Page 33 of Hold Me Under (Water, Air, Earth, Fire 1)

Ethan hesitates, hovering his hand over the selection of forks and spoons. “What do I use first?”

I click my tongue. “I thought you were prepared for this trip.”

“Very funny.” He picks up the dessert fork, studies the rest of the room uncertainly, and puts it back down. “Everyone else has started eating. Just tell me.”

“Did you. Fuck him. Or did he. Fuck—”

He buries his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ. He fucked me, ok?”

“Ah.” I sit back, tapping my finger against my chin. “There’s your problem.”

“What?” He shakes his head, then picks up the three forks and fans them out in front of me. “Which one?” It’s not hard, just fucking left to right, but he’s so easy to fluster.

“I never said I’d tell you.”

His jaw tightens. “No one will notice if I do it wrong.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You want me to beg?” The man’s need to be in control, to do thingscorrectly, is beyond anything I’ve ever seen.

I prop my chin on my hands and look up into his angry face. I drop my voice, soft in my chest. “There’s no reason for me not to help you. The answer’s on the tip of my tongue. I just don’t feel like it.” His tired eyes ignite as I smile at him. “How does that make you feel?”

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Yeah?” I study his lean face, all the little scars and weathering of working hard jobs in tough conditions.

“Someone needs to—” He cuts off, presses his lips together, but his expression is dangerous, something I’ve never seen on him.

“Needs to…what? Teach me to behave?”

I want him to crack. I want to hear him call me fucked up, a slutty little bitch, because that’s the language I understand. Because I can sense something in him, something he doesn’t even recognize himself, like the ripple of water before an earthquake—he’s built to take control, not offer it up. And maybe I’m doing this just to humiliate him, but deep down I want to know if being hurt by someone who hates you makes cleaner, sharper wounds than the hideous scars love leaves behind.

His eyes drop to my mouth as I smirk. “What would you do to me right now if all these people weren’t here?”

The answer is clear in his eyes, but he doesn’t speak. My body’s humming, because I only play games I already know I’m going to win. Under the tablecloth, I skim my hand over his thigh until my knuckles find it, a bulge forming in his slacks.

I remove my hand and wipe it on my napkin. “Like I said. There’s your problem.”

The fire in his eyes disappears in the space of a blink, and he slowly takes the salad fork I offer him, biting the inside of his cheek. If looks could wipe someone off the face of the earth, I’d be space dust now. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, it’s bullshit.” He stuffs some arugula in his mouth, no dressing, before starting on his cold soup. “And even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t make any difference.”

“Ok, honey.” I tip my chair back against the wall and rest my arm on the windowsill, sneaking my hand out into the clean salt breeze. I can feel the moisture in the air, clinging to my skin, calling me.

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