Page 35 of Undertow

“No way that’s true.”

“Oh, you know so much from our eight hours together?” I tease.

“I know if it was, you’d at least make up a good story.”

A shiver runs through me at how well she can read a part of me I’ve spent my life learning to hide.

I smile at her scolding. “What should the story be? What do you think it means?”

Her smile dims as she searches my face. “You’re the writer. You tell me.”

I look away. I don’t know how to lie this close to the truth. “Maybe it’s an alien lifeform breaking through my skin,” I joke to distract her, but she doesn’t take the bait.

Instead, her stare intensifies, probing deep for secrets I can’t reveal. Truth that can’t exist outside of a single hidden notebook.

I retreat behind my mental wall, but a sudden shift in the silence blocks any escape. I’ve stumbled upon a mind as deep and complex as my own. And it turns out she’s not the only one who finds that addictive.

Electricity buzzes through me when her gaze sinks to my lips. Her free hand lifts and presses over my heart in a bold appeal. Can she feel the tension of my pounding blood? She must. I see the invisible rush of hers, feel it in the heat of her palm.

Strategic kisses have smoldered into authentic desire, and I want—need—to taste her.

“I’d love to read your work,” she says, tracing the dark angel on my neck with morbid fascination. Her fingers mold over it, claiming it. Me. Her thumb rubs slow arcs along my jaw in a clear message.

I want you. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back.

“Maybe I’ll show you one day.” I add a smile to soften the blow.

Her eyes dim like she knows I’m lying.Hiding.But I don’t have a choice. My words are my soul. My true identity. The only place I’m real. I will never turn them over to someone else. I can’t. There will be nothing left of me.

“Why do I think you won’t?” she says quietly, searching my eyes. “Why do I think you’re going to crush me one day?”

I don’t know how to answer that. I could say the same, but we can’t afford a sentimental debate. Instinctively, I lean in to silence the voices in her head with the distraction I’m trained for.

Her sharp inhale shudders through me when our lips meet. Her grip tightens around my neck, dragging me deeper into the kiss. Searching. Demanding. I test her with my tongue, growing more confident when she parts her lips so I can invade her fully.

She clutches my shirt in a tight fist, the other still locked around my neck. I thread my fingers in her hair, reading everysound and movement of her starving body like a map that will drive her desire into desperation.

My tongue battles hers.

My fist tightens in her hair.

Learn what they want and offer just enough to trigger their lust.

This one likes being in control but also challenged. It will be a fine line to give her both.

I match her urgency, sucking, tugging, licking, until she’s on the verge of submission.

Her soft moan fires straight through me. I have her.

This is the script, when their hunger becomes a trap. When their essence opens up and they become mine.

Her mouth, her chest, her thighs, her entire being surrenders to my will as she adjusts to straddle me. I could incinerate her right now. How many times have I molded lust into whatever it needs to be to get what I want?

But in this moment, what I want is to be lost.

Tonotthink.

Tonotmanipulate.