Deviant (Blood & Roses #1)

“Couldn’t find the light switch?”


“Don’t touch it. Just come here,” the voice tells me. He sounds young enough, and he’s alone. Not that I was expecting more than one guy, of course. Eli swore it would only be the one guy. And only this one time. I step gingerly into the room, wishing I’d paid more attention to where the furniture was positioned before I’d locked myself away. I immediately stub my toe on god only knows what and hiss with pain.

“You okay?” There’s an amused lilt to his voice, which is kind of irritating. What kind of a guy gets off on a girl breaking her toes?

“Well…I can’t see a thing,” I mutter.

“That’s the point, I’m afraid. Come here.”

If I knew where here was, I’d probably be a little less turned around. I try again, and this time I manage to stumble to the bed without colliding with anything else. The mattress dips as I climb onto it, wondering where the hell he is. I’m not half as scared as I should be. In fact, I feel almost a little giddy.

“Sit in the middle of the bed with your hands behind your back,” he whispers. I wonder if he’s going to tie me up. That should bother me. Would bother me any other time. “Do you need a name?” I ask him; Eli said I should ask.

A low rumble, deep and throaty, breaks the silence of the room and I realize he’s laughing. “Are you offering to tell me your real name?”

“Eli said that’s against the rules.”

“Then no.” The mattress dips again. He’s moving, coming closer. His hot breath grazes across the skin of my neck when he speaks. “I don’t need to call you Melody or Candy or some other fake-ass name. We’ll just be strangers for a while. That square with you?”

“Yeah, I—I guess.”

In the darkness my skin is alive. So are my other senses. My nose keeps on whispering to me, hints of mint and the ocean. Whoever he is, this guy smells incredible. Not a whiff of cigarettes on him at all, which means that voice…that voice is one hundred percent natural. I’m curious about him in the most detached way.

“You done this before? Like this?” he asks me.

“Never.” My breath actually catches in my throat. I’m so spaced out that I can barely think straight, but the lack of lighting in the room is making my heart race. Maybe it’s because this guy could be a serial killer. He could still be a serial killer with the lights on, but at least I’d have the chance to see it in his eyes and run for my life.

Mystery Guy exhales, sending another warm breath across my chest. My nipples harden even though I’m not cold. I’ve never experienced that before. Never. Probably because I’ve never been this close to a guy before. “Place your hands in your lap,” he tells me.

I do it. I jump a little when I feel his hand reach out and touch my leg. “Scared?”

“No.”

He laughs, and it’s a cruel and wicked thing. His hands gently trail up my leg until he finds my hand, where he fingers curl around my wrist. “You’re braver than most girls.”

“You do this with a lot of girls?”

“Yes.”

Well at least he’s honest. He lifts up my hand and brings it toward himself, and stubble prickles against the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.

“You smell like flowers. What perfume do you wear?”

“Afresia,” I tell him.

“It’s clean. Not too heavy. I like it.”

So glad you approve. I feel like giggling. His nose brushes against my wrist and then the soft touch of his lips follows soon after. The kiss is barely even there, soft and gentle, but I can read a lot from it. His lips are full and he’s gentle with his mouth. That’s unexpected. I fidget on the bed, wondering where this is going. Where his mouth will be going next.

“Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be blind?” he rumbles.

“Why? Are you blind?”

“No. Answer the question.”

“I suppose so. Sometimes.”

He guides my hand upwards and takes it in both of his, uncurling my fingers so that my palm is open. He does it slowly, running calloused fingers down the length of my own, and I can’t help but shiver. It’s a fairly simple thing, but the way he does it feels intimate and considered, not just grabbing and touching for the hell of it. I hold my breath as he guides my hand again, until my fingertips meet his hair, and then down to his face.