Hooray?
18
Eventually, Edie wiggled free of Max’s embrace long enough to reclaim her dinner, while he took the world’s briefest shower and donned some silky-looking lounge pants.
As soon as he returned, she crawled back into his lap, forked up another bite, and tried not to think about how close the zombies might be to the final containment wall or whether they might breach that wall too before morning.
Traveling at night with a pack on the loose and strays roving nearby was a death sentence. Her untimely demise would help no one. Not Max. Not her Zone neighbors. Not all the hapless humans and Supernaturals unaware of the threat gathering only one stone wall away. All of which she kept telling herself, again and again, in hopes of relieving some of the crushing guilt currently roiling her stomach.
Max watched her chew with horrified fascination. “I’m going to regret this, but I have to know. Does I Can’t Believe It’s Not Falafel taste like falafel?”
“Nope.” She swallowed with difficulty. “Not at all.”
“Chickpeas?”
“Not even a little.”
His brow creased further. “Fava beans?”
“I don’t think so?” After a swig of pomegranate-lime juice and another bite, she was able to confirm, “No. No hint of fava beans.”
“Herbs? Spices?”
She shook her head, chewing industriously.
His lips formed a disapproving line. “Preservatives and fillers moistened sufficiently to form glutinous brown clumps?”
“Huh.” Her brows rose as she considered the description. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”
“Edie.”
She raised a shoulder. “Still not seeing the gourmet feast your cook prepared for us, dude. A woman has needs.”
“As do we all, human.” His mouth softened, and his gaze drifted over her tank top and panties before lingering at the crook of her neck. “As do we all.”
That look had become familiar to her over the last two days. Familiar and welcome.
Swallowing the last bite of not-falafel required sucking back her final sip of juice. Before she could even ask where to put the empty containers and her fork, Max gathered them and set them aside.
He resettled her atop his lap, astride his hips, his broad hands gently but firmly positioning her exactly as he intended. Her own hands gripped his satiny shoulders for balance, and she arched back. Offered herself to him.
She’d sat exactly like this once before. Felt the give of couch cushions beneath her knees, the rise of his cock between her legs,the delicious pressure against her cotton-covered clit, the taut tension in his muscled thighs as he flexed and lifted his body for their mutual pleasure.
A repeat of that experience would be more than welcome right now.
With a light sweep of his thumb, he stroked the line of her collarbone, then slowly traced the deep scoop of her neckline, his eyes pinned to his task. The texture of her skin seemed to absorb his full attention. The way it slid smoothly under the pad of his finger, then prickled into gooseflesh as soon as her nerves registered the contact, rising in bumps to greet him.
His lips curved faintly. “Do you want me, ma puce?”
That light, taunting thumb trailed over the ribbed cotton of her tank and rode the curve of her breast downward. When he reached her hardening nipple, he rubbed it softly. Sweetly. It shouldn’t have been enough to make her gasp and clench deep inside, but it was. It did.
“No,” she said.
His hand immediately stilled, then lifted entirely away from her.
“No?” To his credit, he didn’t sound angry. Simply curious.
“This isn’t simplewantanymore. I’m well past that point.” Reaching for the tucked-in edge of his makeshift bandage, she unwound it carefully from around his neck. “Ineedyou.”
