Dead Drop (The Guild #2)(18)
“Can I move now?” I asked with a teasing smile, wiggling my hips at him.
He seemed to really consider saying no, but then Bryan gave a loud groan of pain, and Leon sighed. “I suppose. Go wash up and clean those cuts. I’ll deal with our audience member.”
I was sorely tempted to stay and help, but shit… I ached all over, and my hand was bleeding freely from where the garotte wire had cut through the fleshy bit of my palm. I was a goddamn mess, and a shower sounded fan-fucking-tastic. So I yawned and climbed off the bed with shaking legs.
There was blood everywhere, but it was nothing we couldn’t handle. The bigger concern would be someone calling security for that gunshot without a silencer.
Leon’s problem, not mine. I needed a shower. His possessive declarations while we’d fucked haunted me into the bathroom, though. An echo of what Kai had told me, back on the island when he thought I would never leave.
My addiction for jealous, possessive men was becoming problematic.
8
Was this even real, or had I slipped into a lucid dream? It wouldn’t be the first time, though I thought I’d solidified the line between reality and imagination some years ago. But it was almost too good to be true. This woman was too good to be real. Too perfect to be mine.
After I’d dealt with Bryan—as fast as humanly possible—I’d joined her in the shower and fucked her against the wall while the water at our feet turned red with blood. Then after we got out, she barely let me dry her off before shoving me to my knees and demanding I make her come again with my mouth and nothing else.
Forget tending to her wounds, my woman wanted to ride the high of nearly dying as long as she could, and I understood. So I knelt there on the hard tile floor and damn near suffocated myself in her sweet cunt. Her legs buckled when she came, but I caught her and lowered her gently to the floor, never taking my mouth from her throbbing core for a second. No way in hell was I spilling so much as a droplet of her sweet release.
After that, she was so exhausted and pliable that she didn’t protest when I scooped her up and took her to bed. Nor when I tended all her various wounds. None of them were too severe, the cut in her hand being the worst of them. Luckily her medical kit was fully stocked, and I closed it with glue.
For a long time after I was done, I just lay there beside her, tracing the marks on her ivory flesh with featherlight touches, not wanting to wake her. Quietly obsessed with the marks that were mine, because they came from a place of raw passion unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
“You knew him,” she murmured, startling me somewhat.
“I thought you were asleep,” I confessed, pressing my lips to her bare shoulder in a kiss.
She hummed a sound that did weird things to my chest. Made me all warm and shit. “Nearly,” she whispered, cracking her eyes open, “but I get the feeling that when I wake, you won’t be here. So I don’t want to sleep.”
I arched one brow. “That’s why you don’t want to sleep?” Because she didn’t want me to leave? Fuck. Why did I just feel like I’d been punched in the stomach by that statement?
Her lush lips curled up in a smile. “You think I’d be worried about you killing me in my sleep again? Nah, you’re too infatuated with my pussy to kill me yet.”
If that wasn’t the truth… But it was so much more than her cunt I was obsessed with, it was her. All of her. The way she’d fought back against Bryan, a seasoned executioner, or the sassy quip she threw right after she almost died. I couldn’t get enough of her. She was strong in every aspect of her personality, and I was… what had she called it? Infatuated.
That word barely scratched the surface.
“Don’t look so worried, Marx,” she told me with a wry smile, threading her fingers into my short hair and tugging my face closer. “I’m hooked on you, too.” She whispered the confession against my lips, then kissed me so perfectly. Fear shot through me, and I stiffened up.
She must have felt it, because she broke away with a sigh. “Tell me something, bunny.”
Amusement cut through my sudden wave of anxiety. “Like what?” I propped my head on my hand, looking down at her from a short distance. She was stunning, with makeup or without. Bruised and cut up, or unblemished. I liked her in every version.
Her long dark lashes fluttered, but her sapphire eyes were sharp and assessing. “Tell me something true, bunny. Tell me something you’ve never told anyone, or tell me why you locked up just now.”
What curious phrasing, seeing as how they were one and the same. But did I trust Danny DeLuna enough to tell her about Layla?
I hesitated long enough that she exhaled heavily and rolled onto her side to face me. Her long fingers threaded into her silken white hair, and her delicate tongue wet her lips. She held me spellbound.
“Okay, I’ll go first,” she offered, “though I doubt there is much you don’t already know about me.”
My lips curled up. “You’d be surprised.” Someone had done solid work on burying Danny’s personal life. I still didn’t know where she’d gone after leaving Scotland via helicopter, even though I was narrowing the options down.
“Mm-hmm, well, okay, depending on how closely you’ve been stalking me, maybe this is news. Kai tried to reach out a few days ago.” She delivered that truth bomb as casually as asking whether I liked her to spit or swallow.