Page 8 of ILY
“You’re fine. Trust me.”
His eyes flick up to meet mine, and we stare at each other for far too long. My cheeks heat that my broken dick perks up. Guess he’s right. I’m not paralyzed.
Or, at least, my dick isn’t.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
I shake my head. “You’ll have to leave me here to die.”
He snorts, his lips twitching. “Come on. No one is dying today.”
He pushes to his feet, his dick right in front of me, and I can’t help but stare at it. It’s big. Even behind the jeans, I can tell. Probably just like the rest of him. Bet he could break my back by throwing me around this room.
Break the bed too.
My hands slip into his, and I feel the calluses on the palms. With a small grunt, he lifts me, and I bump into his chest, my hands falling against his narrow waist. This close, I can smell him. Cloves and amber.
I inhale deeply, and he lets out a soft exhale.
“You smelling me?”
“No. Just breathing. Like humans do.”
He laughs at that and then takes a step back, taking me in. “Seems you’ve recovered from your paralysis.”
“Seems so. A miracle.”
He bites his bottom lip, making his scar stand out a little more, before wetting both lips with his tongue. Oh god. He shouldn’t do that.
This man is really terrible. He should never walk around in public. It’s a detriment to men like me.
“What?” he asks when I stare too long at his defined pec muscles through his shirt.
“Nothing. Just…nothing.”
He rolls his lips between his teeth and then nods toward the door. “Let me grab the product. You have the money?”
I nod and stumble to the duffel bag I brought in. It has the cash I promised. I rip the bag open, and bills flutter out. They’re not nicely lined like you get at the bank or see in the movies. I found most of these stuffed under my aunt’s mattress. They’rewrinkled, some folded in squares. One is even an origami bunny.
SilentEcho’s eyes move to the cash fluttering around the floor, and then he shoots his gaze up to meet mine. “Are you serious right now?”
“I am deadly serious. The most deadly. The deadliest.” I fold my arms across my chest and try to look stoic, but most probably look like I’m taking a shit.
He must think so, too, because he shakes his head and laughs again.
“What? Why are you laughing?”
“Because you don’t seem like some criminal mastermind.”
“And why not?” I’m insulted. I am the biggest mastermind. Or I could be if I had that damn TNT.
“You just…don’t have the vibe.”
“And what vibe do I have?” My signs are angry and rough, matching the tone of my voice.
He shrugs and then runs a hand over his cut jaw. “Chaotic, unhinged, maybe a little insecure.”
That ruffles my feathers. “I amnotinsecure. I am very secure. The most secure. Now, give me the shit I want to pay for.”
