“I think you wish you hated me, but you can’t, because I’m the only one who makes you feel.”

I try to shake my head to deny his words, but the only noise I can make is a pathetic whimper.

“Do you need it?” he asks, his voice a whiskey-tinged rasp that makes me swallow down a moan of desperation.

“Need what?” I practically pant.

“To feel.”

I try to shake my head, to say no, but I don’t. I can’t. I want him and it’s not some animalistic urge, it’s a need, a want, a choice. My body isn’t overruling my head, I’m not unaware of what’s happening here, even though a part of me wishes I could use that as an excuse for what he makes me feel. I’m angry at him, furious that he has the audacity to suggest we be friends, but I want him. I need him and I hate it, or maybe I just hate that I don’t hate it.

For weeks I’ve yearned to feel the way he makes me feel. I tried to replicate it with rebellion, but it didn’t work. I sought it out from others, but I stayed cold in the face of replacing his touch with someone else’s.

“I need it too,” he confesses on a whisper.

My lips part as I lift my gaze to his. He’s so beautiful, his face regal and austere, sometimes almost sinister with how perfect he is.

“You can have anything you want, all you have to do is reach out and take it,” he taunts.

My eyes fall down to my hands that are gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly. I assumed he was holding me in place, imprisoning me like he usually does. But he’s not touching me, his arms are hanging loosely at his sides. I’m the one keeping him here, the one holding him captive.

“You’re usually the one who takes whatever you please,” I say breathily.

“I know. I took too much, now I’ll only take what’s offered freely.”

Swallowing thickly I glance guiltily around us, but we’re alone, everyone else is busy at the party. Relinquishing my hold on his shirt I lift my left hand and place it on his right arm, slowly sliding it down until I reach his hand. My skin feels alive, tingles of power and sensation building until I feel like I’m vibrating with nerves and excitement. Slowly I lift his hand up, guiding it to my breast.

“Just for tonight,” I tremble.

“Spell it out for me, Starling, I want to hear you say exactly what you think this is.”

“Make me feel, Sebastian. Just for tonight, I’m…” I pause, then inhale. “I’m offering myself to you.”

For the longest moment of my life, he just looks at me, his palm still pressed against my breast. Then he lurches forward and collars my throat while his lips plunder my mouth. In an instant my body comes to life, exploding with need and want and desire. The night is both brighter and more immersive, lighting up the world around me even as the darkness presses in on us.