Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“The devil,” I say in a hoarse voice, then gasp. “He disappeared and I hate it.”
“Is this about Lan?” She frowns. “He’s seriously bad news, Cecy. I thought you were over him by now.”
“Are you over Eli?”
She purses her lips. “In this house, we don’t speak of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”
I release a long breath and lie down. “I wish it was about Lan. The devil you know is better, right?”
“What the fuck type of drug did you inhale today?”
“Devilish?”
“I swear, you’ll be the death of me.” She makes me drink water, then tucks me in bed and even kisses my forehead like I do to her when she’s drunk out of her mind.
Ava and I only allow ourselves to be vulnerable in each other’s company.
Because that’s what best friends are for.
She remains by my side until she thinks I’ve fallen asleep.
As soon as she leaves, I open my eyes and stare at the mangas covering the ceiling.
After a few minutes, I pull out my phone.
I’m so going to regret this in the morning, but if I wait until I’m sober, I’ll never stop being a coward and will never do what I want.
To take risks.
To step out of my comfort zone.
I want that feeling of freedom again. I need to overflow with being both wrong and right at the same time.
After clicking on Lan’s profile, I pause, then type a DM.
I want to be chased and ambushed. In the dark. Where you can use me and no one knows.
He reads it. But no dots appear.
I stare at my screen for what seems like hours, but no reply comes.
So I flip my phone and groan when it falls on my face.
That’s why tears come out—because the hit hurts.
It’s not because of anything else.
I hide my eyes with my arms and this time force myself to fall asleep.
I dream of dark eyes following my every move, watching every step, and counting every breath.
They’re intense and ruthless and I don’t stand a chance in front of them.
It’s half a dream, half reality, because I know I’m lying in bed and drunk out of my mind with tears in my eyes.
But I still feel him.
He fills the room with his otherworldly presence as he watches me from the corner with enough tension to spike the heat in my veins.
I kick the blanket away and moan when it rubs against my soft flesh. I slide my hand beneath my shorts, under my knickers, then tease my swollen folds.
Soft moans slip out of me and I hide my face in the pillow to muffle them. The more I feel his eyes on me, the harder I tease my clit and the stronger I sense the pleasure building in my core.
When I’m getting close, I writhe in bed, my heart beating so loud, I’m surprised no one outside can hear.
A low tutting sound fills the room and I freeze, slowly opening my eyes.
They clash with gray ones. The devil’s eyes.
Who’s watching my every move from the corner.
“No wonder you like to be chased when you touch yourself this gently. How about I show you how it’s properly done, Lisichka?”
11
CECILY
My ears ring until I can’t hear my own breathing.
For a moment, I’m hanging in space, unable to concentrate on anything but these intense gray eyes that appeared in more nightmares than I can count.
And dreams.
Lots of filthy dreams that would make Remi the prude if he ever saw them.
Jeremy advances toward me with sure, long steps. He looks the same as when he used to stalk me.
A leather jacket, black jeans, and a scowl so deep, it could make a person confess to crimes they didn’t commit.
His sharp features are shadowed by the lack of light, making him look like a reaper, a devil in his natural habitat.
A devil whose whole punishing attention zeroes in on me.
A zipping sensation slashes through my trembling limbs, mirroring the one from when I ran through that forest and he caught me.
Slammed me down.
Ravaged me.
Made me scream.
My hand pauses on my folds, and I swear he can see it through the thin material of my underwear and shorts, because his attention slides to them.
He probably sees how my fingers tremble, giving away what I’m doing.
If I were doused with gasoline, I’d probably catch fire from his stare alone. Or glare. Or something in between.
There’s a mystic quality to the way he looks at me. It rushes through my aching insides and rips out parts of me I thought were long dead.
He stops by my bedside, arms crossed, and his thumb strokes his jacket in a controlled rhythm. Back. Forth.
Back and forth.
“Is this a dream?” I ask in a sluggish, and definitely drunk, voice.
“I don’t know. Do you think it is?” His low timbre reverberates in the room and stabs my ears.
I focus on our surroundings, on my ‘nerdy’ room, as Remi calls it, with books and manga posters covering the walls and the ceiling.