Chapter 88: Chapter 88: LIPS DON’T FALL OFF

AZRAEL

I flinch against my will, taken aback.

“What are you—?”

“Don’t deny it.” She cuts me off, stomping one bare foot against the floor like a petulant child. “On the way back you didn’t say anything to me. You kept your distance.”

“It was something you requested before,” I defend myself.

“When we got back you didn’t mock or tease me, you just left.” Her voice pitches higher, indignant, and she throws her hands up dramatically. “You just left. Like I wasn’t even there.”

“You’ve made it clear how much you hate it.”

“But you’ve always done it regardless!” she half yells, silencing me. Her cheeks are flushed now, whether from the alcohol or the frustration I can’t tell. “It’s what you do. You get under my skin effortlessly and you do it anyway. When you described your new interest in me, a part of me was expectant. I didn’t think you’d grow bored that fast.”

She deflates slightly at the end, her shoulders dropping, and a new expression crawls across her face—hurt and frustration.

Looking at it alone makes me deeply uncomfortable, more discomforting than sitting in silence with a loudly ticking clock for an hour.

I want nothing more than to erase it completely.

“I… haven’t gotten rid of the interest yet,” I respond.

And it’s not even a lie made up to get her to stop pouting.

I have spent a good amount of time trying to find a way to make her less alluring to me, and I have failed every single time.

The fact that I’m humoring this conversation is enough evidence that nothing is working.

“Then is it finally time? Are you isolating me so I won’t see ’you chopping off my head’ coming?” She makes a slicing motion across her throat with her finger, sound effect included.

I almost laugh. Almost.

“I don’t have any intention of killing you… not anytime soon.”

“Then what is it? Do you hate me too?” Her bottom lip juts out, trembling slightly, and her eyes go wide and glassy—the most pathetic, wounded look I have ever seen on a grown woman.

It’s manipulative.

It’s working.

I grind my teeth and clench my fist, unable to think right now with her constant stream of questions in an attempt to validate herself—all while being completely distracted by something else.

“You’re drunk, which means you’re not going to remember any of this, right?”

“Possibly.” She thinks about it for a second, though I doubt if she’s actually capable of deducing anything logical. Her face scrunches in concentration, then smooths out in defeat. “I don’t know. It’s my first time drinking.”

Good.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” I announce as a warning.

In a single step the distance between us is covered and I’m crouching to her level, raising her lips up by her chin and pressing mine against them—delicate lips that taste like sweet wine.

It’s everything that has consumed me since we got into that accursed car and since we got back from the journey. Holding her and kissing and going even further than that.

I taste her tongue and then her lips, biting and suckling, breathing in every inch of her until I’m breathless and panting.

I pull away for a moment, staring down at her confused expression, completely disoriented, with her lips swollen red and wet from kissing.

Tempting me as soon as they can.

“Why did you—” she tries to say something, but I can’t listen right now.

I kiss her again, harder than before, hoping that the itch will be gone this time or I just might never stop.

My hands lift her off the floor, dropping her on my desk and wrapping around her small waist.

I dig my tongue deeper, entangling it with hers for my own gratification, for a longer time until her hand is swatting at my arm incessantly.

I let her go against my will and she catches her breath again, gasping, infected by my desperation this time.

“Stop it, I can’t breathe,” she complains with a frown, wiping her lips with the back of her palm.

“I’m not done yet,” I grumble, settling for her cheeks next, pressing my lips against her skin and then running my tongue to taste her, over and over again until I’m partly satisfied and she looks more peeved.

The frown on her face has me close to cackling.

“I stayed away because I can’t stop thinking about kissing you. I want to kiss you until your lips fall off. And they probably will if you let me.”

Her frown melts and she chuckles all of a sudden.

“You’re silly. Lips don’t fall off.”

Even the way she giggles while drunk is tempting. I want to kiss her all over again, except I want it to lead to something more. To consume her entirely until I stop this incessant craving.

But I can’t, not while she abhors everything beyond that.

I sigh, feeling weak for the first time in my life, running a hand through my hair.

“You will be the death of me, little mouse,” I confess.

She stares back at me, completely innocent and oblivious to the mental wars I fight just to stand in front of her.

“So you’re not ignoring me?”

I manage a smile.

“You’re adorable when you create scenarios in your head and panic over them. And I’m even more insane for finding that cute. It’s a good thing you won’t remember this conversation.”

“So all you want to do is kiss me?”

“Not all, but I can’t say the rest right now.”

I’m barely holding on as it is.

“Does that mean you like me? I thought boys only kiss girls they like.”

“We’re not in kindergarten, little mouse. Men kiss because they have desires that are sometimes out of control.”

“So you desire me?”

I hesitate responding, wondering if I should say anything at all, if this is the right moment to admit it out loud once and for all.

Another glance her way confirms that she’s still out of it, brain completely fogged and drenched in liquor.

“Immensely,” I breathe out, feeling the words confirm this new reality.

“I don’t get it.” Her head tilts to the side with droopy eyes.

Her head bobs with drowsiness, signaling the end of whatever this was.

“You’re sleepy.”

“No I’m not.”

“Don’t fight it, little mouse. Go to sleep.”

As if she was waiting for me to give her permission to, she falls asleep almost instantly, head leaning against my chest.

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