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I grip my neck to stop from closing the space between us. Fresh out of masks and brave faces, fighting gnawing pheromones, I force the truth through the claws shredding my throat. “Jinnie. That belongs to someone else.”
His jagged breath needles worse than my cursed perfume.
I have to say the rest before he purrs me into a spineless puddle. It would be easier to flip off the SAS firing squad than to bare this last, awful scar, but my one last moral is stubborn. I refuse to lead him on. “I can’t have heats. Can’t bond. I want you so much, but I can’t be your m—”
“How much?”
A ripple rocks my spine.
“How much do you want me?” Jin’s scent storms, all rain and salt and firefly sparkles.
I want him much too much too much. “Does it matter?”
“If you can’t answer, ask me the same.”
My voice goes as breathy as the wheeze between my ears. “How much do you want me?”
Jin’s wolfish grin bites through the dark. “Marisol. You’re why I have teeth.”
Well.
Shit.
“I’ll be waiting for you to ask for them.” Jin licks sharp canines. “But not now. You need to rest.”
Yes. A life rope. Time for him to leave. I dart for the too-big bed. “I’ll be golden by morning.”
Instead of giving me space, Jin follows. He peels down the sheets and tucks himself in. “I’ll make sure you are.”
My glands throb. “You can’t stay.”
“Can’t? Or you don’t want me to?”
I’m scrubbed raw. Almost to bone.
“Can’t.” I scrape my shoulder, digging the runneled scars through my shirt. There’s one way to force out Jin, and it’s more sure-fire than a rocket launcher. “But I’ll make you a deal.”
“Tell me.” Jin grabs my wrist, stopping me from clawing myself.
My chest aches.
I’m so tired of pretending. “Taste my real perfume. After that… Do whatever you want.”
“Hit me.” He pulls me deeper, onto sheets already stained with his scent. At least when Jin leaves, I can keep that little bit of him.
Before I can second-guess, I unleash the poison.
This close, a puff is enough.
Just a little flex while I hold my breath against a lifetime of dread.
Jin’s nostrils work.
Ready for the worst, I swing my legs off the bed.
But Jin doesn’t follow the pattern.
No scrunched, blood-shot eyes or retching, hacking cough. He doesn’t glare with hate or accusation.
