Page 73 of When the Woods Go Silent

“You even taste like darkness,” he says, sucking his fingers into his mouth and groaning when I begin to stroke him again, skin slick with my desire for him. His eyes slide closed and his hips buck against my hand as I work to pull him right into the same ecstasy I’m still swimming in.

He was already close, and it isn’t long before he comes with a string of growled words I can’t even understand, a wet heatspilling out over my belly and breasts as he braces himself over me, kissing me deeply as he ruts against my stomach. I’m still pulsing between my legs and cursing the lack of condom, when the taste of his mouth on mine begins to register as strange.

“Wait,” I pant, turning my head to the side and avoiding his lips as the traitorous iron smell reaches my nose. Oh no. The extra wetness between my thighs feels suddenly different. Sticky and familiar in a way that brings a flush of embarrassment to my cheeks in the darkened room. Why this? Why now?

I can’t see it, but I know. Somehow, I’ve started my period at the worst possible time, and his fingers are coated in blood. His cock, too. His lips, and now mine. “Don’t-”

Torrence doesn’t listen as he sits back, teasing my swollen clit again before sucking his fingers into his mouth with a deeply satisfied, possessive animal growl. I flinch, already hating how the sexiest moment I’ve had in a while is about to be ruined.

He’s never going to want to see me again when he realizes what’s on his tongue.

“Don’tfucking care, Midnight.” He presses one palm between my breasts, thumbing my nipple as he locks his eyes on mine. I can’t stop watching as he licks his bloodied fingers clean, slowly savoring every bit of me. My jaw is loose, and I feel as though I should be disgusted, but the amber blaze of his eyes and the intense way he’s trapped me in that his gaze are giving the impression of a jaguar, stalking closer. Heat floods my body, and I can’t move.

He knows.

He knows, and he doesn’t care.

This is so different from other guys I’ve been with, who treated my period as a coupon for a week’s worth of blow jobs. I’ve never even had regular sex while bleeding, much less anything like this.

And apparently, Torrence loved it. I’ve always thought of myself as pretty vanilla in the bedroom, but watching him now, so obvious about his desire for every part of me, I realize I just never had the right partner.

Whatever this is, I’m freaking turned on by it, and my mind is racing with all the possibilities someone like Torrence could show me.

His smirk widens, and it feels like he can read every one of my thoughts. “See, Midnight, I play games. But only if I know I’m going to win.”

Before I can gather my wits enough to form any kind of clever comeback, he rises from the lounge and disappears into the kitchen. Returning a few minutes later, he hands me a warm, white towel, and the evidence assaults me all over again as I wipe the spots of fresh blood from between my thighs.

“Um, sorry about...” I gesture to the towel and the lounge, knowing it’s probably going to be stained, too.

“As long as you never call me yourbuddyagain, I’ll let you pay me back in pleasure,” he teases, zipping up his jeans. “And next time, I’ll be better prepared.”

I flush, happy in the idea of next time, and I’ve just retrieved my clothes when a door slams somewhere in the back.

A male voice calls out, the words garbled and unfamiliar, and Torrence’s face darkens, his brows pulling together to hide his eyes. He shouts something back, and I realize with a jolt that he’s speaking a different language altogether. The unseen person laughs, and I feel my face grow hot for a new reason. It’s Arlo, and I have no idea what they’re saying to each other.

“Time for you to go home, Midnight,” Torrence says, his smile gone as he steps away from me, buckling his belt. My breath catches in my throat. We were having a moment, and now I feel shut out again. It reminds me of Rose’s story, howTorrence interrupted her and Arlo. Is this some sort of dumb payback between brothers?

“So you don’t date, and you say you don’t sleep around. What... what is this?” I can’t help but ask, gesturing between us, even though history tells me it’s a bad freaking idea to force a guy into labeling anything too soon. Or ever.

“This? This is a game,” Torrence replies, that sly grin showing up again. Something about it feels so much colder now, though, and I feel my pride begin to freeze like a layer of ice over my desire.

“Awfully bold of you, playing games with a serial killer.” The sharpness of my tone surprises me a little, but he only watches me finish dressing, his smile never slipping.

“Like I said before, I take my chances with death. Go home, killer kitten.”

Another playful nickname, but maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all. Maybe he’s nothing more than a playboy, no matter what he claims.

A shadow darkens the kitchen door, and I see the glint of Arlo’s blond hair.

In a different place, with a different guy, I would have bounced on my toes for a goodbye kiss, or asked him to name a day and place for our “next time.”

But I don’t do that with Torrence. Instead, I ball up the wet towel and toss it at him, enjoying the slap of it against his bare chest. I walk out of the restaurant without another word, hearing the low murmur of Arlo’s voice as I leave.

Torrence is a delicious taste of trouble, just like I thought, but now I need to decide just how many lives this kitten wants to give up to play his games before my heart gets hurt. Whatever the magic number is, I vow to myself on the walk home that whenever there is a next time, I’ll be the one winning.

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