Page 64 of Wicked Beasts (Lament Princess #1)
Sixty-Three
I am consumed by his touch, each caress sending waves of heat coursing through me, like his hands are leaving an imprint on my very soul.
His fingers tighten around me with a possessiveness that makes my heart race, his grip unyielding, yet still gentle in its own way, as though some part of him might love me.
His lips trail over my skin, each kiss leaving a mark, a bruise that will linger long after he’s gone.
The pressure of his mouth is both tender and commanding, like a silent claim that sends a shiver of thrilling and dangerous lust through my veins.
My mouth moves, but the voice that escapes me feels foreign and beyond my control. It’s softer, almost hypnotic, a melodic lilt that seems to reverberate in the air around us. The usual rasp of my voice is gone, replaced by a smoothness both alien and oddly familiar.
Dr. Shadow pauses for a moment, his thrusts slowing as his fingers tangle through the dull, straw-colored strands of my hair.
His gaze locks on mine, but then he recoils, as if some unseen specter has drifted between us.
A flash of fear and unease darkens his hazel eyes, mingling with a hint of something much worse—revulsion—twisting his features in a way I’ve never seen.
His typical aloof confidence and desire momentarily vanish in what I can only describe as panic and disgust. It’s jarring, and mydesire instantly is instantly eclipsed by concern and unexpected shame.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as my gaze falls to the flows of dark brown hair spilling over my shoulders.
The soft fabric of my dress gathers at my waist, and I tug it up slowly, almost instinctively, to shield my breasts.
A sudden wave of self-consciousness washes over me, making my movements feel clumsy and exposed, as if every part of me is suddenly too visible to his scrutinizing gaze.
He hesitates, his brows knitting in a tight frown, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
For a moment, it’s as if he’s looking through me, searching for something that isn’t there, his mind racing at a speed I can almost feel.
The air freezes between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts, and I can almost see the invisible gears turning in his head, struggling to place me.
As if he doesn’t know who I am.
“What?” I ask again, my voice barely more than a whisper this time, the uncertainty threading through my words like a faint tremor.
I sit up slowly, my hands instinctively smoothing the fabric of my yellow dress as I try to regain some sense of composure, glancing up to find him pulling up his pants.
“Dante—” I say, reaching toward him, but he flinches, pulling back with a sudden, almost violent motion.
“Don’t,” he says sharply, his voice firm and final, leaving no room for my protest. His rejection feels like a slap to my cheek.
“What about dinner?” I ask, the words feeling foolish as soon as they leave my lips.
The table is a mess, the food forgotten, and neither of us are dressed for the occasion, yet I can’t shake the desperate desire for him to stay.
I watch, almost helplessly, as he struggles to button his shirt, his fingers fumbling with the torn fabric.
Several buttons are missing, ripped away, and he lets out a frustrated growl under his breath.
My heart lurches with pity, but I’m momentarily held in place by shock.
His eyes flicker toward me, meeting mine with a warning glare that makes my stomach tighten and my pulse quicken.
In that moment, I feel impossibly small, as though any attempt to hold on to him and keep him here would be futile.
I slide off the table, my shoes meeting the floor with a soft thud, but the sound seems far away.
Dr. Shadow doesn’t even glance back as he walks out, his silence more cutting than any words could have been.
I smooth the hem of my dress absentmindedly, the fabric slipping through my fingers, a pointless attempt to regain some semblance of control.
The room feels overwhelmingly empty now, the walls closing in, amplified by his absence.
I sink into the chair, my body heavy, my posture collapsing, as though the air itself has defeated me.
My fingers instinctively move to straighten the dishes and utensils scattered across the table during our encounter.
Each shift feels like a feeble attempt to restore some order, but I can’t shake the sense of foolishness for staying in the dining room.
Running to my bedroom would feel too hasty, too dramatic after he’s already stormed out.
I cross my legs, discomfort settling in as the dampness between my torn leggings seeps over my thighs, a harsh reminder of his sudden change in disposition.
My body aches for him still, dissatisfied from his sudden withdrawal.
Mrs. Wong comes in, wheeling a cart laden with covered silver trays. The rich, savory scent of food wafts toward me, teasing my withdrawn senses as it circles my nose, stirring an unexpected hunger deep in my stomach, the ache growing sharper in my core.
“Are you still hungry?” she asks me curtly, but her eyes never meet mine as she fidgets with the trays on the cart.
I feel like I’ve disappointed her, and a tinge of scarlet brightens my cheeks as heat creeps up the back of my neck in embarrassment.
I wonder if she saw our encounter. I don’t think I would have noticed anyone accidentally walking in on us.
I hope she didn’t.
“Starving,” I say softly, my fingers reaching for the golden rose charm laying against my clavicle.
I watch as Mrs. Wong moves with practiced grace, lifting the lids from the silver trays and unveiling a lavish spread before me, the rich aromas making my stomach rumble with anticipation. I can feel myself growing hungrier, my mouth salivating at the sight.
“Would you like to join me?” I ask after hesitating for a moment. “I would hate for all of this food to go to waste.” Part of me is embarrassed by the lack of Dr. Shadow’s presence, and it would be nice to not eat alone.
Mrs. Wong pauses for a moment before she sighs—almost as if in defeat.
“I don’t have an appetite,” she says, her gaze lingering on the charm between my fingers. “But I can keep you company if you’d like.”
I nod, feeling a faint comfort in the small gesture as she slides into the chair beside me, her presence offering a quiet, unexpected warmth.
This night didn’t go at all as I had hoped. I don’t want to be alone.