Page 296 of Immune

I lower to my knees in front of her, and the move pulls at my side, sharp enough to make my breath catch before I canbury it. Dakota feels it through my hands on her, and her fingers tighten in my hair. “Kaito.”

I look up, finding her breathing hard with wide eyes that aren’t out of fear. She’s just overwhelmed. But even the good kind of overwhelmed can turn bad if it’s ignored.

“Tell me no, and I’ll stand right back up,” I swear.

Her gaze drops briefly to my side.

Then back to my face.

“You tell me if it hurts too much.”

“I will.”

“Actually tell me,” she presses, fingers clenching around my hair once more.

“I’ll tell you.”

Her fingers flex once, then she says, “Don’t stand up.”

So I don’t. Instead, I pull her closer and press my mouth to her stomach first. Then her hip. Then the pale patches scattered across her lower belly. I do not make it soft, and I don’t make it into some kind of worship. I make it clear to her that I want this. That I choose this. Her. And I’m not scared of the body that dragged blood into the room with her.

Dakota’s hand shakes in my hair and when I look up again, her eyes are wet. I do not mention it, though. I don’t need to. Instead, I go to work on opening her pants. The sound of the button coming free is almost inaudible in the large space around us, but her breathing isn’t.

Dragging the zipper down slowly, I watch her face for every single change. She watches my hands and her throat moves once. Then her fingers tighten in my hair hard enough to hurt.

I like the pain, though. That’s nothing new for me, but I simply decide to ignore just how much I like it coming from Dakota.

Her pants slide lower over her hips inch by inch, revealing more skin, more bruises, and more places where blood dried in streaks across her thighs. My hands stay steady, but my mouth absolutely doesn’t.

I kiss the skin just above the edge of her underwear and her stomach tenses.

“Kaito.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you.”

The words slam into both of us hard. Dakota looks stunned by the words that just slipped out of her mouth, so I wait. I let her decide if she wants them back. But she doesn’t. Because her jaw tightens before she repeats herself with more confidence. “I want you.”

I press my forehead to her stomach once. Just once. Then I help her step out of her pants. Her knee is still banged up, bruised to hell and looking like it needs as much rest as the entire world. There are bruises over her thigh and more blood than I even want to acknowledge, but I stamp it into my brain instead of turning the moment all weird and clinical.

Not yet, anyway. She needs her body back before anyone else starts trying to observe it.

I hook one of her legs over my shoulder only when she pushes her fingers deeper into my hair and drags me closer. Her breath punches out when my mouth touches her through the thin fabric, her hips jerking before she freezes.

I grip one thigh and look up. “Move if you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Sure you do.”

Her glare is immediate, but she answers anyway. “I want you to keep going.”

So I do. I pull the fabric of her underwear aside and put my mouth on her properly.

Dakota doesn’t come apart quietly. She fights it, because of course she does. It’s like pleasure is just another thing trying to take something important from her. Her thighs shake and her hand clamps tightly over her mouth.

I stop suddenly and she looks down, furious. “Why—”