“You’re staying, aren’t you?” Dorran mumbles, and it’s a little incoherent, but still understandable.
I inch closer to him and kiss the sharp angle of his cheekbone. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper, and can’t help but think how unfair it is that I only get to spend borrowed time with him.
If he were any other guy, things wouldn’t have been so complicated. But he’s the most feared man in Riverside; my uncle’s personal executioner. And despite all of that, I still want him. Most of all, I wanna be with him without having to rely on lies, or be haunted by restraints and fear.
And I know I’ve lost my shit when I say this, but I think it’s time that I loop Mave into all of this so that I don’t have to continue fabricating people and instances to him anymore, or sacrifice my needs when it comes to Dorran and I.
Fuck, this is going to turn into an absolute shit-show, isn’t it?
36.
My eyelids feel leaden, but I still manage to blink my eyes open. There’s a flare of sunlight reflecting through the massive glass windows – my daily wake-up call of sorts. I start shifting towards it, all the while groaning at my stiff lower back.
The bathroom door opens, and the smell of my shampoo wafts through the chilly room. I try to turn over, but end up cursing out loud when a pull-like ache cuts through my left side.
“Dorran?” Cignette comes running to me – her hair wet from the shower she’s just taken. “What’s wrong?” she asks. She’s wearing one of my old sweatshirts, and the long, blue sleeves are all but hanging off her fingers.
I use my hands to push myself up, then rest my back against the headboard before facing her. “Can you get me some Ibuprofen? Bathroom, third drawer.”
“Of course.”
I close my eyes as I wait for her to return. Distinctly, I hear the opening of a drawer, the sound of items being shifted around, followed by the clink of tablets in a bottle, and approaching footsteps.
I open my eyes, just as Cignette walks out of the bathroom, grabs the half-full glass from the nightstand, and hands both the medicine and the water to me before sitting down next to me.
“Thanks,” I say after having taken the pills, then place the empty glass back on the nightstand.
Her brows are furrowed as she looks at me. “Does it hurt too much?”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “I’ve had nastier wounds than this.”
“But Alex said you’ve never been wounded during a kill – ever.”
I sigh. “I haven’t, but you forget that my mother was a monster. I’ve experienced my fair share of bruises during my teens.”
Her frown deepens, so I tug at one of her floppy sleeves and urge her closer. “C’mere.”
She climbs onto the bed, then straddles my thighs. When I smile up at her, she bends and presses her lips to mine – hot and demanding.
I slip my hands under the sweatshirt and grab her waist, only to realize she isn’t wearing any underwear.
“Little Swan…” I breathe against her, and when our eyes meet, hers glaze over.
“Pull your hair up,” I tell her.
She straightens, and uses the band around her wrist to secure her hair above her head. She’s looking at me with an intensity that’s so fucking foreign to me, yet so fucking hypnotic, that I momentarily lose my train of thought.
Cignette is a sight to behold. With the morning light casting bright haloes around her, she’s a living portrait of suave beauty.
I yank at the hem of the sweatshirt. “Take this off,” I command, and clear my throat at the subtle husk in my voice.
She shifts and does as I’ve asked, and her pussy presses against my growing erection behind the thin fabric of my tracks, making me groan.
She throws the sweatshirt on the floor, and my chest heaves as I take in her naked body with unabashed desire.
Her skin appears illuminated under the sunlight, and somewhat hides the healing bruises on her ribs. I trace my eyes over the high peaks of her breasts; her dark nipples that are pebbled and begging for attention. Her slender waist is a delight, and her pink pussy is a damn beckon to my growing hunger.
“This, too,” I say, and gesture at my sweatpants.
