Page 6 of Dark Wishes (Dark Contract #2)

Selena

––––––––

The long-awaited shower is heavenly. If I were staying with anyone but Jamison, I’d be terrified of the water bill I just created. I know he can afford it.

Staring at myself in the foggy mirror, I brush out my freshly toned and moisturized hair. There, no longer a field of parched hay. I’ve colored my hair multiple times—it comes with the territory if you like Cosplay—but it’s in good health. Valoria taught me how to keep from destroying it.

You always knew the coolest things, I think wistfully. Eyeing my reflection, I wonder what she’d say if she saw me now. ‘ In your PJs at a strange man’s house?’ Then she’d gasp dramatically and add, ‘ Scandalous. When can I come to the wedding?’

Blushing at my imaginative banter, I place my hairbrush on the edge of the white porcelain sink. I’m wearing the Anime convention tee she bought me; it hangs to just above my knees, hiding the blue basketball shorts underneath. Don’t worry, Valoria. I’m not going to do anything dumb.

The shower makes a sharp squeak that startles me. Whirling, I grip the front of my shirt, my heart thudding through the fabric. Just the pipes. You need to relax, I warn myself. I’ve been on edge since that mugger assaulted me. It was a quick encounter... but it left me deeply uneasy.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I wander down the hall and into the main bedroom Jamison pointed out to me when we returned.

He’d said it was where I’d be sleeping. I’d abandoned my backpack with my phone on the large bed.

It’s all I expect to find, so when I realize Jamison is standing by the single window, I stop short. “Oh!”

He squints at me suspiciously. “You’re very pale. If anything, the shower should have made you glow like a tomato.”

I cross my arms with a light frown. “That’s a weird way to ask what’s wrong.”

“Alright. What’s wrong?”

Shivering, I clutch my over-sized tee shirt closer. “I can’t stop thinking about that guy who tried to rob us.”

“It bothered you,” he notes calmly.

“Of course it did.” I shake my head, getting ready for what he might say and beating him to the punch. “I saw scarier stuff yesterday. This shouldn’t upset me, I get that, but it does. With Sanford, I was in control. I had a gun, he had nothing. It's different having someone threaten my life.”

“I’ve threatened you,” he says flatly.

My jaw clenches. “That’s different. I know you.”

He remains silent in the corner of the room.

I rub my upper arms, suddenly self-conscious about what I’ve admitted.

The gravity in the air is pushing me into the floor the longer this goes on.

“I meant, I know what to expect from you. Kind of. I guess I’m saying, I keep picturing him jumping at me from the darkness.

Now I’m panicking at every little noise in your house. ”

“You don’t need to worry about anyone breaking in.” Jamison moves towards me, lifting a pillow off the bed, holding it like a sign. “I’ll sleep beside you.”

My jaw pops open. “You’ll what?”

His fingers crush the pillow, then drop it to my feet. “I’ll be on the floor next to the bed. No one will be able to harm you with me at arm's length.”

Air rushes out of me in the form of a nervous laugh. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he says seriously.

“But you said you can’t sleep on a floor another night in a row. I don’t want to make you do this, Jamison.”

“You’re not making me do anything.”

“In a way, I am,” I mumble. Fluffing my freshly washed hair, I stare at the pillow on the dove-grey rug. “Okay. Okay. You can say no to this suggestion, but... what if you lie in your bed with me?”

His eyebrows cinch together over his nose. “You want us to sleep together?”

“Don’t put it like that,” I groan. How badly am I blushing? Can he tell? “That bed is pretty huge.”

“A California King,” he agrees.

“Right. Um. There’s enough space that we can keep from touching.”

He’s definitely smiling now. “I suppose.”

Crouching, I pick up the pillow, carrying it to the bed.

“You can lie here.” I place the pillow firmly on the edge of the side closest to the door.

“And I’ll sleep there.” Moving the opposite pillow as far over as I can without it falling off the mattress, I look to him for approval. “Once I pass out, you can leave.”

He holds up a hand. “I get it. I’ll be your guard dog. I’ll crash on the couch downstairs once I hear you snore.”

“I don't snore,” I say, leaning on the bed, not sure if I should stand or lie down. This guy throws off my whole perception of how to behave.

He makes a beeline for the light switch. “We should rest. It’s been a long day.”

“Sure. Okay.” Sitting on the bed with him watching me, I pull the covers loose, sliding underneath the silky material. It’s not too warm; his house has central air, which battles with the summer heat.

Once I’m lying flat, he flicks the switch and bathes the room in darkness.

For half a minute I hear nothing but my own breathing. It’s loud; my chest is fluttering from nerves. Don’t flip out, everything is fine. You’re just going to sleep.

Yeah. Just sleeping...

With a murderous hitman who tried to fuck me over his kitchen sink.

Clutching the blankets, I wriggle deeper into the mattress. Jamison hasn’t made a sound since turning off the light. I’m still alone in the bed with no clue what he’s doing. My nerves are on edge as I strain for any hint he’s still in the room.

His bed is better made than my shitty twin I keep on the bare floor of my apartment. When he sits on it, the mattress hardly rocks; I only know he’s there because of his presence. That warmed-over cider scent, the burning heat of his body as it enters my airspace.

“You don’t need to get so close,” I whisper.

His chuckle stirs the tiny hairs on my temple. “I’m not even touching you.”

“You nearly are.”

“There’s a vast difference between nearly and actually, Selena.”

Something nudges my ankle—his foot. I hold the air in my chest while he rolls his leg along mine in a gentle sawing motion.

“See?” he goes on, his voice a pool of darkness, “I’d think you’d know this by now.”

“What do you mean?” I hush.

I can hear his smirk in his reply. “My hands were wrapped tight in your hair earlier. That was part of the problem, if I remember.” His weight adjusts on the bed, creating a dip that drags me in closer. I roll towards him, our hips colliding, shoulders bumping.

His skin is smooth on my forearm—my heart jolts violently.

He’s not wearing a shirt!

Jamison is topless, making me wonder how naked the rest of him is. I didn’t ask him if he slept nude; should I have? “You’re definitely too close now,” I croak.

“Yes,” he agrees simply. His foot rocks on mine again, tangling on my ankle, his heel pushing my leg into the bed. Heat drills through my bones; he's trying to start a fire with our limbs.

In the thick darkness of his bedroom every sound... every sensation... is heightened. I turn myself onto my left side, facing away, our legs still locked at the ankles. “Go to sleep,” I hiss.

There’s a small, surprised laugh in his throat. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know. Fucking with me.” Hugging my pillow I snap my eyes shut, hoping the extra level of privacy will let me block my awareness of him.

But it’s pointless; his scent is all around us, a constant so strong I could reach out and grip it.

“Do you flirt this hard with every girl you take home?”

Jamison is silent for a beat. “How many girls do you think I bring here?”

“I don’t have a clue. And I don’t really care.”

Right? Of course I don’t.

His ankle stops moving on mine. “If I was flirting, you’d know.”

A new ripple of warmth slides through my belly; I push my thighs together, and Jamison lets out a tiny growl. He noticed. “I told you earlier, we can’t—we won’t do anything.”

“You decided that.”

“I know.”

“Then why remind me?”

I open my mouth, struggling for a reply. It’s good he can’t see my frustrated face.

His gravelly voice scrapes over my brain. “Or are you reminding yourself?” The mattress sways, his chest brushing my back. My shirt is useless at protecting me from his firm muscles. “Let me show you what flirting looks like.”

The material of my old shirt is stiff and boxy. Under the blanket, it's hiked over my upper thighs. This is where I feel his fingers first; light brushes on top of my blue shorts, following the raised, white piping on the side to where it vanishes under my shirt.

It’s a simple touch—loose circles, lazily moving over the fabric from the bottom edge until he shifts the shirt higher, away from my hips. The blanket creates more gravity, pushing his hand against my skin, trapping it.

No. I’m the one who’s trapped.

I grow restless with new desire. This isn’t okay, I tell myself. I stopped him earlier for a reason.

What was that reason again?

Jamison explores my bare skin like it’s a map. I become a series of long rivers and roads that he travels with his fingertips, never staying for long. Breathing quicker, I draw my knees closer to my belly, struggling to hold still. He’s doing almost nothing and his touch is incredible.

Is it because of last night? Thinking about how close he came to fingering me makes my clit swell; I squeeze my thighs and shiver.

Jamison’s voice is clipped. “I’d note you’ve gone quiet, but you haven’t really. I can hear how hard you’re breathing.”

His observation cranks my arousal up another notch. I’m too proud to admit he’s having an effect, though. “I’m fine. This is nothing.”

He grabs viscerally onto the meat of my thigh. I gasp in shock at his abrupt aggression. “Then you won’t mind me continuing.”

“Not at all,” I say as coldly as I can. Between my tone and the heat in my body, a fucking hurricane should form overhead from the atmospheric pressure.