“I don’t do that,” he grunted between bites of breaded meat. Bree and I looked at each other. The moment I saw her holding back her own laugh, it was unstoppable. We burst out laughing.
“I can’t count the number of times you’ve guided my cock into a hole,” I said.
“No one complained,” he defended.
“True,” I said, slipping Bree’s hand into mine. She came away from the table, eyes latched onto me with hunger. “No drinking my blood,” I said. She pouted. “Bree…”
“No drinking,” she agreed with a sigh. Out of nowhere, it hit me how much I loved her.
The good mood from a moment ago was evaporating quickly. It was going to be cruel when she woke up, and I was gone, but I couldn’t bring myself to control my greed. One more time, that’s all I wanted. I’d keep saying it all night. Once more inside her. One more kiss. One more touch. One last time, telling me I was her soul mate and that we’d never be apart, not in life and not in death. Once more, over and over until I put them all to sleep, and the clock told me it was time to go.
It was time for me to go back to my reality.
13
NOTHING'S GONNA HURT YOU
BREE
Baz was different tonight. When we got to the bedroom, he cradled my face and pulled me close. His lips sank into mine, his fingers curling around my cheeks.
He backed up, pulling me deeper into the room. His legs hit the bed, and he sat down, dragging me into his lap.
“Bree,” he sighed, pressing his cheek against my chest. Baz's arms slid around me, radiating warmth to the point of making me sweat. Something terrible was developing inside him, but I didn’t want to think about that. I pressed my fingers into his hair, drawing rough lines across his scalp. He groaned, and his arms tightened around my waist.
“Having you touch me is a dream I don’t want to wake up from.”
“Then don’t,” I responded. Baz pulled back and smiled lazily at me. His fingers tangled with my shirt and bra, dragging them down to expose my breasts. He buried his face against them.
“Nothing’s going to hurt you, pretty Bree,” he whispered. “Not even me.” His mouth dragged across my breasts. Soft lips trailed over tender flesh before a molten tongue caressed my sensitive skin. My grip tightened on his forearms as he pulledme down further into his lap. A pleased groan rumbled from him when I ground against him. This was all very nice, but it wasn’t like him at all. His gentle movements made me uneasy.
“What’s up with you?” I grabbed his face, lifting his gaze up to mine. Of course, I knew what was up. Didn’t I? But it didn’t feel real. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Baz closed his eyes, savoring the touch of my palms against his jaw.
Baz was my soul mate, and nothing would get in the way of that. He’d see that tomorrow. Nothing would be different. He wasn’t going to change from the serum because he was already perfect. And because … because he had a huge tolerance to drugs, didn’t he? So what could the serum do?Nothing. Even if he was looking at me with slit pupils. Even if the tip of his tongue had started to fork. Even if his body was as hot as a scalding bath, making lines of sweat trail down my back.
I was desperately clawing at any logic I could to make what happened a bad dream, instead of reality.
“Nothing.” He delivered the words with a charming smile. “I just don’t want to be rough tonight.”
“What do you want then?” I asked. He stood, grabbing my ass and lifting me with ease. My legs wrapped around his hips. Normal Baz would push me against a wall, desperate to get inside me—rough, intoxicating need that I ate up. I enjoyed the dominant hand pulling my hair and the overpowering thrusts between my legs. Especially when delivered with the rasped compliments of how good I made him feel, how pretty I was, and eventually, the brokenI love yousas he came undone. Baz was very casual about being the most sexually dominant person in our group. I’m not sure he even realized it.
Tonight, though, he laid me against the soft bed, gently settling me atop cotton sheets before crawling back off. He stared down at me as he began to pull his gloves off. Next came his boots, then his jacket.
My lips parted. Usually, Baz stayed as clothed as possible when we had sex. Not tonight. He pulled each layer off until he stood naked in front of me. Handsome felt incomplete. And his muscular trim … I felt guilty appreciating it.
I’d been drowning in the world of psychologists since I was a child, and I watched Baz—watched all of them. It was polite not to bring things like this up, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know that he used exercise as a way to cope with PTSD. Not a single day went by in the asylum without his eyes measuring the floor before he sank to his hands and knees, a long series of endless pushups until his arms shook and his lungs screamed. But he wouldn’t stop until he could no longer hold himself up.
We were all like that, politely allowing each other our coping mechanisms instead of pointing a finger and demanding we say the quiet parts out loud. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, I didn’t know. But it worked for us.
Baz watched me take him in—hypervigilant in my reaction. All my face had to offer was pure need. He crawled onto the bed, his cock growing thick. It pressed against my thigh, and I reached for my clothes, ready to strip.
“No,” he said, twisting his fingers with mine. His other hand slid under my skirt, teasing the edge of my panties before he settled his body fully on mine—a solid, muscular weight capturing me against the soft bed.
Our mouths met and his fingers rubbed against my panties in languid circular strokes. When my nails dragged up his naked back and I moaned, he ripped my panties aside and angled himself. Before I could wrap my legs around him, he was sliding inside me, long and sure.
Baz wasn’t in a rush tonight. Instead, he was teasingly slow, taking his time spreading me open with shallow thrusts and heavy breaths. He kissed me, slowly pressing deeper as if he meant to memorize each inch inside me—remember the warm,tight hold of my cunt around his body. But he didn’t need to memorize it; I’d remind him every day.
My fingers traced his sides, enjoying the rare treat of his exposed skin. My legs spread, willing him deeper, faster.
