Page 22 of Overdose

“Didn’t hear you complaining.”

She bites her lip, and fuck if it doesn’t stir something dark and hungry in me. “Wasn’t really in a position to.”

My smirk deepens. I lean in closer, lowering my voice. “You mean because you were dripping and grinding on my thigh like you wanted me to fuck you right there in front of everyone?”

Her breath catches. Her laugh dies on her tongue. She looks away too fast, lips parting like she’s trying to swallow her reaction.

“God, you’re cocky,” she mutters, trying to hide behind sarcasm.

My lips brush the shell of her ear.

“No, baby. I’m just observant.”

She shivers. I feel it. Watch it ripple through her like I’ve just touched the wire again, and I know right then—I could fucking ruin her.

Fuck, she might even beg me to.

“Observant, huh? That why it took you an hour to notice I was gone?”

I huff a laugh, low and sharp. “It did not take me an hour. Though it did take me a bit to decide whether to let you keep wandering or drag your high ass back myself.”

She tilts her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Okay, so I kissed you first…” Her voice goes syrup-slick and taunting. “What happens if I kiss Noir next? I mean, the night is still young.”

My jaw ticks.

She’s pressing buttons, and sheknowsit.

I lean in, my voice dropping to a growl. “You could try. But I promise you—he won’t kiss you like I do.”

She arches a brow, all smug and sparkly and full of hell. “Is that so?”

“Dead fucking serious,” I mutter, eyes locked on hers. “But if you want to see what happens when you start playing tug-of-war between me and him? Go ahead, little relapse. Flick the match.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “You calling me a fire hazard now?”

I smirk. “You’ve been one since the second I laid eyes on you.”

We both laugh, a beat of tension breaking, but just barely.

Because we both know exactly what this is.

A game. A war neither of us plans on losing.

She smirks, satisfied with the bite in her tone, but fuck, she doesn’t know she’s playing at.

I want to touch her again. Bad.

But instead, I look at her. Really look.

Moonlight kisses the edges of her face. She’s flushed, cheeks pink. Her pupils are still huge, but there’s awareness in them now. Something deeper than just the high. Something scarred.

Her gaze drifts out toward the water. “She used to love the beach,” she murmurs.

I don’t ask who. Don’t need to.

Her voice softens, just for a second—like whatever memory just crawled up her throat burned too much to keep. Then she shakes it off with a smirk. “Anyway. I still think your precious Cyanide’s pretty mediocre.”

I slide closer. My fingers lift—slow, deliberate—and I hook them under her chin, forcing her to look at me.