Page 50 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
I'm no quitter though, so if anything they're just giving me incentive to stay out of my father’s clutches as long as possible. After all, I'm not actually suicidal. Not in the traditional sense of the word. I just know that if push comes to shove, I'd rather take my own life than let my father exact revenge for what he'd undoubtedly see as betrayal.
Swiping the tears from my cheeks, I pull myself together and dump the broken mug into the trash. First thing, Weston needs to rest, no matter how much I want to go up there and let him bend me over to fuck me like a damn punishment.
I decide to skip the coffee because who am I kidding? I still don't know how to work that damn machine. Instead I heat up a cup of milk and make him a hot chocolate. Everyone knows hot chocolate helps you sleep, right?
Well, hot chocolate laced with crushed sleeping pills does anyway.
Carrying it up to Weston's room, I tap awkwardly on his door. What is the etiquette here, anyway? Who knows. He calls out for me to come in anyway, so I push the door open and step through.
"Aw," he pouts when he sees me still dressed in sweatpants and a borrowed t-shirt.
I roll my eyes and bump the door closed behind me. "You need sleep, West. Not sex. Not right now anyway."
"But later?" he asks so hopefully I can't fight the grin spreading over my face.
"Later. I promise. Here, I made you hot chocolate instead of coffee." I hold the mug out to him and he accepts it with a satisfied smile.
"Come lie with me for a bit?" he suggests, shuffling over in his little single bed. "Nothing dirty, I promise. I just want to spend a bit of time with you, Natalia."
My lips pursed, I narrow my eyes at him. I should say no, something tells me I should. But … it’s been so damn long since I just cuddled with a man. Besides, he's hot as fuck. Like, scorching. I'd be mad to say no. So instead, I cross those few steps to the bed and slide in beside him.
"Tell me if I bump your shoulder," I order him, and he grunts his agreement. He's sitting up against the pillows a little bit, sipping on his laced beverage, so I cuddle into his side and rest my cheek on his chest.
"Mm, this is nice," he murmurs after a little while, and I can hear his voice already thickening with sleep. He reaches over me and places the mug down on his bedside table. "Maybe I do need a little nap."
"Mm hmm," I agree, trying not to laugh as he wriggles down the bed and turns me over so that he's spooning me. Or … forking me as the case is. "Weston," I groan, feeling his hard length pressed against my butt, but the only response I get is his soft snores as the sleeping pills do their job.
Well shit. I peer over my shoulder at his sleeping face. Maybe I used too much …
For a few minutes, I simply lie there and watch him. But when all seems normal, and he doesn't start foaming at the mouth or anything, I relax. He must have just been really tired.
Unable to stop myself, I trail a light finger over his face, brushing a peacock green lock of hair behind his ear and then tracing over his many piercings. My breath catches, and I remember his face isn't the only place Weston is pierced.
Damn it, Natty. Pull it together, he's injured and sleeping for God’s sake.
Agreeing with my chatty subconscious, I peel myself away from his warm body and slip out of the bed. On soft feet, I tiptoe out of Weston's room and carefully close the door behind me, before turning and almost screaming.
"Arsen!" I hiss, clutching a hand to my chest in an attempt to calm my racing heart. "What the fuck are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack."
"What am I doing?" he repeats, stepping closer into my personal space and boxing me against Weston's door. "What are you doing? Playing Florence Nightingale, are we? Pretty sure you need to be in a nun's habit for that role, Miss Petrova."
My cheeks flush with heat, and I drop my eyes away from his intense gaze. "I was just bringing him a drink. He needs rest."
Arsen grabs my chin in a bruising grip, forcing my gaze back up to meet his. For a long moment he just stares back at me, his breath harsh and a small frown creasing his forehead, like he's confused or something.
"And do you, Miss Petrova?" he whispers in a harsh tone. "Do you need … rest?"
My breath catches, and I have no doubt what he's referring to, so I shake my head just the tiniest bit that his grip will allow. "No. I'm rested just fine." My own voice is drenched in sex and blatant desire. What was it about this psychopath that turns me on so hard, every damn time?
