Page 76 of Obliterated
It’s a ravenous hunger, a thing that licks at the edges of the man I know. Itwants. It wantseverything.
The hunger stares me down and I don’t look away. I hold him tighter. I kiss him again.
“Take it out on me,” I dare him, the words pressed against his lips. “I can handle it.”
“Kee,” he breathes, the name falling like a plea.
“Do it. I can take it. The anger, the anguish… I know you need an outlet. Culling Walkers isn’t helping. Maybe this will.”My voice is rough, steady. I mean it. I want him to channel it somewhere that won’t break him further.
“I don’t…”
“You don’t what?” I ask, because if he won’t let it out, it’ll eat him alive.
“I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.” I can feel the tremor through his palms.
“You won’t hurt me. And, you know, some hurt can be good,” I whisper, and even as the words leave my mouth, I feel how insane they sound.
But there’s a truth in it, our truth.
He swallows. “I never… I’ve never—”
My cheeks heat because I know exactly what he means. I repeat it, softer. “You won’t hurt me. Start slow. Ease me in. Stretch me good.”
His eyes flash again, that ravenous thing, and then, for a sliver of a breath, the man pushes the demons back and I see him sharpen, focus. “And then?”
“And then do your worst,” I mutter against his mouth. My final dare, the last thing I’ll let him have before he lets go.
He surges forward, a sound coming out of him that’s almost feral, and attacks my mouth, pushing me back. Guiding me past the bed, past the tub, his mouth searing mine like he’s trying to burn the grief out. His hands are brutal and sure. At my throat, at my jaw, fisting my shirt, pinning me to him as he ushers us around the tiled corner into his bathroom.
We collide, man, monster, and whatever the hell else lives in him. He’s all teeth, heat, and desperate need. And I’m all answer, all willing, letting him use me as the outlet he needs, because if this is how he keeps from tearing himself apart, then I’ll be the damned bridge.
As he manhandles me against the cool tile by the walk-in, he rips my backpack off, and throws it in a corner. He undoes mybelt. My dagger and the portable radio Roe gave me both tumble free, then he snatches the strap across my shoulder, and—
“Is that Whisper?” he asks suddenly, only now noticing the hilt and the way the blade sits along my back, momentarily pulled out of the heat of the moment. His brows pull together, something heavy sitting in his gaze.
I nod, fingers clenching on his waist because I want the contact, need it. “Yeah. I never knew how fucking heavy it is. I hope it’s okay they brought it to Roe…”
He nods absently, fingers fluttering over the handle. “Yeah… It’s okay. I figured they’d do that. I just…”
“Left it there, so I’d know you were okay?” I supply softly. “That Roe knew you were okay? You wanted them to find it.”
He looks down at me then, jaw tight, and he doesn’t need to say it. The yes is already in the set of his mouth. I know it’s true.
I cup his face and draw him down to me, my lips finding his in a heavy, loaded kiss. It’s wet and hungry and for a second everything else drops away. Then I help him tug the rest of my gear and my soaked, red-streaked shirt off, the ruined sneakers I kick into the corner.
“I have to get you new ones,” he mutters.
“I have my flip-flops in my bag.”
He rolls his eyes in that way that’s so entirely him, and the motion hits me like a promise. He’s still in there somewhere. Not fixed. Not whole. He’ll never be whole, not without Tass. But maybe time will dull some edges of that gaping wound.
Speaking of wounds.
My brows knit when he jerks his shirt over his head and I finally see it; a filthy, half-assed bandage taped at the junction of his neck. It looks like it’s slapped on in a hurry.
Fear lurches cold through my chest and my hand lifts before my head catches up.
He flinches and clamps on my wrist so fast I snap my gaze up. His expression is broken and raw. “Please. Not now.”
