Page 108 of Saint Céline
A reluctant, furious laugh escaped her before she could stop it. The sound moved through me with unreasonable force. I wanted it again. I wanted too many things again.
So I stepped back, and Céline noticed with disappointment.
“I broke up with him,” she said, voice lower now. “Are you satisfied?”
“No.”
“Then what more do you want from me?” she asks, with gritted teeth.
I want the part of you that still thinks survival and self-betrayal are the same thing. I want the girl who slapped me for speaking Katherine’s name and still reached for her notes like they were sacred. I want the liar, the grieving friend, the thief, the daughter, the artist hiding under a bioscience degree shenever wanted, the creature who loves a ridiculous white cat more honestly than she loves any human being left in her life.
Instead, I said, “Better work.”
Her face went blank. Then she laughed. This time, the sound was sharp and incredulous. “You are unbelievable.”
“Your proposal refinement is due Friday, sweetheart.”
“You blackmailed me into ending my relationship, and now you’re assigning homework?”
“Yes,” I smirked.
For a moment, she looked like she genuinely might throw something at me. Then, horribly, beautifully, she laughed again. The sound changed the room, and for one brief second, she looked like a normal college girl again, younger, wet hair clinging to her cheek, fury still bright in her eyes but loosened by surprise.
I stared. Her laughter faded slowly. The air thickened again, returning to us heavier than before. She swallowed.
“I should go.”
This time, neither of us moved. Then she stepped toward the door, and I let her.
At the threshold, she paused without looking back.
“You’re wrong, by the way.”
“About?”
“I didn’t need Thad to hide.”
She opened the door. Her voice was quieter when she added, “I needed him to prove I could be chosen by someone Katherine wanted first.”
Then she left.
I decided to get working on reading dissertation drafts again.
Before I could open the file, the door opened again.
Céline stood there, breathing hard, as if the hallway had chased her back inside. She shut the door with more force than necessary and crossed the room in three strides, eyes blazingwith the kind of fury that only ever looked like an invitation when it came from her.
I rose to meet her. She had willingly entered my den again. I would not let her leave without a present.
She opened her mouth to shout something—accusations, probably, or another pretty lie about how much she hated me. I didn’t give her the chance. I caught her face between my hands and kissed her hard, crushing my mouth to hers. She resisted immediately, palms shoving against my chest, a sharp sound of protest vibrating against my lips. I deepened the kiss anyway, tongue forcing past the seam of her lips, tasting rain and rage and the faint copper of the words she refused to swallow.
Her body stiffened, fighting me with everything she had—nails digging into my shirt, a muffled growl rising in her throat. I slid one hand down her back and gripped her ass hard enough to bruise, yanking her flush against me so she could feel exactly how little her resistance mattered. She bit my lip viciously, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste bloomed hot and sharp between us, and still she kissed me back, desperate now, hips grinding forward as if she could punish me and devour me at the same time.
I groaned into her mouth, the sound low and dark.
Blood and want and fury—perfect.
When I finally broke the kiss, she stumbled back a step, lips swollen and glistening, eyes wide with fury and something far darker. A thin line of my blood shone at the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, staring at me like I had cracked open something inside her she would never forgive.
