Page 58 of Heated (Burned, Inc.)
Maybe he reads the question in my eyes because that brief half smile flickers over his lips. “Yeah, finally. I dare anyone with a dick—or without—to take one look at that mouth and not fantasize about getting theirs on it. But I wanted your friendship. Still want it. And you know what, Zora?” He leans closer, his breath coasting over my lips, and I can taste his kiss again. “The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
Wait.
What?
He’s not saying ... “Cyrus, you don’t mean—” I stop, draw in a breath, and gather my thoughts because I need every single one of them. “This isn’t supposed to be real. That’s not what you want from me.”
“It’s up to you what we are, Zora. I’ll be what you need.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demand. And yes, I hear the desperation in my voice, but I can’t help it.
Because Cyrus is flipping the script and not handing me a copy. I don’t know the ending of this version, and it terrifies me. Part of me wants him to take the choice out of my hands like he did earlier. Make the decision for me so I can just enjoy the results without the weightiness of the responsibility.
My mouth tingles in warning ... or temptation. I honestly don’t know which one.
“It means we have several more episodes to watch. Now”—he bends down, picks up my forgotten plate of cake, and hands it to me—“let them eat cake. Or you. You eat the cake.”
I stare at him. Blink.
And burst out laughing. And laugh. And laugh until my sides hurt. Until tears burn my eyes.
And it feels damn good.
