Page 11 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)

Celeste

There’s not a lot I’m sure of right now, but I think I’ve changed.

I’ve got faint dark circles under my eyes, the kind that suggest I’ve either been crying or haven’t slept, and the messy knot on top of my head is leaning a little too far to the left.

I trace two fingers over the curve of my cheekbone, like I’ll find the difference if I press hard enough.

All I find is me.

The same me, and yet not.

I feel quiet, as if something inside me has been rewired, and now the static is gone.

It’s been five days since the club.

Five days since I let a stranger lay claim to every part I’ve spent years pretending didn’t need anything. Five days since I surrendered control and discovered something I didn’t even realize I was missing.

Five days, and I still haven’t stopped thinking about it.

I slept like the dead that night and drifted off aching in ways I didn’t know were possible. The next morning, my body was sore, but in such a delicious way. There was a dull ache deep in my core, one that throbbed when I moved too fast or sat too still.

And on the inside of my thigh, there was a bite mark.

A fucking bite mark.

I’d sat on the edge of my bed with my fingers grazing over it. I thought I might have dreamed it, but the heat that pooled between my legs when I pressed down gently was very, very real.

He’d marked me.

Whoever he was, he wanted to leave something behind.

I did everything I could to forget. I took the longest shower of my life, turned up the temperature until my skin turned red and raw, and washed every inch of myself like I could scrub the memory away.

It didn’t work because when I finally gave in, dropped the towel, and slid my hand between my thighs, I came harder than I have since that night.

To the thought of him. His mouth. His hands.

His voice in my ear. My toes curled against the floor tiles, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out like a goddamn lunatic.

Then I cried anyway because I don’t know what the hell happened that night, but something inside me cracked open and hasn’t closed since.

I’m not going back to the club.

What if I go and he’s not there?

Or worse, what if he is, and he doesn’t choose me?

It’s stupid. I don’t even know his name, but the thought of someone else touching me like that feels like a poor imitation.

Maybe it’s a first-timers’ thing.

I blow out a breath and force myself to look away from the mirror. No more spiraling. Not today. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.

Like the fact that I accidentally gave Tom Kingsley a glimmer of hope.

He cornered me yesterday morning, just as I expected after Lilian’s warning.

He was practically salivating at the prospect of working together.

He made his pitch, told me all about the new projects in the pipeline, and promised creative freedom.

He even said he couldn’t imagine moving forward without me.

Instead of refusing the offer as I had planned, I smiled and said I’d think about it.

Think about it?

Jesus Christ, Celeste.

Tom Kingsley needed discouragement, not oxygen, and I handed him an entire tank.

This is what happens when you walk around with your head in the clouds and your brain on repeat, thinking about phantom men with golden voices and mouths that ruin you for all others.

I need to get it together.

Today is important.

The Sterling Vista Tower officially opens soon, and because of that, I was personally asked to pitch for the West Coast Headquarters of Blackwood & Calloway Holdings.

This is the kind of job that changes lives and builds reputations. It’s my opportunity to show that the Sterling Vista Tower isn’t just a fluke.

If I get this—if they choose me—it will be the biggest achievement of my career.

Right. Focus.

I head for the shower, force myself to scrub off the lingering fog, and talk myself down from the ledge as I towel off and get dressed.

Hair down, loose waves, clean makeup.

Navy blouse, high-waisted cream trousers, pointed heels.

Armor, Celeste.

I take one last look at myself in the mirror.

The bruises are almost gone now, and the bite mark is mostly healed, though the skin remains a little sensitive. I run my fingers over it once, then pull my pants up and push the thought away.

“You’ve got this,” I whisper as I roll my shoulders back and get the hell out of my apartment.