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Getting nearly desperate, I nip at his bottom lip before sucking it into my mouth. His hands grip my waist in a tight hold, and for a moment, I think he almost pushes me away.

But then he breaks, his resolve shattering, and finally—finally—he feasts on my lips. Tasting me like he's licking ice cream out of a cone.

My hands dive into his hair, exploring the soft strands as his own bless my body with the same honor, slipping beneath the duvet and roaming my curves. His tongue battles against mine, creating a tornado of passion and a million pent-up emotions.

The duvet feels heavy and suffocating on my body, but when I try to wriggle loose, Zade traps me further. I yank away from him, and he follows, making escape futile when his lips are impossible to deny.

“Let me out,” I gasp between a nip of his teeth.

“We're not taking it past this, Addie,” he declares with finality.

“Why?” I breathe, and the logical part of me rallies against the stupid question. I should be relieved.

“Because the first time I fuck you, I want you to have all of me. Not just bits and pieces.” He takes a breath. “I’m not whole right now. And I can’t worship you when all I see is her.”

Reaching up, I trace his scar, and a breath shudders out of him in response.

“Okay,” I whisper. I get it. He’s suffering right now, and I’m only a temporary distraction. It doesn’t bother me when I know the girl occupying his mind is a little girl that is now dead. A death he blames himself for.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. But I just want you to know that it’s not your fault. The what ifs will plague you as long as you let them, Zade. But you need to remember all the girls that you did save. Don’t forget to remember them, too.”

He doesn’t deign me a verbal answer. Instead, he leans in and skates his lips across mine. I let him explore, our kiss much calmer. The burn is a low sizzle, bubbling beneath the surface but depleted of oxygen to allow it to grow.

Sex isn’t something either of us needs right now. He’s not in the right mindset, and I don’t know if I ever will be. This thing with Zade—it’s confusing.

And eventually, I’m going to have to put a stop to it.

Just not tonight.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I sigh when I see it’s my mother. Despite my brain screaming at me not to, I click the green button and slap the phone on my ear.

“Hey, Mom,” I greet, trying to keep my voice from betraying how I actually feel.

“Hello, honey. How are you doing?” she asks, her prim voice tightening my body into stone. It’s a trained reaction when passive aggressive insults are being slung my way most of the time.

“I’m good, just getting ready for the fair,” I answer, glancing over at Daya.

We’re in my room getting dressed, a heady sense of anticipation in the air.

Satan’s Affair is tonight, and we always have the best fucking time. I know tonight won’t be any different. I’ll finally have a night where my headspace isn’t filled with dangerous men and a murder gone cold.

Or maybe a particularly dangerous man I haven’t seen in a week.

“That haunted fair you go to every year?” she asks derisively. “I don’t understand why you like going to those things. I swear there’s a mental condition associated with finding enjoyment out of horror.” She mutters the last part, but not quiet enough for it to clearly transmit through the phone.

Pesky radio signals.

I roll my eyes. “Was there a reason you called, Mom?”

Daya snorts, and I shoot her a glare.

“Yes, I wanted to know what your plans are for Thanksgiving. I expect you and Daya will be visiting?”

I suppress the groan working its way up my throat. Daya and I are like a married couple and split holidays between our families.

She has a large family, and they’ve always welcomed me with open arms. Their get-togethers are loud with laughter and games, and I die of bliss every time I eat their food.

While my family is small and stiff. My mother has mean cooking skills, but she lacks the warmth and comfort, and I usually end up going to bed early and leave in the morning.