Page 31 of Killer Bones

This man brought me to the edge of orgasmic oblivion with the cruelest of methods.

When he releases me, we stand beneath the warm rain of the shower staring at each other…as if we’ve each unearthed some life-shattering secret. Absentmindedly, he reaches over and turns off the faucet.

My hand has found his jaw and, again, I’m drawn to trace the damage on his face. He lets me, merely waiting for me to be done.

Torn, I wonder where I am going. Love and hate are linked, right? I’m struggling to understand why I almost like him.

Loving what he did to me, here and now, does not excuse him.

My life goal is not extreme, incredibly objectifying and degrading kink the day before I’m to be executed. Even if I was blown away.

“Get dressed is what I should be saying to you.” His smirk doesn’t reach his eyes.

Every piece of clothes we own is wet.

I shake my head. “We are a mess, and I’m not talking about clothes.” I lift my eyebrows, and he nods.

“Truth.”

There isn’t even a towel in here. I scan the whole room to find he’s gone to the door to bang on it.

“Hey! Bring me some clothes for her, and me. Towels too!”

There’s no answer. Tentatively, I venture toward the other side of the room, padding over, starting to shiver. I clutch my arms around my upper torso. Adelmo, and I hope that is his correct name, gathers up his soaked clothing and lays it out on the floor, away from the puddles.

“They might bring something.” He looks to the door then comes over and sits against the wall with me. A moment later, he pushes his arm between my back and the wall, hooks my shoulder and brings me into his side. “Better?”

I’m frowning. Probably, I should be gushing over this caring gesture, to placate him. Once again—that’s sensible. His body heat is already warming me. I worm closer, breathe his scent, and sigh. “Better, yes.”

It’s not that cold in here but being wet and having no clothes to wear is a problem. The metal floor counteracts what warmth I gain from him. My shivering worsens.

“Still cold,” I whisper

Calmly, he says, “More sex might work?—”

“No.” Hell no. But… I cock my head at him. “Do I detect teasing?”

“Maaaybe. It might be the drugs, Izzy. Being knocked out for so long might’ve wrecked your metabolism.”

I shrug. Despair settles, a dark fog thrown over the room.

Where do I begin?

“I’m cuddling with the man who means to kill me.”

There. That’s a good place to start.

12

Izzy

“Not by choice,” he says, grudgingly.

“I know I should fear you, beg from you, and I guess I have, during sex, but…” I smooth my hand over my knee, eye his body where he’s rocked up next to me like he’s glued there. “But I have nothing else, no one else to ask for help from. You.” I raise my eyes and lock onto his. “You’re my only hope,” I smile weakly, “Obi Wan.”

He picks up my hand, brings it to his mouth and kisses the back before he nips two of my fingers. “You don’t trust me.”

“No.” I shrug. “Not exactly. How could I?”