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“You’ll be okay. You can breathe.”
My mock gurgle brought no apology either.
“The creature that owned these...” Gently he poked at my neck. “...is dead too. I had to cut its head off. Or I think I did. I couldn’t see it clearly.” His fingers worked at the loops. His thigh muscles, or ass muscles I guessed they were, shifted on my legs. “This is tight.”
I let my focus drift above his taut mouth, and the lines below his eyes said he was amused by my predicament.
My eye rolls were ignored. “Stop fucking procrastinating. Use the fucking knife.”
“So much swearing, Zara. Bad girl. The facts... If I cut you, that could do a lot of damage. We might react badly, same as these deaders. Also, from what my thing’s memory tells me, these will disappear a few minutes after death. They vanish. When the man there died, black mist oozed from his mouth and eyes, and even the pores of his skin.”
“Hmph.”
“It’s true. Safer if I wait.” A faint smile raised the corners of his lips—lips that were uncomfortably close.
The man was sitting on me, and the pressure below, along with his hands on my neck...his male tone rumbling within kissing reach, it was getting to me. Becoming aroused after the violence and when there was blood everywhere—surely that was unnatural?
Through the wash of red on what was left of the windshield and the foliage of the trees, I spied a full moon rising. We’d made a blood moon.
“Now do you admit you need me?” he murmured, rocking in close.
Oh.I scowled, and he leaned further, gradually, while maintaining eye contact, then he kissed my forehead. He stayed there with his stubble roughening my skin as we breathed in unison.
Had the loops begun to slacken?
Had my brain softened? I liked him where he was, and admitting that would be so wrong, right now.
Tentatively, I put my hand up and found his shoulder and his firm muscles, the tactile pleasure of groping a man. They felt so good, like rocks who fucked. The analogy made me smile to myself. As I crept my fingers along the seams of shirt fabric, the strength implied and his scent grounded me, despite the death and mayhem around us.
The world was full of violence, both near and far, and always had been, always would be, but Val was right here. A man with bad intentions, if bad meant wanting to fuck me. I was sure he did. The hardness pressing into me reinforced that opinion.
“You look so very pretty... Smell so...”
No one called me pretty unless they wanted something.
He stroked my skin above where the faux tentacles held me, found my right hand and entwined his fingers in mine.
“Trapped.” His lips moved to my ear, and I shivered at his murmur. Violet burned into my neck, and my qualms wavered. “I like this.”
So did I.
Beware.
I knew. I knew. Hindsight was an education. The man was all presence and allure, his touch invasive.
The skin around his eyes tightened.
“Val?”
The strangling loops fell away, and he cupped my face and smoothed his other hand over my thigh, electric, promising, making me want.
Barely, I brought my willpower to the fore and stopped his hand. Though mine was small in his, he drew away a few inches but kept his hand on my jaw. His thumb grazed across and slipped into my mouth. That single, reckless curl of my tongue around the tip, over the nail, the pad, sucking up the bitter taste of skin...it surely made him desire me as much as I desired him.
The taste of him...
The violet danced in me, and I ached...oh how I ached.
I arched, back bowing with want.
