Page 75 of Burned

He loves me.

I dream about a wedding.

Not ours. Theirs.

Lucian and Isobel stand beneath an archway that curls over them in bright orange ribbons, licking the air but never burning them. The archway isn’t flowers. It’s flames. Isobel is beautifulin white, untouched by smoke, golden hair spilling over her shoulders like sunlight.

The cake stands on a table beside them. Three tiers, clear and glistening, carved out of ice.

A little figurine stands on top. She looks like me—a frozen girl, forced to watch them.

Lucian lifts her hand to his mouth.

The flames roar higher.

The ice cake begins to crack.

A line splits down the center. Then another. The cake shatters.

A thousand frozen pieces scatter across the floor. Now I’m standing there, the human version of me. The ice is glass, and a shard cuts my bare foot. A bright red pool blooms at my feet.

“Erin.”

In my dream, Lucian turns and looks at me.

“Erin.”

My eyes snap open.

Morning light spills weak and gray through unfamiliar curtains. For one breath, I do not know where I am. Not his apartment. Not the apartment.

Then Lucian’s arm tightens around my waist, and I’m back at Red Shutters. His hand slides beneath the hem of my shirt and spreads over my stomach. Possessive.

Warm.

“Erin.”

My name is a command. A warning. But now it’s an invitation.

I stare at the wall.

There is a small crack in the plaster near the window. Someone painted over it badly, but I can still see the line. A repaired break. Hidden, not healed.

“I’m tired,” I say.

His hand moves over my stomach, fingers splaying. “We’re all tired, baby.”

He pulls me against him, dragging down my shorts. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes against my neck.

I whisper, “Stop.”

His breath changes. His palm smooths over my ass, fingers spreading, clutching, digging into my curves like he needs me to breathe.

The feel of his hardness settles between my ass cheeks, hot and heavy. He grinds against me, a pool of heat and wetness slicks between my legs.

His mouth moves along my shoulder. Teeth. Tongue. A kiss too close to tender till it’s not. His hand slides between my thighs, finding me already wet, and the sound that leaves him is feral.

He shifts behind me, pushing his sleep pants down, pressing harder into me.