Page 50 of White Lights
“Wait,” he says.
Dez is so out of breath, she thinks she must be confused. She tugs at him again. “Come on.”
“I can’t.”
She blinks up at him and sees the sudden distance in his eyes. “You … what?”
“I should go,” he says, reaching to rebutton his pants.
“What are you talking about? What happened?”
“Whatshouldn’thave happened.”
His words actually hurt, like someone’s punched her in the stomach. “Are you serious right now?”
“Look, I am in physical pain over how much I want to bend you over this bed and fuck you into oblivion right now. But …”
“But what?” Dez clutches her torn shirt over her breasts. “You’re committed to your weird brand of sadomasochism?”
“I just can’t.”
She flops backward onto the bed. Why should she have expected anything else from Rafe but this arbitrary mind game? She’s still so turned on, so in need of him—and now she’s wild with fury, too.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Rafe says, already at the door.
“Can I count on you to be a giant dick again?”
He tosses his head. “Odds are good. But before that”—he has the fucking nerve to smile at her—“I’m going to make myself come several times imagining that soft little whimpering sound you made when I sucked on your tits.”
“Get out.”
“That was supposed to be hot. That was not supposed to make you hate me more.”
“If you want me to stop hating you, you can start by tearing off the rest of my shirt and throwing me up against that wall.” She points.
“That wall? That’s your wall of choice?” He studies the wall next to the window as if making plans, imagining the angles.
Dez throws a pillow at him.
“Good night, Dez.” She can hear the bastard smiling as he ducks. “Good night, Dez’s bad aim. Good night, Dez’s filthy mouth. Good night, Dez’s superfine ass.”
“Don’t let the door break your dick on the way out.”
Too soon, he’s gone, and Dez is alone in her room. She lets out a frustrated grunt as her hand slips down inside her thong. Her fingers make slow circles around her clit, remembering his mouth on hers. How she’s never been kissed like that before. She can’t believe how wet he made her—right before he walked out.
She hates him.
But she comes fast and hard as she thinks of him, thinking of her, later in his bed.
It’s only after she’s spent and exhausted, getting up to brush her teeth, that she sees it.
The long white snakeskin between her sheets.
Still warm, as if it had just been shed.
“DEZ?”HER MOTHER WHISPERS THROUGHthe phone the next morning. “Is it really you?”
“Mom,” she exhales in bed, closing her eyes in bodily relief. “How’s Mo?”
