before I slide out of the booth on the opposite end, standing. He does the same, the dancer nowhere to be seen as we confront each other.
He’s over six feet tall and I’m not even five fucking four, but I’d rather face him on my feet than on my ass. “Force me? Don’t you think you’ve done enough of that?”
Hurt flashes in his eyes, and it stuns me. I expected him to snap back. Maybe even slap me. Fighting is what we do best.
But hurt? Pain?
All the fight seems to leave me, and my shoulders sag as I bow my head, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to see if someone can give us a ride back—”
He steps closer, brings a hand to my face again, but his touch is light. Soft. “Please don’t,” he whispers, his other hand coming up too as he cups my cheeks, brushing his thumbs over my lips. “I’m sorry, Sid, I just…” I watch his throat bob as he swallows, averts his gorgeous eyes for half a second before he’s looking at me again. “It’s hard,” he admits. “It’s hard being so close to you…but…”
But not being able to have me.
He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. I know what that’s like. It’s how I felt throughout my entire marriage to Lucifer, as short as it’s been. He was unreachable.
He became someone I couldn’t talk to.
Couldn’t even breathe around.
It’s not quite the same, what’s happening between Jeremiah and I, but I know what it’s like to feel alone even when you’re touching someone else. It’s like holding a ghost.
My heart hurts for him.
I bring a hand to his chest and his face softens with that touch.
“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer, forgetting the noise. The people here. The music. For a moment, it’s just me and him. His hands slide down to the sides of my throat, just holding me gently. “Thank you for…trying.”
With those words, I drop my hand from his chest and after a moment, his eyes searching mine, he lets me go too.
He looks down. “I’ll take you back.”
I open my mouth to object, wanting to be alone, away from him, but he adds, “I’m closing this place down. It’s nearly three,” before I can say anything else.
The drive home in his Mercedes is silent, Ria and Nicolas following behind us. Jeremiah glances my way a few times, but I drift off into an uneasy sleep until we arrive home and he carries me up the stairs and starts to pull my shirt over my head as he sets me on the bed, his fingers brushing my sides.
I lean away from him and his jaw clenches, his grip tight for a second, but then he lets go, stepping back.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him quietly.
He stares at me a long, long moment, and for a second, I worry he won’t leave.
But then he nods, walks out, shutting my door softly behind him.
After I grab the phone he bought me from my nightstand, I roll over in bed, exhausted. Only the soft glow of the nightlight on.
I send Ria a text, tell her I’m too tired for the hot tub. A second later, before I slide my phone under the pillow next to me, she responds.
Ria: Don’t let him suck the life from you. He doesn’t deserve you.
I wish I believed that, but as I set my phone down and roll onto my back, staring at the fan whirring high overhead in the dark, I think we might deserve each other.
I close my eyes, and don’t sleep. But I think about him, and it’s almost like dreaming.
“You want to fuck him, again, is that it? You didn’t get enough the first time he put a fucking belt around your throat?” I grab her arm, yanking her away from the door she just walked in through.
It’s still dark out, and she smells like him. Like fucking marijuana and leather and all the things she should never smell like again because… She’s. Fucking. Mine.
She puts her palms out, flat against my bare chest, and even though I’m fucking pissed and sometimes I think I really do hate her, her touch is electric. It ignites something in me, and I have to hold onto it. The anger. If I didn’t, I’d let her walk all over me.
I already have.
Not anymore.
Not after I just caught her in the middle of the fucking night walking back from Maverick’s house.