Page 105 of Lethal Torture
Houston, we have the all clear.
I cut the pomegranate in half on the board beside me. It falls open, the seeds inside red and luscious.
It looks exactly like Zin did last night, when I spread her wide open on this counter.
My eyes fall to Zin’s shirt, still lying in a pool on the floor after I tore it off when I got her home.
I realize that she has stopped eating.
I raise my eyes to find her staring first at the shirt, then at me, the color mounting slowly in her cheeks. I reach across the counter. Cupping her chin in my hand, I rub my thumb slowly across her swollen mouth. Her lips part in a way that makes me want to thrust my cock between them.
“You know,” I say, stroking my hand up into the tangled mess of her hair, “I think we might need to wash this to get the knots out.”
Zin swallows. “Oh?” Her eyes roam over my chest. Her nipples stiffen beneath the sheet.
“Yes.” I stand up, and her eyes flare as they drop to the rock-hard bulge in my sweats. “I think a shower is in order, Zinaida. Don’t you?”
Her eyes darken, start to glaze over in the way that makes me fucking insane.
I’m about to tear the sheet off her and carry her into the bathroom when my phone rings on the countertop.
Leave it, Luke. Just fucking leave it.
But I can’t help glancing at the screen any more than Zin can. It’s the head of day shift security at the Quartier.
Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck.
I snatch up the phone and put it on speaker. “What?” I snarl.
“Hey, Luke.” The man sounds slightly taken aback. “Sorry for the call, man. I would have checked in online, but we’ve hit an issue with the security cameras that I can’t fix.”
You have got to befuckingkidding me.
Zin’s glazed expression has turned to a laser-sharp frown of concentration, and I want to howl to all the gods when I see herunconsciously rewind the sheet, tucking it in firmly.Ask him if Mak is still there, she mouths.
“Mak left like five minutes ago, or I would have asked him,” the guy says before I ask.
“Explain,” I say shortly.
Zin slides off the stool and disappears into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. I want to kick the cabinets when I hear the shower start to go. By the time I wind the call up, she’s showered and dressed in one of my shirts with a belt around the waist to make it look like a dress, with her damp hair pulled back into its customary neat twist.
I want to tear it all out again.
I’m not stupid enough to try it.
“It’s nothing too major, but I’ll have to go in to deal with it.” I move past her to the shower. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll drive you home.”
“I can just call an Uber—”
“You’re not calling an Uber.” I fix her with a hard eye. “Don’t even fucking think about it, Zin. I mean it.”
We stare at each other. For a moment I think she might actually argue with me. Then her eyes shift back to the shirt on the floor, and two high points of color light her cheeks. She lowers her eyes and gives a brief nod.
At least Avonmouth seems to have got that much clear.
“Five minutes,” I say again, moving past her into the bathroom.
My thirty-second shower bears absolutely no resemblance to the marathon of sybaritic pleasure I’d been lazily anticipating.
