Page 121 of Unwrapping Deviance

A moment later, he returns from the kitchen with a broom and dustpan.

“Can you check on the potatoes?” he says to Daniel as he moves to sweep up the mess.

Daniel takes me with him back to the kitchen. I’m caught around the middle and hoisted up onto the counter. The knife is taken from my fingers and returned to the block.

“Daniel?” I let my legs swing while I watch him yank the oven door open and grab the mitts.

“Yeah, baby?”

I wait for him to drag the tray off the rack and drop it on the elements. The mitts are tossed down on the counter and he gingerly pries back the foil off the closest potato.

“What happened with you guys and your dad?”

His fingers still, but immediately pick up taking up a fork and sinking the prongs into the withered, brown skin.

“It’s not really important,” he murmurs, moving to the next potato. “Dad wasn’t a nice person.”

I don’t know how to press him. I don’t want to demand answers if he’s not willing to share, but the things Christian says, the hatred he has for his own father has me curious, especially when Daniel rarely speaks about his parents. Barely his dad at all.

“Did he hurt you guys?”

He straightens and turns hooded eyes in my direction. “Sometimes. Mainly Chris and our mom. It wasn’t a good time. We don’t like talking about it.”

I let it go.

Who am I to press when it took me weeks to talk to him about my dad and I actually loved my dad? Whatever he did, I know Daniel and Christian have a good reason to hate him.

Christian returns to dump the shards into the trash. The broom and dustpan are returned to their hooks inside the pantry. I watch Christian move to the sink and wash his hands. He dries them on a towel and inspects his injury.

Even from my place on the counter, almost ten feet away, I can see the well of crimson bubbling up from the cut that Christian slips between his clever lips.

“Let me see,” I say, shifting in my place.

I don’t know why I’m so anxious. I know the cut isn’t deep. I know it’s not serious, still, something about seeing him hurt has my stomach in knots and I don’t understand it.

I capture his warm, strong hand when he reaches me. I cradle it between mine and examine the scratch.

Not deep. Barely more than a poke. But a plump bead of crimson rises to the surface.

Running on instinct, I’m dropping my face and kissing the spot next to the cut. I smooth my thumb along the long digit and peek up at the owner.

His eyes are hooded and dark with lust. It’s the same glint he had right before he’d shoved me into the truck and kissed me outside the diner this morning. I’m beginning to recognize it even before his lips part.

“Open.”

I do without hesitation, without comment. Without taking my eyes off his. I do it willingly knowing exactly what he’s about to do and accepting it.

When he slips his finger between my teeth, my head is already dipping. My lips are wrapping him in their warmth. I swirl my tongue around him, tasting the copper on his sweet skin.

All the while, our connection never breaks. Neither of us even blink. We hold gazes while I suck and lick his injured finger.

I know I barely know this man. I know it’s a reckless and possibly dangerous thing to lick someone’s blood, not to mention super weird, but it doesn’t feel weird. I’m not grossed out or uneasy. I mean, I know Daniel wouldn’t let me anywhere near his brother if he wasn’t safe, healthy. Daniel wouldn’t risk my safety, so I know without a doubt I’m not about to catch anything, except a whole cavern of feelings when his face tightens. When his other hand twists up in my hair and tugs my face up to take the mouth he closes over mine.

I expect the kiss to be hard and urgent, so I’m surprised when it’s a feather light whisper, a gentle nudging for entrance as he cleans his blood off my tongue.

“If your daddy wasn’t watching to make sure I behave, I’d have my tongue in your pussy right now,” he murmurs hotly against my mouth.

I nip his bottom lip between my teeth and earn a groan from him. “Daddy’s mean.”

---