Page 42 of For Love and Blood and Fury

Ignoring the term of endearment she refused to accept, Zuri turned to Marisol. A tank top wasn’t optimal, but it was loose, and Zuri didn’t trust herself or Elena if Marisol took off her shirt.

“We don’t have a lot of options. Are you comfortable sitting in her lap?” Zuri tried very hard to sound clinical. Tried to pretend she didn’t know that even without the bite, they were wading into dangerous waters.

“Yeah.” Marisol’s voice vibrated with the same nervous energy making her clutch her hands together. “Is that the only way?”

“There are only so many places to hide the scars. You don’t want people getting the wrong?—”

“Your inner thigh is always a fantastic option,” Elena interrupted, bottom lip caught between her fangs.

Zuri couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t risk getting turned on. Couldn’t risk compromising her judgment.

Before Zuri could object on her behalf, Marisol was moving toward Elena, straddling her. Her small shorts rode up her strong thighs, showing off the most tantalizing peek of what Zuri had to admit was a nice ass.

Control yourself, Zuri thought, gaze boring into Elena before she handed her the ring.

She’d only managed to get two steps away before Marisol’s hand was on her wrist, her touch gentle but revealing her clammy skin. As if Zuri needed proof she was as nervous as she looked.

Zuri should have kept walking. Shouldn’t have looked back at her. Shouldn’t have let Bambi gaze up at her with that freckled skin and flushed cheeks and enormous hazel eyes that bled every emotion in her body.

Fuck.

“Will you stay?” Marisol’s voice was barely audible, weighed down and thin. “I’ve never done this before,” she said because she was trying to kill Zuri.

Instead of reassuring her that Elena would not hurt her—that she was very experienced and wouldn’t take more thanshe needed—that Zuri couldn’t put herself on the line like this for some fucking stranger with heartbreaking eyes. Instead of anything at all, she drifted back to them.

I’m so fucking stupid.

Locking eyes with Elena, Zuri was transported to all the times they’d had a beautiful body between them. Moving from muscle memory because the rest of her was shutting down in an effort at self-preservation, Zuri stood behind Marisol.

Elena ran the tip of her tongue over one fang because she was working in concert with Bambi to kill her. Trying to think about anything butthis, Zuri started reciting recipes in her head. She visualized making a sunburn salve even though it wouldn’t quell the fire burning her skin.

And then Elena pulled down Marisol’s loose tank top, revealing a new smattering of light freckles over her cleavage. Zuri couldn’t help the desire that roared to life at the sight, but she could control where she looked. Head tipped up, she counted the panels in her beadboard ceiling.

She didn’t have to be looking to know the exact moment Elena cut into Marisol’s skin. If it hadn’t been for Marisol’s gasp and Elena’s groan, Marisol reaching back to catch her hand in a vice would have told her.

“It’ll only hurt for a second,” Zuri whispered, one arm reflexively curling around her. Palm flat against Marisol’s sternum, she held her steady.

Every inch of her skin had flushed pink from the shock. As soon as Elena’s mouth was on the small incision she’d made high on her breast, Marisol leaned back into Zuri. Too weak to look away twice, Zuri bit the inside of her cheek when Elena collected the bright red blood with her tongue and clamped her mouth around the source.

Marisol’s breath hitched, a soft moan escaping her lips. Zuri felt the vibration against her own chest, the heat of itradiating through her. Covering Zuri’s hand with hers, Marisol intertwined their fingers. The contact so warm, so intimate. Her other hand went into Elena’s hair, pulling them both closer.

Pressed to Marisol’s body, Zuri wanted to close her eyes. Wanted to indulge in the sound of her breathing—breathing already on the verge of panting. On the sighs so soft that they would have destabilized her if they were falling against the shell of her ear.

Head tipped to one side and eyes slammed shut, Marisol let her weight fall against Zuri’s chest. With the hand Marisol wasn’t holding onto for dear life, Zuri brushed wavy, dark blonde hair from Marisol’s graceful neck.

Lips burning to quench a thirst she didn’t know she had, Zuri leaned in. Her skin smelled so good, she couldn’t pull away again. She couldn’t do anything but let her lips brush against the nape of her neck.

At the contact, Marisol started rocking her hips. Slow, rhythmic movements accompanied by the quietest moan Zuri had ever heard. Unable to resist, she pressed her lips to her warm skin, the taste of salt and arousal intoxicating.

And then Elena’s hand was running over Zuri’s thigh, cool and confident and familiar. Zuri leaned into it. Let herself pretend that there wouldn’t be consequences. That they could exist in a vacuum. That it was worth the price to feel something other than worry and confusion.

Marisol let go of Zuri’s hand and eagerly pulled her in. She urged Zuri to kiss her neck harder while trembling and grinding against Elena.

Like they were launching a coordinated strike, Elena’s roaming hand wandered over Zuri’s thigh and up her hip and under her shirt.

Zuri shouldn’t have reached for Elena. Shouldn’t have wanted her to move her hand into her waistband. Their situation was already so complicated. She couldn’t let it get worse.

Forcing her eyes open despite the desire pounding hard between her thighs, Zuri let go and moved back, breaking the spell before it consumed her. Before she let things go where she couldn’t want them to go.

---