67
" What are my options?"
"You could read obscure poetry while I play the triangle, I suppose. Or we can smother ourselves in peanut butter and howl at the moon. Use your imagination."
"Fine,"I said. "You take my hand and back up toward the bed."
"Excellent choice. What then?"
"You sit down, and pull me down with you."
"Where are you?" he asked.
"You pull me onto your lap."
"Where are your legs?"
"Around your waist."
"Well," Noah said, his voice slightly rough. "This is getting interesting. So I'm on the edge of your bed. I'm holding you on my lap as you straddle me. My arms are around you, bracing you there so you don't fall. What am I wearing?"...
"What do you usually wear to bed?" I asked.
Noah said nothing. I opened my eyes to an arched brow and a devious grin.
Oh my God.
"Close. Your. Eyes," he said. I did. "Now, where were we?"
"I was straddling you," I said.
"Right. And I'm wearing..."
"Drawstring pants."
"Those are quite thin, you know."
I'm aware.
...
"Right," he said. "So what are you wearing?"
"I don't know. A space suit. Who cares?"
"I think this should be as vivid as possible," he said. "For you," he clarified, and I chuckled. "Eyes closed," he reminded me. "I'm going to have to institute a punishment for each time I have to tell you."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Don't tempt me. Now, what are you wearing?"
"A hoodie and drawstring pants too, I guess."
"Anything underneath?"
"I don't typically walk around without underwear."
"Typically?"
"Only on special occasions."
"Christ. I meant under your hoodie."
"A tank top, I guess."
"What color?"
"White tank. Black hoodie. Gray pants. I'm ready to move on now."
I felt him nearer, his words close to my ear. "To the part where I lean back and pull you down with me?"
Yes.
"Over me," he said.
Fuck.
"The part where I tell you that I want to feel the softness of the curls at the nape of your neck? To know what your hipbone would feel like against my mouth?" he murmured against my skin. "To memorize the slope of your navel and the arch of your neck and the swell of your- "
― Michelle Hodkin , The Evolution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer, #2)
71
" The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that I was covered in blood.
The second thing I noticed was that this didn’t bother me the way it should have.
I didn’t feel the urge to scream or speak, to beg for help, or even to wonder where I was. Those instincts were dead, and I was calm as my wet fingers slid up the tiled wall, groping for a light switch. I found one without even having to stand. Four lights slammed on above me, one after the other, illuminating the dead body on the floor just a few feet away.
My mind processed the facts first. Male. Heavy. He was lying face down in a wide, red puddle that spread out from beneath him. The tips of his curly black hair were wet with it. There was something in his hand.
The fluorescent lights in the white room flickered and buzzed and hummed. I moved to get a better view of the body. His eyes were closed. He could have been asleep, really, if it weren’t for the blood. There was so much of it. And by one of his hands it was smeared into a weird pattern.
No. Not a pattern. Words.
PLAY ME.
My gaze flicked to his hand. His fist was curled around a small tape recorder. I moved his fingers—still warm—and pressed play. A male voice started to speak.
"Do I have your attention?" the voice said.
I knew that voice. But I couldn’t believe I was hearing it. "
― Michelle Hodkin , The Retribution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer, #3)