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In all the ways I’d dreamed about him, in all the ways I’d wanted him for as long as I could remember, none of those memories seemed to match up to the reality that was in front of me.
He was strong in my arms, all lean muscle, hidden behind a visage of innocence. I’d seen the way he killed that man — I’d seen the coldness that tore through him like an ice storm. He wasn’t everything he was showing me, and I might have been upset if it were anyone else.
Somehow, I’d known there would be something different about Clay.
Maybe it was because I’d seen every possible side of him when I closed my eyes?
I didn’t know. I just knew that I wanted whatever he was willing to give me, whatever part of him he’d let loose.
Last night proved I didn’t have the strength to resist him anymore. I could still taste him on my tongue, could still remember every little helpless sound he made while he gagged himself on my cock, trying to be… what… trying to be good for me?
Fuck.
I wanted to stay motionless, but my hands seemed to have a mind of their own. One was already clasped around him, holding him just as firmly as he held me — so maybe I was making sure he didn’t leave, either — but the other was free and carefully traced the lines of his face. He was beautiful, and so much softer when he slept than when he was awake.
His expression was peaceful, and it was only now that I realized how calculating and put together it usually was. He kept a mask up when we interacted because he had to be the man he wanted me to see. I didn’t know if I could explain to him that it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care that he’d taken a life in front of me. If anything, it made something settle in my chest to know that he fit into my life a little better than I thought he would. In all my time watching him, I’d never seen that part of him peek through.
And in all the dreams I had of him, he was only that person half the time. The rest of the time he was…
Well, he was this, the man in my arms right now. The soft face and the parted lips and the rumpled hair that tickled against my bare skin.
I wanted to roll him over, to press him to the mattress and hold him there so I could keep this part of him to myself, for myself, forever… but my mind was already working out the problem we’d created.
As much as I didn’t want to, I threaded my fingers through his hair and said his name carefully.
“Clay?”
He moaned something under his breath and curled closer to me.
“Clay, we have to get up.”
He started to moan again, then froze mid-grumble. The stiffness of his posture told me he hadn’t meant to fall asleep and stay asleep, and the way that tension slowly melted while I stroked my fingers through his hair told me his body was over fighting me just as much as I was over fighting him.
It was a damn shame I had a bullet wound, and we were both in deep shit with my family. Though, whatever medication he’d injected me with made it feel like I'd been shot a week ago instead of yesterday.
“We need to get up,” I said the words again, and I hated the way they sounded.
“Why?” I hadn’t expected the tone of a cranky kitten when he spoke, or the way his sleep-soft eyes narrowed in contrition. I had to stamp down another urge to forget why. I could worry about that later.
I wanted us to have a later.
And if we were going to, that meant the proper precautions had to be taken.
“They’re going to realize we killed those men,” I said softly, and I added the we to let him know we were in this together. I wasn’t going to let him shoulder the responsibility and weight of taking a life on his own. “They’re going to realize we didn’t do what we were told. I think the best thing we can do is head somewhere that isn’t your place.”
The best thing we could do would be to drop off the face of the planet. Maybe take a trip to another country. I had more than enough money stashed away, we could certainly do it.
But…
Shit, Clay didn’t know me. Not really.
My eyes flicked down to the drawing he’d shown me last night, the one that caused me to nearly forget everything but the way his mouth tasted.
He didn’t really know me, but I had a feeling he felt me just as much as I felt him.
“Let me pack a few things.”
Clay started to push up, and my fingers around him tightened. I’d been the one to tell him we needed to go, but letting him move away from me seemed tantamount to sinning. It took everything I had to force my hands to relax, to let my arm fall to my side.
