Page 65 of Thirst
Godsdamn it anyway.
Especially since I could feel her damp heat seeping through the thin layers of fabric separating us. Not to mention that I was as hard as a slayer’s stake.
But there was that promise I’d just made her. Even if she released me from it now, I’d given my word, and if I broke it so soon, she’d never trust me again.
And that bothered me. She’d probably hate me before we were done, but the thought of losing her trust bothered me.
I wasn’t even sure why. After all, I didn’t trust her, did I?
I needed to put a stop to this game—now.
First, though, I allowed myself a taste, sliding my tongue into her mouth, eating at her lips the way I’d like to eat out her pretty pussy.
She moaned and rocked her mound against me, more proof she’d forgotten that damned promise.
But I hadn’t.
With a rough exhale, I unwound my fingers from her hair. Moved both hands to her hips. Pushed her away from me.
Her whimper of protest went straight to my cock. I deserved a blue ribbon for this. No, a fucking gold medal. Somewhere up there a couple of angels were high-fiving each other and laughing their asses off at me.
“Cain.” She strained to get closer to me. “Please.”
“I can’t.” I rested my forehead against hers. “I gave you my word. And you’re sick—still recovering.”
I waited for her to say something. If she released me from the promise—told me she felt better now—maybe we could continue this. Find a loophole. She could touch me, for example.
But she didn’t say a word. We stayed like that, eyes closed, breathing the same air, my hands resting on her hips, the firm, warm shape of them both grounding me and tempting me in equal measure. The seconds ticked by, heavy and slow, stretching out around us like they didn’t want to let go.
Then her hand pressed lightly against my chest.
I swallowed the frustration, the want, the whole mess of it, and let her go.
She took a long step backward. “You’re right. I—” She bit her lip and turned away.
I buttoned up my shirt and tucked it in, then shook out my hands, that twitchy need to move, to run, pressing at me.
Nyx eased up the right sleeve of her sweater so she could rub her wrist.
I focused on her, my agitation less important than her pain. “That should’ve healed by now.”
“The other one is better. This one was worse.”
The one I’d grabbed. I winced inwardly.
“Lemme see.” I held out my hand. When she hesitated, I added, “Please?”
She put her hand in mine. The blisters had closed over, but the wrist looked painful, red and swollen.
I sucked a breath between my teeth. “Damn it, Nyx. You should’ve said something.”
“You had my arm locked behind my back. Was I supposed to ask you to play nice?”
I worked my jaw, conceding the point with a low exhale. I let go of her hand and reached for the phone on the cot.
“I’ll get you another salt-water rinse.”
“Don’t bother.” She sank onto the thin mattress. “It wouldn’t help—the silver feels like it’s spread everywhere. I just have to ride it out. I’m better though. Just tired.” She steepled her fingers, shoved them between her thighs. “Look, what are you going to do about the texts?”
