“Cry baby.” I stab again and ignore his implied insult. He doesn’t know how close he hit to my secret.
Shifting, I bite my bottom lip as my lust rises again. Now that he’s relatively cleaned up, I have nothing to focus on.
His churning eyes look down to my rubbing knees. “What’s going on there?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” he singsongs, leaning closer. He inhales as if he can smell my desire. “Something you want to tell me?”
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. This close, I can see the flecks of brown in his blue eyes, like raw lapis washed ashore. His brown beard is soft, just like his hair.
With the way he’s looking down at me, he looks undone. A predator about to catch his prey.
“Take off your pants.”
He snorts. “I usually like a little foreplay first, viper. Maybe a few ass grabs. Perhaps a bit of tongue, yeah? Then, the pants come off.”
Rolling my eyes, I snap my fingers. “Good to know. No, it’s to check your legs.”
He sustained some cuts under his jeans and I want to make sure he’s not infected. Also, it’ll help keep me distracted.
The minute his pants lower, my mouth parts, chest heaving. Nope. This is infinitely worse.
His legs are corded muscle, the tribal ink decorating all the way to his foot. Whirls, zigzags and lines are etched into his perfect skin. I notice a few runes, a compass on his thigh and what looks like an axe, all beautifully done together like museum quality art.
“What does it mean?” My finger traces one design, swiping against the blood on his shin. His cut is deep but not unmanageable. I don’t think as I dig into it and he hisses out a breath.
I pull back abruptly.Shit. People don’t usually like it when you play with their wounds.
When I look up, Hayes doesn’t look alarmed, but aroused. Pupils wide, puffs of breath leaving his lips, he’s barely containing himself.
“An ode to my Norse roots.” He swallows as I start to clean his skin. “My mother was from Denmark. She had similar tattoos. It’s some of the only memories I have of her.”
Nodding, I ache for the longing in his voice. He must have lost his mother when he was young. “You won’t need stitches, but it’ll be sore for a while.”
“I’ve had worse. Want to kiss it and make it feel better?”
I scoff even though there is a part of me that wants to touch his wound again. “No.”
“Cool, so long as we’re being honest,” he says, giving me a look, “Want to tell me what’s happening there?” A lazy finger draws over my pussy and I blush. Hard.
“Nope.” Turning toward the bedroom, I ignore his knowing smirk, taking my phone out from my top and pulling up my last library conquest—Jake.
He wasn’t very good, but I’ll take anything right now.
Hayes catches me as I rush away, swinging me until we’re facing each other, surrounded by my plush animals and barren walls. His blue eyes—endless blue like the deepest sea—peer down at me and my breath catches. Unlike my panic attacks, this is caused by anticipation, not fear.
Until my phone pings and Jake answers my text.
Hayes pulls the phone from me, smirk still in place but his eyes have changed. Darkened.
Immediately, my shoulders tense, waiting for his reaction.
“You know,” he begins casually. “You seem to think I’m joking when I say you’re mine.” He clicks the screen a few times. Those eyes look up at me and I gulp. “I’m not, viper. Not even fucking close to it.”
He tosses my phone onto the bed. “Don’t bother looking for Jake’s number again. It’s deleted.”
“Hayes!” I sputter, cheeks hot. “You can’t just?—”
