Page 28 of Filthy Twisted Devil

Luke’s head dips down and his lips brush against my neck. It might be an accident, or it might be part of the show. I just know that the room feels stiflingly hot and my corset dress cuts into my chest every time I breathe.

I need a break from it all—the noise, the crowd, Luke’s body pressed against mine. Someplace quieter than little rooms set up for drinks, which are completely full of partiers. I know Sequel has staff corridors built around the edges of the room, though, accessed with hidden panel doors. I’ve been watching the catering team use one all night.

“I’m going to get some water,” I yell in Luke’s ear, the only way he’ll be able to hear me over the thumping bass. I don’t wait for him to acknowledge it. I just turn and shove my way through the dancers to the edge of the room.

It takes a few tries for me to press the wall just right so that the hidden door opens to a dimly lit empty hallway. I walk through, expecting the door to swing shut behind me. Instead, a hand catches it.

Luke follows me inside. He’s still wearing the mask, half his face hidden. The door closes, insulating us from the roaring music and guests. It feels like hitting pause on a video game.

“Hi,” I say stupidly. It’s the only thing I can think to say that doesn’t sound weirdly offensive, like, What do you want? Are you following me?

Luke takes a breath, and my eyes drop to linger on his chest rising, then falling. He reflexively glances down at my chest in return, making blood rush to my face.

Neither of us speaks. The bass from the party throbs through the wall behind me—or maybe that’s just my pulse. He’s close enough that I can see the line of fake blood at the corner of his mouth, and I have the insane urge to lick it off.

“I want to try something, if that’s okay,” he rasps.

His eyes are dark in the dim light, blue and green blotted out by the wide expanse of his pupils. I have no idea what he’s talking about—but maybe I hope that I do.

“Okay,” I whisper.

Luke takes a step forward and props his forearm on the wall next to my shoulder. My heart stops for a full second, then races forward like a freight train. My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and he looks down, following the movement. He raises his hand like he’s about to cradle my face, but he just drags his fingers along the line of my jaw.

I know what he’s doing. He gives me plenty of time to stop him, but I don’t.

His lips graze lightly against mine. The light touch makes my mind go blank. The distant sound of the music fades into nothing, and the world narrows to him and me, standing in the dark, on the precipice of something dangerous.

I part my lips for him and his mouth claims mine in a slow, consuming kiss. Honeyed heat drips down my spine, warming every part of me. Kissing someone has never felt like this.

His hand finally lands on my waist, and it isn’t gentle. His fingers spread wide, pinning me back against the wall like he needs me held still, and a small, needy sound escapes me—a sound I’ve never made in my life. He swallows it. He tilts his head and takes the kiss deeper, unhurried and thorough, like he’s already decided we have all night.

It’s beyond how I ever imagined this might feel.

Before I can be brave enough to go further, Luke pulls back. He licks his lips, like he’s still savoring the taste of me. He draws a long, shuddering breath. “Fuck,” he says softly, almost to himself. Then he shoots me a devastating smirk.

“Figured we should practice that at least once before doing it in front of other people.”

“Right,” I force myself to reply. “Practice.”

That’s all this was. A rehearsal, so we could convince people this was real.

The uneven squeak of wheels on tile snaps me out of the moment. A caterer makes her way down the hallway in her dress blacks, wheeling a cart of beverages. She stops in place when she sees us and I force a smile.

“Good! You have water.” I grab a sweaty bottle from the cart. “Just what I was looking for. Thanks.”

Water in hand, I run back into the party. Luke follows me back to the dance floor. He doesn’t touch me this time. He dances next to me, like he would with a friend. If any of our friends finds that odd, they’re too tipsy or distracted to say anything.

I gratefully take more shots, one with Pippa and Brinley and one with all the guys. The buzz from the alcohol makes my brain fuzzy and the whole party turn into a mass of color and fake cobwebs. It makes it easier to pretend I never walked into a dark hallway, never let Luke gaze down at me like I was the most tempting thing he’d ever seen.

“We should probably go,” Luke declares sometime after midnight. “It’s getting late.”

“Project Selfie!” I gasp, grabbing his arm. “We need a pic first. Pippa!”

The Brain turns around, seeming unsurprised when I shove a phone into her hand.

“We need a photo for Instagram!” I tell her. I think my voice is too loud, but it’s hard to say. Volume stopped meaning much to me in the past few hours.

Pippa lifts an eyebrow, but she accepts my phone and opens the camera. Luke puts his arm around my shoulder and smiles for the camera, and I groan.