Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(62)

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

I swallow, the fire in my throat hardening into a thick, ashen knot. “Of course not. God forbid you experience real, human emotions for once in your life.”

His eyes flare, fury sparking. He’s quiet for a long time, just watching me through the lens, and then he sighs, running a hand over his face.

“Emotions are overrated, Riley.” Pulling away, he works his jaw from side to side, eyes shifting off camera again. “They should be reserved for things that matter.”

Pain slices through my chest, and it feels like I’m being flayed wide open—all over again. Like he’s reached right inside the cavity, taken my heart in his hands, and stabbed right through the organ.

Shifting, I tilt my phone toward the ceiling, unable to keep the tears at bay. Mouth open, my tongue swipes at my scar, my body’s natural attempt at a defense.

It’s not supposed to sting this much. Not after the physical pain I’ve endured, and the years of emotional abuse at the hands of our mother, and eventually, myself.

And yet, it’s his words that sear a path straight to my soul. Embed themselves in my bones, rooting in the marrow and creating a hurt so deep that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to extract it.

Somehow, the invisible wounds scar the worst.

“Riley?” he’s saying, trying to draw me back. Maybe to apologize, or say that he didn’t mean it. Or maybe just to move on, changing the subject.

Whatever the case, I don’t want to stick around for more.

My thumb hovers over the call end button, and as my name grows frenzied from his mouth, I hang up.

The phone falls from my hand into the tub, and I push to my feet on wobbly legs. My face in the mirror is red and splotchy, and I swipe my fingers under my eyes, trying to erase the evidence before I head to Caleb’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.

I change quickly, pulling a pleated lavender skirt over black knee-high socks, and slipping into a black cashmere sweater that Fiona gave me two Christmases ago.

Smoothing my hand down over the outfit, I contemplate disobeying Aiden’s orders to go without makeup. No one’s said anything in the days since I stopped wearing it, probably out of discomfort more than anything, but I still feel the weight of their curious glances.

Still, I’d rather them look at the scars than talk about why a rock star randomly showed up in town, and then kissed me in front of a fan at the diner.

My lips are still tingling from it, the appreciation in his eyes just before almost enough to make me forget why he’s here in the first place.

Which probably makes me the village idiot, but whatever.

At least I’ll die satisfied.

Smearing some cocoa butter balm onto my lips, I forego anything else on my face and exit the bathroom, hoping the puffiness around my eyes goes away before I get to Caleb’s.

If I get to Caleb’s.

My stomach flips as I enter the bedroom to find Aiden lounging on my bed, wearing a Sid Vicious T-shirt and jeans. His legs hang over the side, and his back is stretched out on the mattress, dwarfing the furniture.

He rolls his head when I walk in, turning to look at me. Silver eyes rake slowly over my body, and the way he strokes his bottom lip with his thumb has me clenching my thighs together.

“Have you been crying?”

Holding up a hand, I shake my head. “Please don’t. I’m not in the mood right now.”

His chuckle is deep, and I feel its rasp in my core. “Where are we headed this evening?”

“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going to Caleb’s, and you’re not invited.”

“I’m not sure you understand how this works, angel.”

“No, I can’t say I’m very familiar with stalkers,” I say, moving past him to head for the door, swiping my purse off the vanity as I pass by.

Closing my fingers around the knob, I start to pull it open, but then he’s there, slamming it shut. I glare at his palm where it’s flattened against the wood, his rings dull against his inked skin.

He slides his hand down, stopping when he’s just centimeters from my face, and then I feel him press into my back, wedging his cock between my ass cheeks.

“I was hoping we’d be able to spend Thanksgiving together.”

“Why would you think that?” I manage, trying to ignore how good he feels, how warm and fulfilling his touch is. “We barely know each other, and you’ve made your intentions here pretty clear. Do you think I’m going to just roll over and let you hurt me, no questions asked?”

“I think,” he says, reaching down to grip my hips in both hands, squeezing them as he shoves me farther into the door. My pelvis grinds against the wood, trapped between two impossibilities. “If I told you to flip your skirt up and let me fuck you right here, right now, you’d arch your back and give me what I want.”

My breathing grows shallow.

Erratic.

“No.” It’s all I can muster, a half-hearted whisper that barely makes it past my lips.

“No? I don’t remember asking a question.” His hands glide down, brushing the bare skin of my thighs as they slip beneath the hem of my skirt. In a second, the soft material is pushed over my ass, the chilly air cool against my skin.

Aiden clicks his tongue in clear disapproval. “Where did you get new panties?”