And yet, for once, I didn’t mean it that way.
“That came out wrong.”
She tries to wiggle away, but I tighten my hold. “We’re both tired, Fizzle. You can beat me up for my filthy thoughts and comments after we get some sleep.”
She lets me pull her across the room. And holy shit. Faith—my Faith—is in my bed. I’m a grown-ass man who has had grown-ass sex with dozens of women. I shouldn’t be giddy like a teenage boy because I have her between my sheets, but here I am, with butterflies and everything as she settles beside me.
God, she smells good. Fresh. Clean. With a floral hint to her long, dark hair. Everything about her is an assault to my senses. I can’t see anything else but her. Can’t smell anything but her. Hear anything other than the subtle intake and exhale of her rapid breathing. All that’s missing is the taste of her. And fuck do I want to taste her. All of her. I want to run my tongue down the curve of her throat. To the swell of her breasts. Over the peak of her nipples. Down her belly. Dive between her legs.
My favorite place in all the world.
Even more than Mayhem.
And Ireallylove Mayhem.
Great. Now I have a raging hard-on. Way to show her I’m harmless. At least for right now. But she doesn’t seem to notice my impressive situation as she curls into a little ball next to me. In my mind, she’s silently begging me to be the “big spoon” to her “little spoon,” but I’m being a gentleman and I stay on my side of the bed. Faith, however, doesn’t play fair. She skootches her way on over. Breaks past the invisible barricade. Barges in on my space like she owns every part of it.
Owns every part of me.
Because she does. Always has, and always will.
“You won’t leave while I’m asleep?”
Her quiet question punches a hole clear through my heart. “No, Fizzle, I won’t leave.” I brush my lips across her forehead. “Go to sleep.”
Faith snuggles into me, and the subtle tremble in her body fucks me up in all sorts of ways. Makes me finally understand what Wraith meant when he said Gomorrah turned him into a monster.
No, actually, how he explained it was like he had a monster living in his head. That it would bang around in his skull whenever the rage built up inside him. Yep, that pretty much sums up my current condition. Like there’s a whole other me in my head screaming for action. Demanding I hurt someone. Make people suffer for Faith’s pain and her fear. And when she wraps her arm around my chest and hugs herself tighter against me, I clench my jaw as every muscle in my body tenses with the need to spill blood on her behalf.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I rasp.
Bull. Shit.
“Liar.” Her voice is a drowsy whisper, barely cutting through the quiet. “Don’t be angry, Jester. I’m fine.”
…said the woman with a torso covered in bruises.
“I’m not angry.” “Killing mad” and “angry” are two different beasts. “I’m just tired.”
She leans up on her elbow, and her hair spills onto my bare chest. I don’t know if she realizes she’s doing it, but her fingers trace over my Unholy tattoo. Her touch is torture. “You want to hurt the men who did this to me. So do I. That’s why I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
The word falls out of my mouth without hesitation because I would do any-fucking-thing for her.
“I want to be there when you do it.”
Fuck.
Except that.
“No.”
Her mouth thins to an angry line, and her brows slam together. “Why not?”
“Because.”
