Page 29 of Slay Ride

Cat stays silent, and that annoys me more than when she speaks. It’s frustrating to have all this content and no one to riff off of.

I can’t tell if the full-body underwear is cold or damp, so I err on the side of caution and decide to remove everything.Unfortunately, I learn the hard way that removing what is essentially a onesie from an unconscious adult is easier said than done.

I’ll have to cut it off.

When I was scrounging around for a lighter, I saw a pair of scissors in the drawer. I go back to the kitchen—which is only about twenty feet from the couch—and retrieve the shears.

Starting at the ankles, I cut the fabric away. This delicate act hums with an undertone of violence. I’ve used scissors in much different ways before. Maybe that’s why I’m getting hard from this. Or maybe it’s because, despite my reluctance to acknowledge it, the girl is gorgeous.

The fire’s glow kisses her pale skin, casting her in a light I’ve never viewed her in before. I don’t have much feeling in my fingertips, yet her softness reaches through. It’s like brushing my hand over warm velvet.

I run the scissors through the fabric covering her left thigh, but I place my free hand on her skin, providing a barrier to protect her from each snip of the blades. As I reach the top of her leg, my fingertips brush against a lacy warmth.

My fingertips recoil.

Well, they recoiled in my mind. In reality, I’m fighting off the urge to feel what’s under that lace.

I drop the scissors, and they clatter to the wooden floorboards. They’re the problem. That has to be it. It’s misplaced arousal from a past kill and nothing more. I amnothorny forCaterinagoddamnNovak.

“Down, killer,” I whisper to my dick as I grasp the scissors and get back to work.

I cut the material straight up the middle from the crotch, and I don’t make the mistake of putting my hand on her this time. If I slice her from slit to tit, oh fucking well.

Once I’ve wrestled off the scraps of hideous long johns and her skimpy undergarments, I snatch a thick quilt from the back of the couch and drape it over her naked body.

Out of sight, out of mind.

I’ve done all I can for her right now, so all that’s left is to hang our clothes to dry and hope that Kindra and Ezra show up before Cat wakes up. If we have to spend an entire night together, the cold won’t be the only concern. We’re likely to kill each other.

Once my clothes are dry enough, I’ll dress and chop some wood. Just in case. In the meantime, I’ll start looking around for something to do until help arrives. If no one shows up by morning—and if we survive the night—I’ll trek back to the snowmobile and get Cat some assistance at first light.

I look at my watch. It’s nearly dinner time now, so we just have to make it through the next twelve hours.

God help us.

Chapter Twelve

Cat

I’ve died and gone to hell. That’s the first thing I think when I wake up naked beneath a scratchy quilt as the bane of my existence stands before a roaring fire in nothing but his boxer briefs. His back is to me, and the fire provides the only light. Bright oranges and yellows catch and cling to his outline, hugging the round curves of his shoulder muscles and dripping down to his thick forearms.

My pussy clenches, and I want to scream.

“Come away from the fire, Beelzebub,” I croak. “You’re blocking all the heat with your massive head.”

As he turns to face me, he seems to breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s probably just the way the light dances over his very full, very sculpted chest.

Why am I looking at hischest?

I clear my throat and try to sit up, but a sharp pain thuds in my head and keeps time with my heartbeat. “Fuck, my brain hurts.”

“You’d have to have a brain for it to hurt.” He goes behind the couch and returns with a warm mug, which he places in my hands and doesn’t release until he’s sure I’ve got it.

I tip the mug toward my face and inhale. Steam rises into my nostrils, but I can’t discern the scent.

“It’s chicken broth. You had two mugs about an hour ago, though you were pretty out of it.”

“Is it drugged?” I ask with a curl of my lip. I still haven’t forgotten that. “And there aren’t any...special ingredients?”

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