Page 37 of Icing Hearts

Light emits as Tory takes a drag of his cigarette and holds the smoke. The flare of the burning end heats the palm of my hand, just to the cusp of pain, but I don’t pull away. When I trace the outline of his Cupid’s bow, Tory lets his chin go slack, lips gaping further.

It’s an invitation.

I accept, slowly moving my thumb past his lips, relishing the scrape of his teeth and the wet, hot of his tongue. Velvet smoke swirls past his mouth, twisting around my thumb as he releases his breath in soft pants.

Tory’s reaction overwhelms me.

He’s longing for this and enjoying it in some sort of tortured way.

I try to pull back, but his grip turns punishing as Tory lowers my palm and wraps my fingers around his neck. I drag my thumb down his lower lip as I go and find that it’s just as pillowy as I dreamed.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I’m absolutely certain anyone within a ten-mile radius can hear it. The bass from the music inside pulses all around me. Neon lights reflect off his cheekbones through the vast windows of his family’s mansion.

Tory wraps his own fingers around mine and applies pressure. I feel his Adam’s apple bob against my palm. His pulse throbs against my skin and I find that it rivals the hammering of my own heart.

“Do it. Hurt me,” he grits out, sounding just as angry as me. “I deserve it.”

“Why?”

“There’s a lot about me that you don’t know. For a long time, I’ve been convinced I couldn’t reveal certain…aspects to you.”

“Tell me now.”

Tory’s fingers are still wrapped around my wrist, and he uses the leverage to pull me into him. The cigarette gets tossed to the mulch beside the house and Tory wraps both hands around my waist. I brace myself against his chest. He turns his head away from me and releases that final stream of smoke. “Do you not realize that when you’re close, I am mere moments from spontaneous combustion?” Tory says, a secret spilled to the night, rather than me.

“That is not how it seems,” I tell the white t-shirt he wears under the flannel.

“Oh, please, inform me. How does it seem?” Tory whispers, tracing the edge of my ear as he smooths one of my tendrils back. I tremble at his proximity.

“Arctic.”

“You lie,” he hisses, voice thick with attitude. Faster than he attacked Henry Mavis, Tory spins me, pressing my back against the cold brick. He boxes me in against the house with his arms and lets out a gritty whisper. “How does it feel now?”

“Pretend,” I whisper, cursing my trembling lip. My eyes dart to my shoes, then up to his hips, inches from mine and growing more distant by the second. Fingers itching to hook into his belt loops and jerk him closer get clasped behind my back. I’ve had too much to drink. Everything feels fuzzier now that we’re out here. The streetlights have softer, broader glows, and the music takes on a sinister beat.

“Let’s get you back inside,” he says.

His impossibly long lashes flutter closed as he takes my hand and moves to kiss each of my fingertips with a featherlight brush of his lips. Then he drops my hand abruptly, and the moment is over. I twitch my fingers, scarcely believing they were just on Tory’s skin. On his teeth. His tongue.

But they were.

And he liked it.

And…he called me his girl.

One of his many secrets, I suppose.

Chapter 23

Clara

He didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I say the words over and over in my head. A broken record re-playing the same part of a song. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it.

I leave Tory at the door and head to the kitchen. A few minutes later, I’m tossing back my second shot and Vince grabs my hands. Anything to forget whatever just happened outside.

“Your little fingers are like icicles,” he tells me.

I smile when he puts my hands against each of his cheeks. He’s sweet, but something nags at me.

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