Crossed (Never After, #5)

by Emily McIntire

When I had seen you twice, I wanted to see you a thousand times, I wanted to see you always. Then— how stop myself on that slope of hell?— then I no longer belonged to myself. — Victor Hugo, The Hunchback of Notre- Dame

The man in me wants to step away, but the monster calls her closer.

I enjoy seeing the lust in people’s eyes when they watch me onstage, using the hollow steel pole as a blank canvas while I paint my body around it like a brushstroke.

I learned to not plant roots when you wouldn’t be around to tend to the soil.

Most importantly, I learned not to trust anyone who says they love you, because in the end, they always love themselves the most.

If being here is sinful, then this woman is sin, wrapped in a fiery bow.

But temptation is a devastating mistress. It’s not my fault, I remind myself. I’m only human. And she is…all- consuming. Like hellfire.

Because even now, she’s already creeping back in. This stranger. Ma petite pécheresse. My little sinner.

I need to touch her. I need to feel her against me. I need to erase what any other man has made her feel, to ruin her for even God, until the only one she can pray to is me.

“I know every single inch of you, petite pécheresse, as if you were painted by my hands.”

“And in your painting…” I murmur. “Am I a whore? Or am I a witch?”

A sinner faking as a saint. Just like me.

If she were to go up against God, she may come out the victor. My faith keeps me warm, but she burns like molten lead. She will be my downfall, because I am just a man, and for her, I am weak.

For so long, I hated her because I feared her. And now I fear her because I crave her.