Page 4 of Dark Wishes (Dark Contract #2)

Selena

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How can this huge house suddenly feel too small?

Jamison stands before me in his faded jeans, his black shirt stretching across his shoulders like a sail in the breeze. The way his hands hang by his hips belays casual comfort. Nothing in his stance says he’s ready to strike...

But my heart knows.

I push into the counter, the hard tile grinding along my spine. There’s nothing to grab for protection—nowhere to run. “Stop looking at me like that,” I whisper.

“Like what?” he muses, cocking his head.

“Like you’re about to bite me.”

His smirk is sharp; my body tenses, preparing to be sliced. “Is that what you imagine? My teeth on you?”

A tremble starts in my knees. I use the counter for balance. “That isn’t what I imagine.”

“But you do think about me doing something to you,” he says darkly. He shifts, a small step in my direction. “Is it something filthy? An act so perverted you’re afraid to say it out loud?”

“No,” I argue.

Another step. His shadow is all that touches me, but I breathe quicker, because it might as well be his hands. “Is it my fingers running through your hair? Or my palm on your throat?”

“That one,” I whimper. His eyes flash—he's electric, all raw heat and energy.

“You imagine...”

“I imagine you choking me.” I scowl, launching off the counter in his direction.

“When I think about you, it’s the horrible side that murdered a man.

Someone who can, and has threatened, to kill me!

” I shout the last words, causing the towel to unwind from my hair.

It tumbles to the kitchen floor, my damp, freshly blonde strands dangling against my jawline.

Jamison is poised like a statue; emotionless... steady. When he speaks, his voice is static along the vowels. “You think about my fingers on your neck... but not how I had them brushing against your pussy last night?”

My thighs brace together to control the rush of arousal. His blunt words are intoxicating. “Last night was nothing.”

“Really?” he growls.

“Yes,” I laugh, tossing my wet hair flippantly. “Do you think something like that would affect me? If you hadn’t mentioned it, I’d have forgotten about it.”

There’s a storm brewing in the center of his pupils. “It meant that little to you.”

“It was white noise.”

“I’ll have to do better this time.”

My heart swells until my ribs twinge painfully. “What?”

Jamison moves—this is the speed I saw in that hotel room. Quick as a fired arrow; I’m his target and he hits me like an expert marksman. Both his hands slip through my clumped hair, nails scraping my temples, the vibrations going into my brain.

In a single motion his lips capture mine. My body goes into shock; I’m frozen as his mouth explores mine. Warm lips, hard teeth, he kisses me with intention.

He hated what I said about him being forgettable.

This kiss is to prove a point...

That I’m a fucking liar.

Turning my head, he angles his mouth. His tongue dances over my canines... he nips my bottom lip. “Oh,” I whimper. Hot tingles smother my urge to fight him off. A single kiss has my clit pulsing. I’m in danger—and I don’t want to escape it.

You must, I urge myself. Come to your senses! You’re kissing a killer!

My eyes flutter shut as he traces a hand down my neck, then across my spine.

Jamison slips the tank-top out of my skirt until he can reach beneath to feel my bare skin.

He’s pulling me against his body eagerly.

I’m no different; my hips grind against the front of his jeans, bumping his obvious hard-on.

I keep my hands at my sides; touching him will be the end of me. But I can’t halt this without shoving him away. I have to act... being passive isn’t in my nature. Jamison is stealing the fight from my blood, replacing defiance with arousal.

His palm circles around my hip, lifting the last of my shirt high in the front. Like a fish swimming in a lake his hand travels under the fabric. Cool air brushes over my ribs; he’s forced my shirt over the top of my bra, exposing the tops of my breasts.

Jamison jams his shoe between my feet, forcing my legs apart. His knee presses solidly beneath my skirt. The pressure is directly on my panties... on my throbbing pussy... and I moan down his throat.

“There it is,” he whispers, breaking the kiss. I start to catch my breath but he dives back in. “That’s what I want to hear.” Another kiss; he cups my chin, holding me steady, gazing into my eyes. His are darkened by lust. “That’s the evidence.”

I turn away from him. “Evidence of what?”

“I know you want me, Selena. I know you want this.”

His knee grinds on my clit through my soaked underwear. I arch my back, gasping, and he swallows every noise I make. I’m feeding him with my wanton response. His cock is growing fat from feasting on me.

Focus... focus... I beg my useless brain.

“Slow down,” I pant. “We can’t do this.”

“Do what? Kiss? We already have.” His thumb pulls my bottom lip downward. “You think stopping now will change what we’ve done?”

“Yes... I mean—maybe. I don’t know.” I try to lean away, to create space to help me think. When I bend my back, it forces my hips into his again. The thump against my clit makes me see stars. “Fuck,” I whine.

“Sounds like we’re on the same page,” he growls.

“No, wait.” I splay a hand on his chest and give him a nudge. “We have to stop.”

Jamison raises his eyebrows; he sees right through my pathetic argument. But to his credit, he backs away, allowing me more air. I take the chance to breathe oxygen that isn’t mixed with his delirious scent. “You really don't want this?” he asks dubiously.

I nod my head.

His eyes narrow, his smirk crooked as a one-winged bat in flight. Bracing his hands on the counter on either side of me, he leans close, his lips just above my ear. “Think about this carefully, Selena. If we stop here, it’s over forever.”

“What are you talking about?” My heart is going wild.

“I won’t try to kiss you again... or...” He uses his leg to rub against my pussy.

Each scrape is maddening, the heat rising to a boil.

If he does this much longer I’ll come right here.

I won’t be able to control it. “Anything else,” he continues.

“Just cold, platonic, sanitized, for the rest of our time together.”

“That’s... fine,” I groan through my teeth. Jamison straightens up to stare at me. I hold his gaze, summoning all my ego—what's left of it—to disguise that I’m on the cusp of orgasm.

He slides his leg from under my skirt. The wet spot staining his jeans is as big as the dinner plates we ate off. I blush hotly, catching his smug smile before turning away. “I’m serious,” he says.

“So am I,” I shoot back. Fixing my shirt, then my skirt, I stomp towards my backpack on the chair by the table. I’m acting as normal as I can, but it’s a challenge. “We need a professional relationship. That’s all. Okay?”

He leans on the sink with his hands in his pockets, ankles crossed. “I hope you don’t regret this.”

“I won’t,” I scoff. Hoisting my backpack to my shoulder I look side to side. “I need to shower.”

“Up the stairs, back that way.”

Holding my head high, I climb the steps. It’s a miracle I don’t slip; my legs are quaking. The bathroom is to the right of the landing, and I hurry inside, locking the door behind me.

Holy fucking hell.

Bracing myself on the door I gape at the mirror over the sink. It’s my first look at myself since we bleached my hair. The blonde strands are wiry, frazzled, badly in need of some moisturizer. Scrunching my nails in my scalp I focus on how beet-red my face is. My shirt matches the color.

There are wrinkles in the damp parts of the cloth—he caused those when he yanked it out of my skirt.

Shivering, I let go of my hair, flexing my arms at my sides to get the tension out.

He kissed me. I freeze as a lightning bolt of desire spikes in my belly.

He was good at it. Why couldn’t he be terrible? Shit.

Telling him to back off was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Jamison’s casual threat about me regretting it hangs over my head like a guillotine. No, I scold myself, It’s fine. I did the right thing. Having sex with him... of all people... is the worst idea.

What I need to focus on is my ratty hair.

The bleach wasn’t kind to it, though it did the job of removing the pink.

Eyeing the blue ceramic tiles lining the shower, cataloging his selection of toiletries, I sigh, then step back into the hall.

“Jamison,” I call, descending the stairs. “I need something.”

He’s waiting for me at the foot of the stairs. The look he gives me brings me up short. “Need?” he teases. His implication isn’t subtle.

“Not like that,” I mutter. “I need to get something for my hair. It’s damaged from the bleach. Is there a pharmacy nearby?”

“Can’t that wait until the morning?”

“It won’t take long.”

“It’s getting late,” he says crisply.

“No it isn’t,” I laugh, lifting my eyebrows. Pulling out my phone from my skirt pocket I check the time. “Barely after seven.” Navigating to my map app I spot a Walgreens three blocks away. “There’s one right at the base of the road we took to get here.”

Jamison climbs a step, his hand clenching the banister. “It’s a steep, twisting road. You complained the whole drive up; you don’t want to walk that.”

“I could use the fresh air and exercise. I’ve been stuck in cars and tiny buildings with you for almost two days.” As I talk, I catch his eyes narrowing. “Why are you acting weird?” I ask.

His hand falls from the banister, tucking behind his back. Now he looks... guilty. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“There’s no need,” I say, stepping down until I’m at his eye level on the stair above him. “Your neighborhood is like something out of a Hallmark movie. Unless you’re still paranoid I’ll vanish into the night? Bring the cops down on you?”

He turns away, walking stiffly around a corner. “Let’s get this over with.”

I quickly grab my backpack and chase him to the other side of the house.

The front door is a large, solid rectangle with a small device near the hinge; a ring camera.

On both sides of the door are large windows, but the curtains are drawn shut, blocking out the sun. Only the recessed lights are glowing.

Jamison rips a black, leather jacket off a hanger on the wall, similar to the one he left in the kitchen. He shoves his arms in the holes, glaring at me the whole time. “You’re sure this can’t wait until the morning?”

“I don’t know, ask me in a ruder tone and see what I say.” We eye each other, but it’s not a fair standoff, because he won’t tell me why we’re battling. “This not trusting me thing—”

“It’s not that,” he grumbles.

“Then what’s with the mood? Pouting because I said no more kissing?”

Ignoring my question, he crouches down by a small bookshelf near the coat rack. I don’t see what he does, but I think he’s grabbing something. Back on his feet he opens the front door and motions me to go through.

I debate getting the light cardigan out of my own from my backpack, but the weather outside is refreshing in a welcoming way.

The sun hasn’t set yet, just tinged the cloudless sky lavender and orange.

Jamison shuts the door behind us; I hear the lock turn.

“Follow me,” he says, hurrying down the pale grey sidewalk.