Page 46 of Equilibrium
Jumping into the water was out of question, because freezing my tits off was not something I was looking forward to. Not to mention that swimming with clothes on was out of question.
“I really wish I could see what you’re thinking about.”
“You really don’t. Trust me.” I would have a heart attack if another person could see inside my head.
Like seriously,Ididn’t wanna be inside my head half of the time. If I had somebody else in there, you could take me straight to the psych ward. Not that I didn’t deserve to be sent to one on most of the days, but one is already a crowd. Two would feel like Tomorrowland, minus the drugs.
“Then you’ll have to start sharing what you are thinking about, because that scowl on your face seems to be a permanent fixture, and I hate it.” Well, shit. Honest much?
“Me scowling and my thoughts are not why I wanted to talk to you, Storm.”
“No?” He smirked. “But what if I wanted to talk about it?”
“Well, tough luck buttercup, because we aren’t going to be talking about that.”
My mood was already fucked up, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk about the shit passing through my head. Maybe I should ask him which one he would like to hear—the thoughts that told me I should just run away from here and fuck it all up, or maybe the one where I really wanted to stay because I wanted to feel something other than this fucking resentment and cold. Or maybe, just maybe, he would like to hear the one where I blamed myself for everything, but that one occurred only on every third day, so we were fine for now.
Yeah, not going to happen.
“Okay,” he murmured. “What do you want to talk about?”
“How about the fact that you apparently laid some silly claim on me?” Just thinking about it made my skin bristle, and I swear, if I had powers like Clark Kent, I would set his ass on fire with my laser eyes.
Instead of looking guilty, ashamed, or I don’t know, anything, he smiled wide, showing again that dimple in his cheek. He looked proud as he said, “I did.”
I was going to strangle him. That’s it.
“And?” I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the table, because if it weren’t for that, I would be wrapping them around his thick neck.
“And nothing.” He shrugged. “I laid a claim on you, and that’s it.”
“I’m not a cow or a dog for you to lay any kind of claim on me, Storm.”
“Babe.”
“Don’t fucking ‘babe me’. And stop calling me that. I’m not your babe. As a matter of fact, I am not your anything.”
The slow way in which he moved his head toward me should’ve scared me, but it didn’t. What did however scare me were the words he uttered next.
“You can keep telling yourself that, Sunshine. Hell, if it makes you feel better at night, keep lying to yourself until you’re red in the face, but let me just make something clear.” He inched closer, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, pulling our faces closer. His forehead touched mine, while his fingers massaged my scalp and my neck. “You. Are. Mine.”
It was futile trying to get away, because as soon as I tried moving back, his lips slammed onto mine, rendering me speechless.
This wasn’t a soft kiss that would elicit a sigh from me. No, this one screamed ownership, possession. As his tongue licked the seam of my lips, a gasp erupted from me, allowing him entrance. Not even thinking about it, I wrapped my hands around his neck, holding him as close as humanly possible.
His tongue touched mine, and it was as if all my nerve endings came alive, trying to fight him for dominance. But before I could climb on his lap because I was that fucking desperate apparently, he moved away, leaving me gasping for air.
His eyes flashed with something indescribable before he spoke again. “And I am yours, baby. As simple as that.”
“Storm... You can’t... We can’t...”
“I’m not asking you to marry me, Ophelia. But I am telling you what’s happening here, and you can either accept it or not. I’m not a fool, baby.” He took my hand, pulling it into his lap. “I don’t know everything that has happened to you, but I am here. I was looking for you all these years, and now that you’re here, I am not letting you.”
He turned to me, swinging one of his legs over the bench, facing me. “Besides, you need to heal.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do.” He ran a finger over the nasty gash on my left arm, focusing on the snake tattoo. Or well, what was left of it. “I know what you’re going to say. You want to leave. You want to find your sister.”
