crossing my arms. “I think you drank enough, don’t you?”
