Page 69 of Creatures that Breathe

He searches my gaze. “Your humility is misplaced, pyro. No matter what they knew, they never found me. Never put together the pieces like you. I’m wondering how you convinced them you weren’t dangerous.”

Pyro is a nickname now? I love it as much as I hate it. The real kicker? He’d casually complimented me again. Twice.

“You grew up with guards?” he asks.

“No.”

His gaze flicks across the room. “You just said—”

“No, as in, I won’t answer until …” If looks could shred polyblend, he’d be naked.

He toes off his other boot and sends it jumbling into the wall. Waits.

“There were guards, but they weren’t mine. They were for the family I lived with.” Technically true. If they were my guards, they’d have listened to me, not tried to kill me.

He takes off a slim silver watch. Flattens it on the dresser. Rubs his temple. Sighs. “I can’t tell if you’re deliberately guiding me to questions or if I’ve just completely surrendered to my fascination with you.”

A nervous breath swells in my lungs, lingering there until my heart stops pounding. “Is that a question?”

Another pause. As if he’s considering the ramifications of discovering that I’m not leading him anywhere. That his interest in me—interest!—is his own.

When he speaks next, his voice is a great deal lower. “Why do you want to fuck me?”

I don’t hesitate. “Take off your shirt and I’ll count out six firm reasons.” I’m smiling. Grinning more like. This is it. Cards on the table. “I want you to ruin me, Cross.”

His jaw clenches. “Having sex doesn’t ruin you. You’re not an flower getting its petals plucked.”

The huskiness of his voice sends fresh shivers hurtling down my spine. “So you don’t want to … pluck me?” I ask.

His unwavering gaze singes me, teasing in delicious, untouched places. With confident, sensual movements, he closes the distance between us, as if unable to stay away. Stops directly in front of me, smelling faintly of strawberries. “No, Leni. I want to worship you.”

Oh.

Well … Gods, his obsidian eyes put the night sky to shame. “How progressive of you. Too bad not everyone agrees.”

“So, someone’s forcing you to do this?” His gaze holds mine as he traces a finger over my pendants.

I can’t move. I don’t want to move. Plan, no plan, I fight the urge to beg him to kiss me.

“No. This is my choice,” I say, watching his throat work a hard swallow.

His teeth saw, and then he’s across the room again, tearing at his lip, shoulders bunched and pacing. “Why me? Why ask me when there are thousands who would take a sword to the gut to share air with you?”

“Are you feeling burdened? Do you want me to replace you?” Deflecting is a second language.

“You’re not the one asking questions.”

“Maybe I’ll find a male who isn’t afraid to kiss me.”

“You need to stop provoking me, Leni,” he snarls, hands in tight fists. “You won’t like what happens if I give you what you want.”

I will.

Oh Sweet Hera, I will.

Nothing easy, Yaya said.

Maybe I’m doing this wrong because being with Cross feels so fucking easy. For me.

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