Page 72 of The Dead Don’t Scream
She leans down. Her lips hover over mine. The kiss I imagined for a year is less than an inch away.
“What happens if I ignore it?”
“You find out why they call me the Scarecrow.”
“No.” Her mouth brushes mine without completing the kiss. “I find out who Callum is.”
The distinction empties my lungs. Sloane steps away. She approaches Rhys first.
“Sit.”
He lowers himself into the leather chair beside the altar. She straddles his lap without taking him inside her. Her body is too sore for anything rough, and Rhys would refuse even if she demanded it. Instead, she kisses him. The first real kiss of the night. Slow. Unmasked. Her hands cradle his face while his rest respectfully on her waist. Jealousy tightens my throat. I remain kneeling. She ordered me to wait. I will wait. Sloane breaks from Rhys and looks at Dante.
“Your turn.”
He becomes unexpectedly serious. She offers him her hand. Dante takes it and stands in front of her.
“You wanted privacy,” Sloane reminds him.
“I did.”
“You aren’t getting it.”
“I noticed.”
“Still want the kiss?”
His gaze drops to her lips.
“Yes.”
“Ask.”
Dante laughs once, quietly.
“Please kiss me.”
Sloane pulls him down. Their mouths meet. Dante’s hands hover near her body until she places them on her hips. Then he kisses her as though the playful Devil has finally run out of jokes. When they separate, Sloane’s cheeks are flushed. Dante looks ruined. She leaves them and returns to me. I am still on my knees.
“Have I earned mine?” I ask.
“No.”
My hands close against my thighs.
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“You have it.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
She takes my face between her palms. I force myself not to touch her.
“You keep saying I’m yours,” she whispers. “But you haven’t offered yourself in return.”
