Page 31 of Sigma
Three bites in, I open the two thermoses beside the plate. One contains coffee and the other has orange juice. I guzzle the entire contents of the orange juice before going after the potatoes.
I catch her doing something from the corner of my eye and as my gaze moves, she moves too and before I know it, she’s in a squatbeside me, too close. I grab her wrist to halt her, and she squeaks with surprise and maybe a little pain.
I loosen my grip.
“The fuck are you doing?” I demand, not letting go.
She’s holding an open bottle of peroxide and a bandage.
“There’s a wound on your back. I wanted to–”
“Do not approach me without warning,” I demand.
“And if I’d warned you, you’d have let me come closer?” she retorts snottily, setting the bottle down. The way her mouth moves when she speaks, I’m completely focused on those lips. I can’t seem to pry my eyes off them. They get closer until her blue eyes drift shut. I back up, but I can’t go far. And since she’s already this close, she climbs onto my lap, legs wrapping around me.
Fuck, I’m hard.
Fuck, she feels good.
Without realizing it, I’ve gotten her ponytail into my fist. The cutlery has fallen to the ground beside the plate and now our tongues are in a duel with my other hand holding her ass cheek. She tastes amazing. And she’s winning the duel because I’m harder. And she’s wet. She pulls back just slightly, heated gaze coasting over my face. Now my focus is on her neck. Magnets pull me in until my mouth is around her mate mark. I taste it, taste her, smell her, feel her. Our mouths connect again as she’s whimpering and I’m swallowing it down so it’s mine, part of me.
Fuck, I want her. All of her. Here and now. Later. Forever. But I can’t. It’s too dangerous. I won’t risk her life for my own selfish desires.
Damn. We have an audience. Greyson moves to block us, giving us his back outside the door.
I stop kissing her and gruffly mutter, “Back up.”
Anger flares in her eyes. She doesn’t move.
“Off me, woman,” I order.
More anger flares in her eyes before she loses her cool and pulls back, about to punch me in the face.
I catch her fist.
“Hey,” I warn. “No. Do not! You wanna unleash the monster while you’re straddling it?” I let her fist go and gesture for her to move.
Her lip curls and she shoves me with both hands before backing up, knocking the thermos of coffee over. I right it as I watch her stomp to the wall beside the door. She folds her arms over her chest and levels me with a glare while she waits.
Fuck, this woman…
Half the coffee is spilled, and my eggs have slid halfway off the plate, but I don’t give a shit. I’m starved. I gather them back onto the plate and begin shoveling.
She cooked it for me; I know it. And it’s the best-tasting breakfast that’s ever landed in my gullet. It’s all perfectly seasoned and beyond that, tastes even better with the taste of her on my tongue.
She’s not leaving. She’s pissed at me. I see it and feel it, but she hasn’t left and that’s got me twisted up inside because she should stay away, get as far away from me as she can get. But the fact that she hasn’t left stirs something deep. Something that wishes it could be different.
Consuming the food is me not only feeding my stomach but it’s also me trying to ignore her, trying to push away the desperate need to have her back on my lap, riding me, vibrating with my knot, getting filled with my seed.
My seed.
Shit. Baby monsters, just like me.
And with that notion, I can’t stomach another bite.
I shove the plate back, grab the peroxide and pour it over my shoulder.
Bloody fizz runs down my back and arm. I grab the first aid kit from just inches away and root around until she tosses over a roll of paper towel, which I catch. I mop up the mess and drop the spent paper towels on the plate, shoving it further away.
