Strong Enough(40)

Suddenly, I actually look forward to my confinement. If no one will give me answers just yet, it will do me good to work off some of my frustration. And I get the feeling that there would be no better person to work it off with than Jasper.

He reaches for my hand, his long warm fingers wrapping around mine. It seems that my hand was designed to fit inside his, like my skin feels more alive against his than it’s ever been before. I can only imagine what it will feel like when more of our skin touches. All of our skin.

Heat floods me and I shiver again.

“I thought you said you weren’t cold,” he says.

I glance up to meet his darkly glistening eyes. “I’m not.”

He stops, turning to face me. The yellowish light from inside spills out across the porch and over one half of Jasper’s face leaving him half in shadow. He’s always half in shadow, difficult to see. Even more difficult to get to know.

His expression is intense, as always, but right now it’s even more so. He looks determined. Fiercely so. And hungry. Very, very hungry.

With his tiger eyes on mine, he sweeps his thumb over my palm. There’s just enough pressure, just enough of a rasp of his lightly calloused thumb to tear a small, breathy gasp from me. The sensation flows through me like a languid ribbon of lava. It oozes from my belly down into my core, heating me up and making my insides clench.

“We’re going to go slow, beautiful Muse. Would you like to know why?”

I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe? I’m outside in the cool, crisp air.

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to enjoy every sound, every breath, every squeeze that you make for me. I don’t want to miss even one. Then,” he says, bringing my fingers to his mouth, “I’m going to devour you. Like an animal.” As if to punctuate his words, he sinks his teeth into the tip of my index finger in one sharp pinch. The sensation lands between my legs like a delicious stab.

“I thought you didn’t bite,” I say, nothing else able to surface in my overcome mind.

“No, I said you’d have to ask nicely.”

“But I didn’t ask.”

“Yes, you did. You just didn’t use words.”

I feel the hot flick of his tongue before he releases my finger and pulls me up the steps behind him. I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

I’ve never wanted to be slain until now.





TWENTY


Jasper

Inside, I walk to the old cabinet that sits in the corner of the living room. It’s hip-high and has three doors along the front. It’s the only furniture I kept from the house that I grew up in. My mother loved the cabinet because she said my brother and I used to like to play in it when we were little. It was also my father’s favorite since he kept his liquor in it.

For me, the distressed piece of history holds memories that I can’t let myself forget. The happiness that my mother brought me. The pain that my father did. Now it holds a quilt that she made from pieces of T-shirts that Jeremy and I had outgrown, along with what remains of my dad’s alcohol stash.

Like the cabinet, I carry both of them around in me every day. Good and bad. Light and dark. Laughter and pure evil. I can’t escape either. But maybe one even more than the other.

I take out the bottle of vodka that’s been behind the creaky wooden door since I brought the cabinet here. I blow off the thin layer of dust coating the top.

“Wow, you must be a big drinker,” Muse says from behind me.

I’m studying the bottle as I turn toward her. “I can’t remember the last time I had a drink. In my profession, it’s important to be alert.”

“But not tonight?”

I raise my eyes to hers. “Oh no. I want to be alert tonight.”

“Then why are you getting that out?”

“For you. I’m hoping to loosen up your delicate sensibilities.”

“Ummm, I don’t really want to drink alone.”

“I’ll have a couple of drinks. Just enough to relax, but nowhere near enough to dull what comes next.”

I see her cheeks stain with pink. She’s a walking, talking contradiction, this one. Maybe that’s what I like most about her. I can’t always anticipate what she’ll say or how she’s going to act.

I grab two tumblers from behind another door in the cabinet and take them to the coffee table in front of the fireplace. I reach in the drawer of one of the end tables and pull out a deck of cards.

I pour an inch of vodka in each glass before I sit down on the floor and lean up against the couch. Muse kneels in front of the table across from me. The firelight flickers against the smooth cream of her skin and I commend myself on picking this spot. She’ll look incredible lying on the rug, spread out beneath me, wearing nothing except that soft, orange glow.