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Turning back around, I frown at Beast. “You’re not going to cop a feel, are you?”
Beast snorts. “Not unless you ask me to…”
“Fat chance,” I mutter under my breath. But then, the mental image of his huge hands running over my skin hits me like a runaway train. Fingertips raking down my stomach. Calloused palms cupping my breasts… That thick middle finger he so casually waved at Ratter—yeah, I have other ideas for that.
Shoving the filthy thoughts back into their box, I wiggle my bra out from under my tank top, miraculously keeping my tits from popping out. I contemplate sleeping in my jeans, but they’re tight as hell and I just can’t…
Fuck it. If Beast really wanted to hurt me, a pair of jeans wouldn’t do me any good, anyway.
I work them down my hips, grateful I wore my black boy shorts instead of the lace thong I had considered. I meet Beast’s gaze. Just for a second. Lust, hot and dark, burns in his eyes. His expression is pure, carnal hunger. The need pulsating through my body is almost overwhelming.
Need.Need.NEED.
A torturous, heavy feeling settles in my core, and my body, frustrated beyond reason, throws a veritable tantrum. My head spins, goosebumps prick at my skin, and my panties? Yeah, those are toast. The only thing keeping them from going up in flames is the slippery arousal soaking them. I would fucking kill for five minutes alone with my vibrator right now, but noooo… there will be zero privacy for the next few days.
No ‘self-care’for me, I think grumpily as I climb into bed and pull the covers over my body. I can feel Beast’s eyes on me, but I don’t look up again, worried he’ll see through me. See straight through to all of those dirty thoughts I’m trying to keep at bay.
6
BEAST
Iwatch her sleep. Too worked up to even close my own eyes. Elle Rainer is sprawled across my king-size bed. She was fitful for the first few hours, tossing and turning, even moaning in her sleep. Not gonna lie, that made my dick so hard it could have cracked a chunk of marble.
I know the way she looked at me. For a moment, the sarcasm and the hard-as-fuck brick wall she’s built around herself fell away. I knew that in that moment, I could have pinned her to the bed and she would have been mine. I could have made her moan. Scream. Call out my name until her brother could hear it from the next town over.
But I didn’t. The dark circles under her eyes gave away exactly how exhausted she was. Besides, Rattler had already gone to bed. Jesus, the way she looks at him. ‘Thirsty’ doesn’t even come close.
Elle shifts in her sleep, making the blanket slither off of one leg. My mouth goes dry, my breathing hard. The beams of moonlight peeking through the window cast her in an other-worldly, silver glow. Rust-colored freckles kiss her calves and dust her thighs. My mouth waters as my eyes trail up the smooth slope of her hip.
My fingers twitch, desperate to feel her skin, but I sit back instead, biting my knuckle. The recliner creaks, and I freeze as she mumbles something and rolls halfway onto her stomach, one leg kicked out across the bed. That damn leg that I was so happy to appreciate five seconds ago, drags the blanket off the edge of the mattress.
Her luscious ass, wrapped in black panties, is perfectly framed in the moonlight. Crossing my arms over my chest and balling my hands into frustrated fists, I stare at the ceiling, grinding my teeth until the sun comes up.
Finally, Rattler strolls into my room to give me a break. I have blue balls and I’m stretched to the limit of what I can take, which really is saying something. I survived over forty-eight hours alone, hiding in an Afghani cave after getting cut off from my squad by insurgents.
“You look like shit,” Rattle mutters, kicking my boot.
“Shh.” I glance at Elle, appreciating the way her coppery waves flow over the pillow. I get to my feet, stepping out of the room. “No shit, Sherlock. Did you have a nice nap?”
Rattler follows, grinning at me like a moron. “And so cheerful. You’re quite the morning person today,” he snarks. “What—”
“I want her,” I growl, cutting him off.
He raises his eyebrows at me, but his voice is as cool and casual as if he was discussing a Sunday cruise. “Sounds good. Mayhem will love hearing how you fucked his little sister. What would you like on your tombstone?”
“I don’t mean I want to fuck her,” I grate out. “Well… not just fuck her,” I add.
“But you can’t tell me that’s not a big fucking chunk of your decision making.” Rattler’s sarcasm dims.
“And you can’t tell me you aren’t as hard up for her as I am. Don’t act like I’m the only one making decisions around here. I wouldn’t do it without you. You know that.”
Neither of us is what I’d call ‘touchy feely’, but we don’t work without each other. I came back from Afghanistan a broken man. Haunted. Alone. The Dirty Sinners are the only family I have, and Rattler is the one that brought me in. I don’t like admitting it, but he saved me, and that’s not a one-way street.
Rattler is reckless, and that mouth of his has gotten him in more trouble than St. Peter could ever keep track of. From underground street fighting to bloody bar brawls, I’ve had his back. I can count at least six times the fucker would have been shanked, shot, or beaten to death if I hadn’t stepped in. He’s my brother and Sinner’s blood runs thicker than anything.
Rattler doesn’t reply. Not for a long second, but I can see it in his eyes before he speaks. “Reaper is going to have our heads. I hope you have a plan, because convincing the vanilla Chaos queen to give it up to two Sinners sounds like a tall order to me.”
“She’s not Chaos,” I counter. The need to defend her against that bullshit makes my voice hard. “And I don’t think she’s as vanilla as you think.”
