With fumbling hands, I adjust the lamp and open a fresh suture packet. My heart thrums in my throat, pounding against each breath as I lean over his hip and start to stitch.
His skin is warm and soft. Thinner here than on his ribs. It should be painful, but he isn’t flinching or tensing at all, and now it’s clear his earlier reactions to my touch had nothing to do with the pain.
His gaze runs like fingers over my flesh, tracing the lines of my face, my neck, and down my body. The heated weight of his attention burns my skin and has me nearly panting. My nipples harden beneath my dress. Stomach tightens. Vexar’s chest rises and falls with short, hungry breaths as his left hand indents the skin of his uninjured hip, pressing down with every plunge ofmy needle. The atmosphere of restrained need is so thick I can hardly see, and by the time I tie off the last suture, my mouth is dry and I’m glistening with sweat.
“I’m done,” I say breathlessly as I stand to put away the equipment.
Before I can take a step, Vexar’s hand catches my stomach, holding me in place. The heat of his touch ripples out, curling around my sides.
“I … I have to get a bandage,” I stutter out.
His fingers retreat slowly, trailing over my hip with a molten promise that weakens my knees. I know if I let myself look at his face, I won’t be able to look away.
What started as a quiet tug in my gut has become a gravitational force that’s sapping away my resolve and begging for my surrender. And I want to surrender. I want to give in and let myself believe that there’s still good in this world—that after everything, I can still find joy, and comfort, and pleasure. But the logical part of me is pushing back. It says I’m imagining his desire. That he’s too good to be true. That I need to stay focused. That if I give in to this, it will only make what comes next harder.
He can’t save me. I have to remember that. I have to remember why I’m here.
Vexar watches me through the dim light as I get a bandage, lay it over his side, and start taping it in place. When I let go, the tape peels back. His skin is damp with sweat and hot to the touch.
“Shit.” I prop my hip on the edge of the bed and press my hand to his forehead. “Do you feel like you have a fever?”
His left hand wraps around mine, warm and strong, and he guides my palm down to his chest, holding it over his heart. “I do not have an infection, if that is what you are asking,” he rumbles.
A deep yearning burns in his black eyes, like he’s struggling to stop himself from grabbing my face and kissing me. I suck in a breath as his right hand ghosts over the skin of my knee, and any doubt I had about his desire evaporates.
I spin out of his grip before I do something I can’t take back. “Uh, the tape won’t stick,” I say, moving to grab a roll of wrap from the med-bag. “I, uh, have to wrap it … uh, the bandage, on you. Can you sit?”
Vexar pushes himself up, letting his legs drop over the side of the bed. His lips part, his head cocks, and he watches me with those dark, curious eyes.
Doing my best to ignore the ache between my legs and the growing bulge between his, I step up to the edge of the bed, directly between his thighs, and press the end of the wrap over the bandage. “Can you hold it there?” I ask.
His fingers brush over mine, and before I can pull back, his chest vibrates with an inaudible rumble. I don’t know what that sound means, but it sends a jolt right through me.
I step back, off-balance and breathing so much harder than I should be. My body’s on fire and I don’t know how to stop it.
Sure, I think Vexar’s extremely attractive and nearly irresistible, butthiscan’t happen. I don’t need a distraction, I need revenge. Besides, he’s not even human, and I doubt we’re even compatible. And yet, I can’t seem to resist his pull. He’s drawing me in like I’m starved, and he’s the best buffet I’ve ever seen. I don’t get it. I thought I was the one with the experience, but right now he’s playing 4D chess and I’m playing fucking Candy Land.
Catching my breath, I unroll the wrap and try to focus. Vexar’s torso is massive. There’s no way for me to pass the wrap around his waist without hugging him, and I’m definitely not doing that. I doubt I’d be able to reach around him anyway. He’s a fucking mountain.
Feeling a bit like a child, I climb onto the bed and walk over the mattress behind him, pulling the wrap across his back and passing it under his arm. He lets out a chuckle as I repeat my circles. I want to chew him out for laughing at me, but at this point, if I open my mouth, there’s no telling what will come out.
When I reach the end of the roll, it’s clear I’ll have to step between his legs again to secure it in place. Trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach, I step forward, bringing my face within inches of his. His warm, spicy scent surrounds me as I dip my fingers beneath the wrap, tucking the loose end under.
“Stay,” he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.
Slowly, I meet his gaze.
Let me lose myself in you,his eyes seem to say.
Calloused fingers run up my wrist. I’d forgotten I was still touching him. With soft movements, he guides my hand to his chest as I lose myself in the depthless, midnight oceans of his eyes. There’s a hopeful caution in those eyes as he releases my hand. He wants to know if I’ll stay, and, against my better judgment, I press my palm more firmly to his skin, letting my eyes fall shut as I soak in the delicious feeling of being this close.
“Your heart beats faster when you touch me,” he says as his hand slides back over mine.
And he’s right, my heart fucking roars when I touch him.
16
MARCH OF ENTROPY
