Page 63 of Obliterated
“Grab a bag. You’re staying at my place,” Max orders, flat as ever.
“We can clean this up.”
One brow lifts. He doesn’t even glance at me, just points up to the ceiling, where a particularly nasty streak of splatter drips down in a dark trail. “Really?”
I glare at him. Obnoxious ass.Who also happens to have a very fine ass.Shit. When he got in the tub with me last night… I already knew he was a work of art, but knowing it and seeing it are two different things. Touching it. Tasting it. That’s another level entirely.
My cheeks heat, and the smirk curving his lips tells me he knows exactly where my head’s at.
“You live on the other side of the city, right? That’s too far away. I still have to work here, you know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“My fictional birthday is in a couple of weeks,” I shoot back. “I have a deal with her. Working is part of it.”
His eyes flash, dark and sharp, and before I know what’s happening he’s got me pinned against one of the few clean patches of wall. His hand spreads wide over my chest, heat radiating through fabric, pressing me back like I weigh nothing as he leans over me.
Storms roar in his eyes when I look up. Violent, restless, the kind that makes you want to run and cling all at once. His jaw is tight, lips pressed together like he’s caught between growling at me and kissing me senseless.
And gods help me, my heart kicks because I want both.
“Let me make one thing very fucking clear, Kieran Freyr,” he snaps, voice low and dangerous. “You donothave a deal with her. You arenotgoing to work for her any fucking longer. And you are definitelynotgoing to sell yourself as long as I’m still breathing.”
I take a breath, wanting to hate how my body uncoils under his touch, how I become pliant, fucking submissive, every time he towers over me, orders me around.
But fuck if that isn’t a lie.
I love it. How he makes me feel: safe. Protected.His.
“Is that so?”
“KieranfuckingFreyr…” His hand slides up, and I know he’s itching to wrap it around my neck, but he’s holding back. “She can’t have you. You. Are. Mine. Do you understand?”
Gods.I nod, bite my lip, my hands finding his sides. “Yeah,” I croak. “I’m yours.”
“Good.” He lowers his mouth in a ghost of a kiss, and then his voice drops to a hard whisper. “Because if this shit doesn’t work out, I’ll kill her before she touches you again. I will carve her name off the council and piss on the rest.”
“You can’t kill a council member,” I blurt, frowning. “They’d throw you in the Pit with fifty walkers and let them eat you up.”
“Let them fucking try.” The glint in his eyes says he means it.
A better man would be appalled, horrified that his partner would kill for him. But shit, I am not a better man.
No, a better man wouldn’t have a thrill coursing through him at those words. Something ugly and honest that will tighten his gut and make his throat go dry.
Closing my eyes for a beat, I absorb the feel of him, all that he has become to me in these short months. And that would be every fucking thing.
When I open them again, there’s only possession and adoration staring back at me.
“But you have to know something as well,” I say, voice low.
“And that is?”
“You’re mine too,” I say, my fingers clenching in his shirt.
“Good.” He presses those wicked lips to mine. The kiss is quick and hot, a flash of possession, and before I can register how it ends, he pulls back enough to murmur, “Now go pack.”
He moves away from me, giving me a sliver of space. I dig around my dresser, pull out a handful of clothes, and shove them into the bag I keep stashed at the bottom.
