Page 181 of Saint Céline
I should have said yes, but the truth was uglier.
“I don’t know.”
That was the first honest thing I had said all night. His face changed with hunger.
He leaned down until his mouth was close to mine.
“You should have asked me what I know before deciding to kill me.”
“You would have lied.”
“Yes,” he said. “Probably.”
I laughed coldly again.
Then his mouth brushed mine, but it was not quite a kiss.
My hands came up against his chest, and for a second I meant to push him away.
I did. I swear I did.
But he was warm. Alive. Dangerous. Mine in the worst possible sense, because he held the secret that could end me and looked at me like ending me was the last thing he wanted.
“I hate you,” I said.
“I know.”
“I might still kill you.”
“I know that too.”
His mouth curved faintly against mine.
That was what did it for me.
The arrogance. The certainty.
The way he stood in front of me with my attempted murder in his hand and found me more interesting for it.
I kissed him like I wanted to split his mouth open.
He kissed me back like he had been waiting for me to choose violence, but this time with honesty.
His hand stayed in my hair. He guided me backwards onto the table after he cleared it with one swipe of his arm, and dishes clattered to the floor. The candle tipped and went out. The sound of breaking glass mixed with the rain against the windows.
He laid me flat on my back with my head hanging off the edge of the table. My hair brushed the floor, and blood rushed to my head. The position made everything feel sharper, more helpless. I tried to sit up. His hand pressed against my chest, keeping me there.
“Tell me what your plan was,” he said, voice low and rough. “If I had drunk that glass. What did you imagine would happen to me?”
I struggled against his hold, but he was stronger. “Let me up.”
“No.” He unbuckled his belt with his free hand. “You wanted me choking on my own breath. Saliva filling my throat. Body getting heavy. That was the idea, wasn’t it?”
He freed himself. His cock was already hard. He gripped my hair tighter and guided the head to my lips.
“Open.”
I tried to turn my head. He held me steady.
