“What’s going on here?” she asks, rubbing my shoulders. “Seth?”
“It’s gonna be okay,” he says quietly. “He’ll be okay.”
Does he believe it? Will it work out?
“I’ll do it,” I tell him. “I’ll fucking do it. I’ll talk to a therapist.”
Cassie lets out a startled sound like a gasp and loops her arms around my neck, crossing them over my chest. “God, I love you,” she whispers in my ear. “I love you.”
Her words jolt me like tiny electric charges, dance inside my head like fireflies. If she means them… If she means it…
My breath sticks in my lungs. Does she realize how damaged I am? Will she still mean it when she does?
No matter. I let her warmth spread into me, her presence ground me, and nod to myself.
To get well, to be with her, I’d do anything. I’ll try anything.
Meeting a goddamn therapist seems like a small price to pay.
***
The party has grown loud and wild. Everyone is dancing, young and old and drunk, swirling colors that make me dizzy. I’m still a little unsteady, reeling from everything that’s happened today.
Seated in an armchair in the living room, amidst the chaos, I absently rub at the fine scar on my arm, and the memory flashes again before my eyes—the prison, the blade.
Me, fighting back.
I fought back. Cut him up. Busted up his face.
A savage smile curls my lips. It’s a weird thing, half-joyful, half-angry. If I did it once… I can do it again. I won’t roll over and let life fuck me up. I’ll keep rolling until I’m back on my feet.
“Dance with me?” Cassie asks, and I blink, because from getting back on my feet to dancing there’s a fairly big chasm.
“I can’t dance.”
She tugs on my hands. “I have an idea. Please?”
Can’t deny her anything. So even woozy, I let her pull me to my feet and lead me through the people.
“Where are we going?” I ask once it becomes clear we’re not joining the swaying bodies gathered around the dais.
Zane and Dakota are up there setting up microphones and chairs for a performance by DeathMoth, Dakota’s and Rafe’s punk rock group. The party is set to go on till morning, but I doubt I’ll be able to keep my damn eyes open. It’s been a rough couple of days and nights.
Looking at Cassie, though… Hell, I’d stay awake just for that, just to see her in that tiny dress, with those high heels that make her legs look endless, with that happy smile on her face and her hair swirling around her like sunlight from behind the clouds.
“Dance with me,” she says again, and I’m drawn to her like a moth to the flame. She pulls my hands, settles them on her hips, slides hers up my shoulders, and together we sway to the echo of the music from the other room. “This okay?”
I don’t reply. She’s gold and velvet and warm flesh, want and pleasure and leaping fire caught in my arms, pressed against my body. Her hair smells of burnt sugar, her skin of vanilla cream. I wanna lick her, bite her, and as nice as holding her like this might be, laying her down on a bed would be much better.
I’m hyper aware of her soft tits pressing into my chest, her pelvis sliding over my thickening cock as we turn slowly in a circle, snow falling outside the ceiling-high windows.
Every brush of her body against mine sends jolts of pleasure up my spine. She’s so damn sexy in her black dress, with her hair loose and those huge badass silver hoops hanging from her ears—and all the tension is gathering in my gut, in my balls, in my dick.
Another circle, more snowflakes tumbling down outside, and I’m so hard it hurts, and I know she feels it through the layers of our clothes. I gasp when she presses in closer, and then she lifts her face from my shoulder, her mouth seeking mine.
Oh fuck, yeah. Our mouths crush together, and she’s tearing at the buttons of my shirt just as I’m tugging on her dress, trying to pull it off her shoulders. Need it off, need her naked and under me right the hell now.
Loud laughter bursts out through the door, and the thrum of a guitar whines over the loudspeakers.