Starlet: A Dark Retelling - Cora Kenborn Page 0,36

bottom lip. The distance between us erases until all that remains is a breath.

I close my eyes and count the seconds. Hating this. Wanting this.

Dominic’s nose dips into my hair, and I take a shuddering breath. “You’re drunk,” I mumble.

“Yeah, but you’re sober,” he whispers in my ear before pulling back. “So I’m not taking advantage of you. If you want me to stop, just get up and leave. But if you don’t”—standing, he swings his leg over my lounger and straddles it, his hand reaching for the button on my shorts—“just enjoy what I probably won’t remember in the morning.”

His twisted logic makes it so easy to justify. If he doesn’t remember, and I never speak of it, then technically, it never happened. While I rationalize a bad decision, Dominic takes my silence as confirmation and has not only undone the button on my shorts, but has pulled down the zipper and shoved his hand inside.

I gasp, throwing my head back as his finger slides in between my folds. “Fuck,” he groans. “Soaking wet, just like I imagined.”

His slow, torturous strokes are going to be the death of me. I know I’ll hate myself for this tomorrow, but right now, I don’t care. Moaning, I grab the back of the lounge chair, anchoring myself as I shift my hips, trying to force more.

“Greedy girl,” he growls, his hand diving deeper. He dips the tip of his index finger in my opening then pulls it out. “How bad do you want it?”

I hold my breath, both anxious and fearful of what he’s going to do to me. The wild look in his eyes is animalistic and primitive. Almost as if his goal is to break me. As his finger sinks into me, I close my eyes, moaning his name as a wave of heat consumes me.

Then a bright light flashes, and both the heat and his finger disappear. I blink just as Dominic swears and shifts back onto his chair, his fists clenched on his thighs. A wall slams over his face, and whatever moment existed between us is now gone.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, scrubbing a hand across his face.

Sorry? That’s it? That’s all he has to say?

My face burns with shame as I button my shorts. Things are so awkward I don’t know what to say or where to look. So, I concentrate on the hand covering his mouth.

I can’t take my eyes off it.

“What’s that?” I blurt out, pointing at the tattoo on top of his hand.

“Nothing.” But the sharp catch in his voice says otherwise.

Ignoring him, I tug on his wrist. “Let me see it.” Cradling his palm in mine, I run a finger across faded lines and foreign script. A jolt of electricity sizzles through me as grainy images flash through my mind. I trace the inked cross, swirling the tip of my finger around the words I don’t understand. “What does this mean?”

“Nothing anymore.”

He doesn’t offer any further explanation, and I don’t ask. Maybe Violet was right. Dominic has made a living out of playing people. Why would I be any different? Ever since he blew into my life, my brain feels like a giant puzzle with missing pieces.

“Angel, you okay?”

On edge, I drop his hand. “I’m fine.” We’ve gone around in circles since I walked out here, so I pull the trigger and go for a direct hit. “Why do you know so much about the Romanov murders?”

His face hardens. “Why do you ask so many questions?”

“Why do you keep deflecting?”

“I’m in the business of uncovering hidden truths, aren’t I?” he slurs, the whiskey hitting him harder. “What’s more hidden than an unsolved murder and a missing kid? Besides, detective work is a hobby of mine.”

I give him a side-eyed glance. “You carry around a picture of her. I’d say that’s more than a hobby.”

“Angel, I—” Dominic flinches as another quick succession of flashes goes off just over the green wall. His jaw clenches, his anger palpable. “Fucking parasites,” he grumbles under his breath while rising to his feet. He’s still drunk, but the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins dilutes the alcohol, making him more coherent.

Paparazzi.

I arch an eyebrow. “Aren’t you one of those fucking parasites?”

Grumbling out an intelligible response, he wraps a hand around my upper arm and drags me to my feet. “Inside, now.”

I want to protest, but his voice takes on that commanding tone that causes me to lose control of my common sense. As soon as we’re back