Page 52 of Kill for a Kiss

Her lashes lower, and she nods back. “Okay,” she breathes more than say.

That one word feels like mercy and damnation at the same time. I stay beside her, my fingers lightly reaching over her pulse. It’s weak, but steady.

She whispers, almost to herself, “You don’t have to take care of me, you know.”

She makes it sound like she doesn’t know she already owns me. I stay still, letting her drift to sleep. “I know.”

But I don’t stop touching her. My hand stays on her wrist, keeping track of her pulse. I don’t ever want to let her go, now that I finally have her.

13

Sterling

The next day’s here. I still haven’t slept. All I want to do is focus on taking care of Elle. Feeding her. Wiping the sweat off her brow. Giving her more of my clean clothes. Making sure she rests as much as possible.

Hours pass by fast. But I don’t mind at all. I’m always at Elle’s side, exactly where I want to be.

The sun sinks low quickly today, already casting shadows across the floor. It’s around this time, some nights ago, that I first held her, in my arms, where she belongs. And now I’m sitting in silence, chasing every second I can get with her. Showing her that she doesn’t need Stanley, doesn’t need Clo, or the twisted dream they forced her into.

Right now, Elle’s trembling in bed while I’m seated in a chair near her. The withdrawal’s digging deeper inside her now. Her chest jerks on an inhale. Her fingers clench and twitch in the folds of the blanket she’s buried beneath. And there’s the silent, strangled sounds she tries to swallow. She’s fighting it. She thinks she has to do this alone.

“Elle,” I whisper barely above a breath.

She doesn’t look at me. She folds in on herself. “I don’t… I don’t need—” Her voice breaks around the words she’s struggling to say.

“You do.” My tone cuts through, quiet and sharp. “Let me help you.”

She hesitates, her pursed lips quivering like she wants to argue. Even now, she still tries to be the strong one. The one who doesn’t need anyone, now that Kys is leaving her system, no longer making her docile.

I move closer, cautious. I sit at the edge of the bed. I let my presence fill the space between us, a promise without words.

Her breath stutters. “I can handle it,” she says.

Liar. She’s barely holding herself together. And this isn’t even the worst of it. It’s just the start.

I reach for the cloth sitting in a basin of water. I wring it out and bring it to her forehead. She quivers when the warm dampness touches her skin, but she doesn’t move away.

“This isn’t something you get through alone,” I tell her as tender as I can. “You don’t have to.”

Her eyes waver, lashes trembling with the effort to stay open. I catch the look in her eyes in that instant. It’s doubt, not in me, but in herself. She doesn’t know how to let anyone do this for her when drugs aren’t being constantly pumped in her system.

I grit my teeth, glad the mask hides my sour expression. I focus on her, and I brush my fingers across her wrist to check her pulse. It’s there, but shallow and uneven. I force a breath out of me. She’ll be okay, I remind myself. I’m the one taking care of her now.

Her lips part like she wants to speak, but nothing comes. Moving closer to her, I lower myself until I’m in front of her. I need to be the only thing she looks at right now. I raise my hand slowly. She doesn’t stop me. I let my knuckles brush her cheek, enough to feel the heat of her skin. The fever under the surface. The way her breathcatches when I touch her.

Her eyes search mine, even behind my mask. My thumb drags gently along her jaw. She leans in, unthinking. I stay there, holding that moment with her, watching the fight drain slowly from her limbs.

She doesn’t say anything at first. And then, her voice comes out soft, despite her aches and pain. “Sterling…”

It shouldn’t mean anything. But my name from her lips burns through me. I feel it everywhere, her voice saying my name like it belongs to her. LikeIbelong to her. Because I fucking do. Ihave.

She doesn’t even know what she’s done to me. It makes the wanting so much worse. I want to touch her, kiss her, claim her. But I don’t act on it. Not right now, because I want her clear-eyed, consciously choosing me. So I stay still.

Her fingers twitch like she wants to reach for me, but doesn’t know how. “Can I ask…?” she mumbles.

I nod, ignoring the way my chest tugs at every word she says to me.

Her gaze lingers on my face, on my mask. “Will you…take it off?”