Page 50 of Thirst
What?
Red hazed my vision. I went rigid, breathing hard.
“That’s better. Now, move.” His hand landed on my bottom—harder than necessary—propelling me toward the truck’s passenger side. He had to reach around me to open the door.
His mistake.
As his fingers touched the handle, I reared back, smashing my head into his nose. There was a satisfying crunch, and the air filled with the scent of his blood.
Point to me.
Cain didn’t give me time to enjoy my victory. In the time between one breath and the next, he spun me around and shoved me up against the truck. His fingers clamped on my chin in a punishing grip, his body pressing closer, a reminder that I was fighting a man who could literally rip my head off my body.
“That was a mistake,” he said, blood trickling down his face.
My nape tightened at his set mouth and the heightened blue of his eyes. I’d aroused his vampire—and not in a good way. But I was too hurt and angry to back down.
My glare should have turned him into a pile of smoking ash. “That wasn’t a mistake. My mistake was trusting you.”
“You’ve got that backward. My mistake was trusting you. Now get in the fucking truck.”
Caught in the moment, we both forgot that I couldn’t move with him holding my chin, his body blocking my path.
I held his gaze, even though every instinct I had urged me to drop my eyes for a dominant vampire. “No.”
His answering growl tugged at my core. “I’m not giving you a choice.”
To my humiliation, a tingle raced up my spine. My nipples prickled against my tee. No bra because I was pretending to be a man.
“Fuck you,” I spat back.
The tension between us shifted, took on a sexual edge. His nostrils flared, and his gaze dropped to my lips.
“Beg me,” he said in a rasp like the velvety sandpaper of a cat’s tongue. It licked over my skin, made my sex hollow with wanting.
I squeezed my thighs together, hating how easily he could get me revved up, even with my wrists aching and silver seeping into my bloodstream.
His hips rocked against mine. Something about his expression told me his reaction was as involuntary as mine. That like me, he both wanted this, and yet despised himself for it.
I eyed the blood on his face. The rich, salty aroma amped everything up another notch.
My mouth watered, thirsting for a taste. For his taste.
For him, inside me.
His lungs gusted. “You’re going to get me killed, you know?”
And then he had me up against the truck, my arms trapped between my back and the metal door. The handcuffs pressed into my skin, burning into the already blistered flesh.
I hissed and bucked against his body. “My wrists.”
Cain jerked back and pivoted me sideways so he could examine them. His expression darkened. He muttered something vicious and worked the catch. The cruel silver circles opened and a moan of relief escaped me. He slid the cuffs off and yanked the passenger door open.
“In the truck,” he ordered, but instead of giving me a chance to obey, he swept me up himself and deposited me on the seat. “Arms out.”
I wordlessly extended them. He eased up my sleeves so he could examine my wrists. The spikes had tattooed a ring of raw, weeping blisters into my skin.
“Damn it, Nyx,” he said like I’d somehow wounded myself. “These look bad.”
