Page 73 of Creatures that Breathe

He tastes like himself and iced-over ocean, and the most delicate sweet aftertaste. Salty and shocking and sugary. Invigorating.

It’s addictive, sends a pulse through me, every muscle between my thighs clenching. I sweep my hand over the hot, taut flesh of his stomach, stroke upward until I’m holding his harness like it’s a grip on a bull’s saddle.

He holds me just the same. Tenderly, angrily, grip hard in all the right places, like it’s out of his control, like Helios himself is hauling us across the sky to light the world, and we’ve relinquished ourselves to the burn.

I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

My pulse hammers, wildly pumping blood through my veins. Too fast, too much.

I kiss him like he’ll fix everything, like I’ll wake up on the sand, blue sky stretching above me. I’m needy and clingy, and he’s … feral.

Possessive, and feral, and almost frightening. His arms wound around me, urging me to my toes, plastering me to his skin, his gun. Tangible power wraps around me, as if I’m caught in an electric fence waiting for it to turn on.

“Ask me a question,” he says, swallowing down lost air, even as he kisses his way from my jaw to my ear.

I don’t want air. I want—“Cross.“ His name spills from me in an aggravated sigh that wrenches another low groan from his throat.

“Fuck,” he growls. “I’ll never tire of my name on your lips.” My breath hitches as his mouth closes over my neck, a lick more than a kiss. “Question.”

The harsh demand vibrates along my skin, and I find my head shaking, my body tensing, ankles rubbing together.

He finds a spot that turns my nails into claws and scrapes his teeth across it. “Leni.”

“What?” I breathe, suddenly forgetful.

A greedy yank on my shirt. “I’ll answer a question and in return, you take this off. Those are the rules, yeah?”

The first time in my life I’ve detested rules. Thousands of questions swarm my mind, but they’re chased away by the crush of his hands on my waist, the graze of his tongue on my pulse, hot and teasing.

I let my eyes slip open, sleepy and drugged as they focus on the awkward bend of him feasting on me, hovering, all fallen curls and wide shoulders, rippling with tendons, a bullet hole weeping. And beyond him, beyond the blood and flesh, his touch, the realm is pitch black.

“Does it hurt?” I manage to gasp out. “The bands, the curse? Do they hurt right now?”

He draws my hand to his inked neck, spreads it flat against the scorching skin. Squeezes. “Not you. Not ever.”

A promise.

Then we’re kissing again—a desperate, raw exchange, as if each taste could be our last. My shirt dissolves under his strong touch and I’m too hungry to feel vulnerable. His fingers trace sundering lines across my exposed stomach and glide lower, plunge into the waistband of my pants.

He breathes harshly against my hair, voice layered with husk, clean scent embracing me. “Has another touched you—have you—”

“Why?” I’m clinging to his tense arms. “You’ll kill them?”

The challenge doesn’t faze Cross. His eyes smolder with defiance as he hauls me closer, lets his knuckles follow his fingertips.

My breath catches.

“Only the weak kill out of envy. An intelligent man learns from his competition, and I am very interested in learning how to please you, Leni.”

“You … I … No. I’ve never … been pleased.” I’m one giant flush of skin as Cross’s mouth descends from my throat to laugh against the damning ink between my breasts.

It’s downright blasphemous, having his tongue lave the word alone and then flick against my heart. A taunt.

He ventures further, as if I’m a map of directions, kisses my third and fourth ribs, then skates down to my navel, across, bite on my hip, notch my pants down just so.

He’s on his knees before I realize it’s me panting.

“Then maybe I will kill them,” he says casually.

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