Page 39 of The Kill

With a soft smile, she strokes my scalp before letting go of my hair. Her body goes limp, and she relaxes into the sheets, a content smile on her face as rolls over and goes still, falling back into a deep sleep once more.

I’m going to hell. I’m definitely going to hell for that one.

But it was one-hundred-percent worth it.

24

MANDY

“Tyson?” I open my eyes, well rested but confused.

His scent hangs heavy in the air. He was definitely in my room.

When I sit up, my thighs rub together, slick and wet, and a lingering sense of arousal has me pressing them together, feeling a jolt of pleasure far too easily and far too strong for it to be a new sensation.

Shit. The chair lies toppled over on the floor. The door is closed but my barricade is gone. Double shit.

My nipples are still sensitive as I strip off my vest and panties. Did I go to bed in shorts? I can’t remember, but as I breathe in Tyson’s delicious scent on my clothes, I know this isn’t going to be good.

As I brush my teeth, I groan, banging my head against the cold tile as a million different ways I could have humiliated myself fly through my mind. The only good thing is, I’ve felt how well-endowed Tyson is. We didn’t have sex. If that thing was inside me, I’d know all about it today.

But as I step into the room again, I frown. It smells like sex in here. I don’t understand.

Maybe I can just stay here. He’ll go and fight Lee’s father. If he dies, I never have to see him again and have this awkward conversation, and if he lives, his day will have been interesting enough that my antics will be nothing more than a distant memory.

Except the satisfied thrum between my legs suggests whatever happened last night was pretty memorable.

Finally plucking-up the courage to go down and face him, I’m already dying inside by the time he lifts his crimson gaze to mine and smiles. A real smile. A very, very, self-satisfied smile.

“Sleep well?”

He does a piss poor job of hiding his smirk and instantly, I want to smack him right in his charming, smug face.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I say way too brightly as I reach for the coffee pot. He snatches it away, and waits for me to put my arm down, before pouring me a giant steaming mug.

“Yes. It. Was.”

Tyson looks the happiest I’ve ever seen him.

He’s watching me like he’d love to eat me up, and my body heats with the vivid memory of what happened yesterday, right here on the dining table. Me coming as he buries his teeth into my neck and drank his fill. Except somehow, I know that’s not what he’s thinking about. There’s something else.

Oh, God; maybe I begged him to bite me again. I did enjoy it.

Raising my fingers to feel my neck, I try to make it look like a stretch, but Tyson’s amused chuckle and cocky expression tell me I’m busted.

“I didn’t bite you again, tempting though it was,” he says, looking delighted that he knows something I don’t.

Even though he’s incredibly irritating, I must admit my blood seems to have done the trick. That, and lording whatever I did last night over me apparently suits him, because he looks good.

Raising an eyebrow, he waits. He’s dying for me to ask what happened, but I won’t. Not now. Not ever.

“Do you feel better after feeding?” I ask, keen to change the subject so I can eat. If I thought that was going to lighten the atmosphere in the room, I was wrong. Tyson’s fingers find the edge of the table, holding on hard, and he stares at my neck.

“Like a new man.”

His voice is ragged. The way he’s looking at me, jaw clenched and every muscle coiled tight, it’s like he’s battling the urge to launch himself across the table. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s struggling with my self-control. As the tendons bulge in his neck, and he takes a big, calming, breath, I smile.

“If you’re still determined to go off on this suicide mission,” I narrow my eyes at him, making the point that I’m still not convinced this is a great plan, “I was thinking that maybe you’d need some more blood. To get your strength up.”

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