Page 144 of What We Burn

I break the kiss with a cry, sitting upright, chasing it. Holden’s thumb finds my clit and circles hard.

“Come on, wildcat.”

My muscles pull tight.

“Bleed all over me.”

The words tip me over.

I come around him, hard and messy, nails raking down his chest. Holden swears and thrusts deep, holding me down as his body shudders beneath mine with a roar.

For a few seconds, neither of us moves.

Then I look down.

It really is a crime scene.

The sheets are wrecked. There’s blood on his stomach, my thighs, his hands, and mine. A red smear marks the corner of his mouth.

I start laughing.

Holden opens one eye. “What?”

“You look like you ate someone.”

“I did.”

“That was terrible.”

“You still came.”

“Twice.”

“And it was glorious.”

He helps me off him before my legs give out. The moment I’m on the mattress, another warm trickle runs between my thighs.

Holden watches it happen. His expression darkens again.

“You cannot possibly be ready for more.”

His eyes darken. “Give me ten minutes.”

I shove weakly at his shoulder. “Clean me up, pervert.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He returns with a warm washcloth and cleans the blood from my thighs, then my knees. He leans in and presses a slow kiss to the hollow just above the bruise at my inner thigh, like he’s marking the spot for later. When he reaches my face, his hands cup my cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently over the flush there.

For the space of a single heartbeat, I want to cry.

“All clean,” he says, setting the washcloth aside and reaching into the bag Eli left in here earlier. “I’m thinking super for that flow. Right?”

“Yeah. That’s the one.” I reach for it, but he kneels between my legs, blue eyes fixed on mine. Challenging me to flinch before he does.

“Let me,” he says, and he’s already tearing the wrapper, businesslike, as if this isn’t one step beyond every line I’ve ever drawn.

I let him.