Page 55 of Bad Seed
“I know that. But what kind? Does it mean something special? Or did you get really drunk in Vegas and show up with an old botany book in your hands?” My mouth runs away because I can tell he does not want to talk about the subject I just dredged up. But the fact he doesn’t want to drives my curiosity even hotter.
Running his finger over the little spray of flowers at the top, he takes a shallow breath. “It’s a nightshade flower.”
“Like belladonna? Isn’t that poisonous?” My roommate’s obsession with true crime hits me hard.
Aubry chuckles. “It can be. It’s many things. Food to some. Family. A promise. A curse.”
“So…” A sudden cold wind cuts through me and I snuggle under his shirt. “You didn’t get it at random?”
“No.” That’s it, full sentence, no more explanation. Just no.
Mysterious man who appeared in my life when I needed him the most is making it real difficult for me to get to know him. Other than in the bed breaking sense. Is that all we are?
Is that all I want? What he wants?
Am I just a booty call for when he’s not “away on business?”
There better not be some second family or so help me…
“You’re not married,” I accuse and ask at once. “Right?”
He snickers. “No. I already told you. Why?”
“Cause a man’s never lied about having a wife and kids before.”
Taking in a deep breath, he nods. “Fair enough. But I haven’t lied to you.” He gives it a second before asking, “Why do you think I’d be married?”
“You’re ridiculously hot, save lives, fuck like a sex god, and have a house with a moat. Those types tend to get locked down before they’re twenty-five.” By supermodels not chubby photographers who sell fishing line to make rent.
“So I’m hot, am I?” he asks.
Oh, no. I’m not playing that game.
“Sorry ‘ridiculously hot.’” He slips his hand up my shoulder until his fingers dance over the side of my neck.
“You know you are,” I accuse, doing my best to not think about every inch of him. Those veins in his forearms, the thighs with muscles like a greek statue, that little mole by his navel that’s kinda shaped like an eggplant…
Bending down, Aubry’s hair falls into one eye as he whispers, “And what was that about a sex god?”
A single little squeal slips out. I can’t think. My brain’s running a loop of him, hand clamped around my whole ankle, pressing my leg back as he thrusts his throbbing cock into me over and over.
His palm moves, skirting up to run under my jaw. He catches my chin and lifts my head. Those eyes have peeled off every scrap of clothing I have on. I claw across my thigh to whip back the beast growling inside of me, but…
As his fingers dance around my cheek, my lips part.
Aubry leans in to seal my doom.
Sparks erupt, dazzling behind my closed eyes as I dive into his kiss. The taste of caramel lingers from dessert, but I find him below—soft, green, but not clean. No, he’s sinful as hell. My head buzzes more than from the wine, and he presses into the hollow under my ear.
I moan, and he plunges in with his tongue. Every dance is a reminder what that thing can do, and where it should be right now. All I have to do is give up.
Give in.
Be his sex acolyte. Worship at the foot of his bed.
Forget expecting texts, or dinners. Just be the body he can ravish every night.
Aubry snickers and pulls back. “Was that godly enough for you?”
