by Lynch, H. G.
I narrowed my eyes as he brushed past me and headed for the alcohol cupboard. “But you did pick a fight with one of Red’s guys, didn’t you? And don’t even try to lie to me, ‘cause I know you did.”
Pouring a dram of whiskey into a glass, he cut me an exasperated glance. “If you know the answer, why ask the damn question?”
Breathing through my nose, I counted to ten, telling myself that hitting him again wouldn’t do any good. It didn’t look like Red’s guy had been able to knock any sense into him, so I doubted I’d do any better. Instead, I asked, in as even a voice as I could force, “Why, Brogan, did you do that? Do you want Red to kill you? Or me, for that matter?”
Slamming his empty glass down, Brogan turned hard eyes on me. “Red won’t touch you. I won’t fucking let him. I picked a fight with his guy, so he could deliver a message to Red for me. I told him if he wants his fucking money, he can come and get it himself, and if he comes anywhere near you, your house, or your friends ever again, I will personally rip his fucking throat out.”
Startled by his vehemence, I could only stare at him while he poured more whiskey and knocked it back. Even Jet seemed a little stunned.
He recovered fast, composing his face into a casual expression, and said, “You gunna stick some ice on that face, bro? I thought it was ugly before, but now you look like something that crawled out of a radioactive pit.”
Brogan glared at him. “Fuck you, Jet,” he snapped, but there was no real heat behind it, and he went to the freezer anyway. He took out a tray of ice-cubes, tapped it on the edge of the counter, and tipped it so the cubes spilled out. Grabbing a dishtowel, he wrapped the ice-cubes up and pressed the bundle to his bruised face. “There. Happy now, Mother?” he snarked at Jet.
Jet sighed. “You’re certainly grumpy. You really need to get laid, mate.”
I was startled by the wave of anger that comment made me feel. The thought of Brogan shagging some other girl, while I was still in the flat made me feel sick.
Brogan’s responding glower could have melted metal. “I told you, I—” he cut himself off, glancing at me, and then swore. “Just fuck you, Jet. Seriously.” He stormed down the hall, and the slam of his bedroom door made me jump.
Jet was grinning, and I glared at him. “What was that about?”
He shrugged. “Ask him,” was his short answer. Then he sprawled on the sofa again and turned up the TV.
I threw up my hands, growling in frustration. Fucking hell! Men!
Chapter Twenty-One
** Kester **
I knocked on Brogan’s bedroom door, a bottle of painkillers in one hand, and a packet of tiny adhesive butterfly stitches and antiseptic wipes in my other.
From the other side of the door, Brogan yelled, “Fuck off, Jet! How many times have I got to say it?”
I sighed, rolling my eyes, and opened the door. He was sprawled on his back on the bed, one arm over his face, his shirt a crumpled ball on the floor. The dishtowel full of ice was melting on the bedside table. My eyes fell on his bare chest, devouring the hard lines and ridges, the trail of dark hair that led down into his jeans, the way his hipbones curved teasingly into his waistband. My heart pounded, and my skin suddenly felt too tight, my insides pulsing.
Then he snapped me out of it by barking, “Get out, Jet!”
“God, you are grumpy,” I muttered.
He lifted his arm to peer at me from under his elbow and frowned. “Oh, it’s you.”
He didn’t sound happy about it. In fact, he sounded downright bloody depressed.
I scowled. “Yeah, it’s me,” I snapped. “Now stop whining and let me fix your damn face.”
I held up my supplies, and he groaned.
“Since when are you my nurse? You could at least wear the uniform.”
“Since you went and got your face smashed because you’re a suicidal dick. And if you want role-play, go find some other girl to fuck.”
Brogan sat up, and I shut the door, trying to ignore the way his muscles rippled when he moved.
He glared at me. “What is it with you people and my sex life? I sleep around, and everything’s cool, but the second I keep my dick in my pants, everyone’s all over me about it. The hell is that about?”
I ignored his ranting and sat down on the bed next to him. “Come here and shut up,” I commanded, tearing open the packet of an antiseptic wipe.
Scowling, Brogan shifted around until he was right in front of me, our knees touching, and I shoved down the butterflies flapping in my stomach. Folding the little wet wipe, I pressed it to his cut eyebrow, and he hissed.
“Oh, don’t be such a baby.”
He glowered at me. I swiped the wipe over his eyebrow, just to make sure he didn’t get some sort of infection. I didn’t even know if Incubi could get infections, but he didn’t stop me. Once I was sure the cut was clean, I pinched it together and applied a couple of small plastic stitches to hold it closed. I could feel Brogan staring at me the whole time, his eyes fixed on me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
Swallowing the jittery feeling of my heart in my throat, I opened another wipe and lifted it to his broken lip, hesitating as I stared at his mouth. Remembering the feeling of him kissing me, the taste of his tongue in my mouth, I licked my lips and his gaze caught it. His eyes darkened with hunger, and my breath caught.
Fuck.
Carefully, I wiped the blood off his chin, dabbing around the split corner of his lip. My hand trembled faintly, and I hoped he couldn’t tell. My body was yearning toward his, his Pull tugging me closer. He kept his fierce gaze locked on my face as I cleaned his lip with gentle strokes, his breath warming the back of my hand.
Finally, I lowered my hand and whispered, “I don’t think your lip needs stitches. It’s not too bad.” In fact, his mouth was sinful, even with the cut lip.
Brogan just continued looking at me, as if he hadn’t heard me. I squirmed as my body heated. His stare was just so intense. I couldn’t move, paralysed by his gaze, though I doubted I could have walked away anyway because my legs felt like jelly.
He started to lean forward, and my lungs stopped working. I closed my eyes, waiting, anticipating the touch of his lips on mine. My mouth tingled, and my fingers itched to weave into his hair. Oh god, I wanted him so badly.
“Why do you care?” he asked abruptly, and my eyes flew open. He was no longer leaning toward me, but watching me with cool, guarded eyes.
“What?” I asked, confused.
He scowled, as if I’d said something stupid. “Why do you care that I went and got my face smashed up? Is it ‘cause I don’t make such a pretty trophy like this?”
I frowned. What the hell was he on? “I don’t—”
“Tell me what this is really about. Is it ‘cause you feel sorry for me because my uncle got killed? ‘Cause I don’t want your fucking pity. Or is it just that you want to claim me, so you can go back to your friends and tell them how you broke my poor little heart? Well, news flash, Kez, you’re nothing to me. You’re just another fuck. The only reason you’re still here is because I won’t give Red the pleasure of killing anyone else to get at me.”
My breath caught in my lungs, and I felt as if he’d just punched me in the gut. Tears burned in the corners of my eyes, and I scrambled off the bed before he could see them. But I turned back around and jabbed a finger at him. “Fuck you, Brogan! Fuck you! I was trying to do something nice because you saved my fucking life last night, and you were nice to me, and I thought for one stupid fucking moment that I might actually have feelings for you! But you know what, you’re just another asshole! So, yeah, fuck you!”
Ignoring the shocked look on his face, I whirled around and headed for the door, stupid angry tears running down my face. Before I could even grab the handle, Brogan’s hand clamped around my wrist and pulled me back.
“Wait, Kez—”
I didn’t wait. I whipped around and slammed my fist into his bruised face. He swore, but his other han
d came up and grabbed my other wrist.
“Shit, Kester, please, wait a second!”
Boiling with fury, I thrashed against his grip, aiming my boot at his groin. He dodged, blocking my foot with his leg, and hauled me forward into his arms, pinning my arms uselessly by my sides.
“Let me go!” I shrieked.
His mouth was by my ear, and he whispered, “No. Not happening.”
I growled, wriggling, but he was immovable as stone. I stopped fighting, breathing hard, still crying pointlessly, but his arms tightened around me like steel bands.
“Kester, stop,” he murmured, leaning his head against my shoulder.
That was when I realised he wasn’t just restraining me, he was actually embracing me, hugging me as if he never wanted to let me go.
His hand lifted to the back of my head, cradling it as he kissed my neck gently. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. Any of it. You’re not nothing to me, Kester. You’re not.”
I swallowed, my heart aching. “Then why did you say that?” I whispered.
He groaned, kissing my neck again. “Because I’m scared. I’m scared of Red and what he’s going to do to me if I don’t get his money. I’m scared that I’m going to lose my job and end up working as a whore again to pay the rent, but mostly, I’m scared because of you.”
“Me?” I breathed.
“Yes, you. I’m scared of what Red will do if he gets his hands on you. I’m scared that I’m going to hurt you because I want you too much, and my Dark Hunger demands me to drink your blood. I’m terrified because I have feelings for you, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”
I didn’t know what to say to any of that. My heart felt as if it was expanding, cracking and shattering all at once. I had a sudden overwhelming need to comfort this man——this man who was not cocky, brave and self-confident. This man who was grieving and afraid. Who was beautiful, beaten, and flawed, and who cared about me. And I cared about him, like I’d never, when I had first laid eyes on him in Grimshade, imagined I would care.
Sighing softly, I tangled my fingers in his dark, silky hair, and he raised his head. Even bruised, he was beautiful, and his eyes were the colour of amethyst. He looked as if he was in pain, a kind of pain that had nothing to do with the bruises on his face.
“Let me touch you, Kez…please…I need…”
I recognised the heat in his eyes, and my heart skipped a beat at what he was asking. “You need to feed?” I whispered.
He nodded slowly. “Yes, I do, but that’s not…I just want…” He shook his head, as if he didn’t understand exactly what he wanted.
It didn’t matter. I understood. Untangling myself from his arms, I stepped back and held his eyes as I undid the buttons of my shirt-dress, dropping the belt to the floor, and then the shirt, so that I stood before him in nothing but a pair of his boxers.
I spread my arms. “If you want me….come and take me.”
His eyes devoured me, destroyed me, ruined me until I was quivering with the need for his touch. Then he took two long strides and crushed me to him, bending his head to run his nose along my jaw, and then his tongue. I tipped my head back, whimpering as my sex clenched and my breasts ached. I wriggled, rubbing my breasts against his chest, my nipples hard. He slid one hand into my hair and yanked my head back, so he could nip my throat with tiny, stinging bites.
I could feel his hardness against my stomach, and I reached down between us to stroke him through his jeans. He hissed, his breath blowing out against my neck in a sharp gasp. Releasing me, he grabbed my hand, pulling it away from him, and thrust me toward the bed. I collapsed on the edge, and he crawled over me, forcing me to lie back.
Rising up, he pulled off his t-shirt, exposing his glorious, sculpted body. Then, leaning down, he caged me in with his hands on either side of my neck, his knees on either side of my hips, his black hair tumbling into his wild eyes as he stared down at me.
I reached up to touch the bruised side of his face, and he leaned his head into my hand, half-closing his eyes, like a cat being petted. He sat back on his heels over me, took my extended arm in one hand, and began kissing his way from my wrist to my shoulder, each brush of his lips exquisitely light. With my free hand, I traced my fingertips over his chest and abdomen, outlining the hard ridges of his abs, my fingers hungrily seeking his happy trail and sliding toward his waistband. Before I could get there, he smacked my hand away.
“No,” he growled.
I whined. I needed to touch him. “But—”
“No,” he repeated firmly, skimming his lips over my shoulder to my collarbone. He kissed the point of my chin, the hollow at the base of my throat, and then moved down between my breasts. His hands slid up my sides to cup them, his palms rough against my straining nipples. I arched into his touch, and he moved his hands away, but before I could complain, he replaced his fingers with his mouth.
I gasped as his tongue flicked over my sensitive tips. He drew my nipple into his mouth, tugging with his teeth, sucking, and I tossed my head, moaning, panting. God, he was driving me crazy. He moved to my other breast and repeated the actions of his tantalising mouth, and I parted my legs, lifting my hips to meet his, throbbing and wet and desperate. He spread one large hand on my stomach, pushing me back down, and I growled in frustration.
He chuckled against my sternum, the sound vibrating through my chest. “Patience, Tiger. I’ll get there, I promise.”
I bit my lip, squirming, impatient. He parted my thighs with his knees, sliding between them, and brought his mouth back to mine, kissing me carefully, slowly, deeply. His tongue twirled with mine, sliding and stroking, as his hands kneaded my thighs. His fingers circled higher and higher, closer to where I needed him, until his fingertips slipped under the leg of the boxers I was wearing and found the soft, wet flesh between my legs. I moaned into his mouth as he slid one long finger into me. He caught my lower lip between his teeth, growling low in his throat.
“God, you’re so hot and wet. Do you want me?”
I nodded, gasping. “Uh huh.”
“Only me?”
“Yes.” No other man had ever made feel so out of control.
He grinned, pleased, and slid a second finger into me as a reward. It might have been the haze of desire, but I could have sworn his face looked less swollen. I tilted my hips up to meet his hand as he slid his fingers in and out of me, so slowly it was torture. He watched me writhe under his ministrations with luminous, dark eyes, his nostrils flaring as he scented my Lust.
Slowly, I felt the tension coiling inside me, my muscles tightening, my toes curling, and that was when he removed his hand. I whined in frustration, and he shushed me. I watched him as he lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked them, and my mouth dropped open.
“Mm…you’re delicious, Kez. I think I want to taste more.”
With a devilish smile, he moved down my body, hooking his fingers in my boxers and yanking them off in one swift motion. Then he grabbed my knees and pulled me down to the edge of the bed so my feet touched the floor, totally open to him. Pushing my thighs further apart, he leaned in, tenderly licking the bruises my attacker had left. He was so careful about it.
I breathed, “Brogan…please, Brogan…I want you inside me.”
“Shh,” he sighed against my leg.
He tilted his head, and I felt his tongue flick against my clit. I gripped the sheets under me, swearing breathlessly. His teeth, lips, and tongue worked on me in small bites and long strokes, until I was sweating and rolling my hips against his mouth. Then I exploded, throwing my head back as my climax tore through me with such force it felt like my bones were shattering.
When I finally came back down, I was gasping, my chest heaving, my body trembling with aftershocks. I felt weak, spent, and satisfied, my entire body limp as noodles. Strong hands slid under my arms and tugged me back up the bed. I turned my head and found Brogan lying next to me, looking half-satisfied and half-wild, and totally per
fect. Surprised, I lifted a lazy hand to his face, feeling his stubble under my fingers.
“Your face…” The bruises and swelling were completely gone, his lip healed.
Brogan took my hand and kissed my fingers. His eyes were still glowing, and I could feel his erection against my hip.
“Yeah, I know. I heal when I feed. And that was one hell of a meal.”
He grinned crookedly, licking his lips, and I blushed.
I flicked my eyes down his body. “But…why didn’t you…?”
“Why didn’t I take you? Because I can’t. Not without risking hurting you.”
I frowned. “What do you mean? You did it before, and you didn’t hurt me.”
He shook his head. “That was before. Before I got addicted to the taste of your Lust. It’s like a drug to me, Kester. It’s the most potent, delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”
I blinked, startled, but when I took a closer look at his glowing eyes, his pupils were indeed dilated as if he was high.
“I lied to you when I told you Incubi don’t feed on blood. Technically, we don’t need to have blood to survive, but we do crave it. I’ve never drank blood because I’m afraid of what it’ll turn me into, but Kester, you draw out my Hunger like nothing else. I can barely control myself when I’m touching you, but if I let myself go, even a little bit…”
“You might, what? Bite me? Drink my blood?”
He nodded, and I rolled onto my side. There was an ache in his eyes, as if he expected me to be repulsed. However, I’d long since gotten past the weirdness factor. I was surprisingly unbothered by the fact that he wanted to drink my blood.
“What would happen if you did drink my blood?” I asked calmly.
He closed his eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I won’t do it. I don’t want to become a monster,” he murmured.
I said nothing, just watching him until he opened his eyes again. They were slightly less bright.
Quietly, he said, “You haven’t asked me why I don’t just get Red his money.”
