Till Death(35)

Or maybe, just maybe, I was making up a lot of reasons and deciding they were true without even talking to him, because I just couldn’t deal.

The last thought sounded way too rational to be the truth.

“I’m a mess,” I said to my ceiling.

My ceiling had no response.

And my thoughts drifted to what had happened when I tried to leave Cole’s house, and I shuddered under the covers as the memory of the stench of death and decay nearly swallowed me whole.

Curling onto my side, I folded my hands under my chin and stared at the small window across from the bed. I closed my eyes, not wanting to think about the deer or my vandalized car. I didn’t want to think about anything, but for the next several hours, I did, and whenever I heard movement outside my bedroom, I would go stiff and hold my breath, ears prickling as I tried to figure out what he was doing. Would he come in here? He had no reason to. Would he still be out in the living room in the morning or would he leave once the sun came up? I didn’t even know if he had to go to work, but I did know that couch was not big enough for someone as long as him.

I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, and I’d given up tracking how far the moonlight reached across the floor by the time I slipped into that half-awake stage. I was floating there when I felt it, the featherlight brush along the curve of my bare shoulder.

My heart rate kicked up. What was Cole doing in here? I held my breath as his fingers coasted over my skin, spreading a wave of tiny goosebumps along my flesh. His fingers slipped under the strap of my nightie, slowly dragging it down my arm.

I needed to stop him. Hell, I needed to be pissed about him sneaking into my room and touching me, but I . . . I liked it. Oh God, I did like it, and I could lie here, pretending I was asleep.

His hand drifted over my shoulder and danced along the blade until he reached my spine. I let out a shaky breath. He dragged his hand down the center of my back, the pressure heavy and—

“Sasha . . .”

Pressure twisted in my chest. The hand at my back. It was too heavy, too rough. Too familiar. Too cold.

I twisted, flipping onto my back. My eyes widened as I stared into the darkness, knowing I couldn’t see his face. I’d never see his face, but I knew, oh God, I knew this wasn’t Cole. A scream built into my throat, ripping free, and my ears burned from the sound. I heard it then, the high-pitched laugh. The laugh that signaled pain was on its way, because when he touched me like that, when he laughed like that, he wasn’t just the Groom anymore. He was more than a monster.

“Sasha!” Pressure tightened on my arm, and my scream intensified. “Sasha! Stop. You’re okay. You’re safe. Stop.”

You’re safe.

Two words the Groom would never speak.

Jackknifing up and to the side, my flailing hand hit air and I tumbled to the left, right off the bed. I didn’t hit the floor.

Cole was fast, wrapping an arm around my waist and hauling me back onto the bed, against him. Chest to chest. Skin against . . . skin? What? The nightmare faded like wisps of smoke as I slowly became aware of everything. Cole was holding me to him, his breath warm against my cheek, and he’d taken his shirt off at some point, and now my heart was racing for a whole different reason.

“You with me?” he asked.

I was so with him.

The room was dark and I couldn’t see anything, but all I could feel was him, and it was at that moment that I realized what I’d thrown on before getting into bed. It was a spaghetti-strapped nightie and had a heart-shaped bodice; the kind of nightie made of soft cotton that only reached the midthigh and was most likely completely see-through in bright light. A very thin nightie that made it feel like there was almost nothing between our bodies.

And his chest was warm, actually felt hot against mine, and the denim of his jeans was rough against my inner thighs. It was then when I also realized that somehow I wasn’t just in his lap, I was straddling him. I had no idea how that happened, but his shoulders were also smooth and hard under my hands.

“Sasha.” His voice was deeper as one hand folded around the nape of my neck, bunching up my hair. “Are you with me?”

My throat was dry as I gasped out, “Yes.”

“Good.” He didn’t let go, but his hand tightened, as did his arm. “Does this happen often?”

“Does what happen often? This?”

His chuckle was throaty. “The nightmares, Sasha. Do they happen often?”

Oh. I closed my eyes as I gave a little shake of my head. “Not often.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re not being exactly honest?” His breath coasted over my forehead.

“I don’t know why.” I should lift my hands away, but they felt like they were weighted against his skin with lead.

“There’s something you’re forgetting.” He shifted suddenly, and I gasped as I slid toward him. My legs spread wider, and now my belly was pressed against his much harder stomach. “I know you. I’m not a stranger.”

“You don’t . . .”

“I don’t what?” His voice dropped to a whisper.

Maybe it was the darkness. Maybe it was the nightmare and the almost-surreal nature of him holding me like this. I don’t know but I answered his question. “You don’t know me anymore.”

The muscles under my hands tensed. “I still know you, Sasha.”