A knowin’ glint enters Alder’s eyes, and I watch relief chase away some of the anger and frustration that was just there. “Don’t worry, Medley. I’ll make sure that only good things—pleasurable things—touch those lips.”
His smooth, self-assured tone wraps around me and lightly flicks at all my naughty bits. I clench my thighs, which has Flint wrappin’ his hand around the inside of my leg. “Hold still, Peaches. You have a lot of glass here, and some of it’s very deep.”
I do my best to listen, but between Alder’s sensual words and Flint’s hand now skimmin’ high up on the inside of my thigh, it’s makin’ it hard to focus on anythin’ else.
“Have you heard about this Morax or the Ophidian in any of your dealings?” Flint asks Alder.
“No, nothing substantial. I had a contact who thought they’d heard about a battle at one of the other gates involving someone with a similar name, but I’m waiting for her to get back to me with details.”
“Contact? Her?” I question, and then I have to stomp down the bolt of jealousy that shoots through me.
Alder steps away and grabs a pair of scissors from the bathroom counter.
“Yes, remember when I told you that I don’t just run a bar, I deal in information too,” he tells me evenly.
“Lots of demons will pay very well for the right secrets,” Flint adds. “Alder can find out anything.”
At his words, I recall the conversation we had before about the things Alder does to pass the time. It was buried under a ton of other information that was dumped on me that night, but I can suddenly see Alder sittin’ in the dimly lit corners of the bar, chewin’ the fat with other demons and keepin’ his fingers on the pulse of the goings-on in all the realms. For some reason, I find it incredibly hot. Then again, I think just about everythin’ these two do is hot.
Plink.
“Well, that used to be the case, but I haven’t heard anything about this Ophidian demon or a serious battle at another gate, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Many of my contacts have missed meetings over the past month or so. That can happen from time to time, so I didn’t think much of it, but now I’m wondering,” Alder admits with a troubled frown as he steps closer to me and reaches for the hem of my bloody tank top. “I should’ve gotten more information about Delta’s Vestibule battle and her going into Nihil. My gut says this is all connected.”
Deep in thought, he starts to cut the front of my shirt, makin’ it into a vest. Then he cuts the straps at the tops of my shoulders and peels the blood-soaked fabric from my torso. When he moves to cut the skirt off too, I bite down on my squeak of protest. Not even Kanye West could make the holes in this skirt look fashionable.
Plink.
Flint finishes with the glass that was in my thigh and moves down to the side of my knee and calf, his hand skimmin’ down the inside of my leg as he goes.
My breathin’ hitches, and Alder looks up from where he’s cuttin’ my skirt off. “Did that hurt?” he asks, concern poolin’ in his eyes.
“No,” I answer breathlessly, and he studies my face for a moment before he continues to cut.
He carefully unwraps the leather from my hips, steppin’ closer to curl his arms around me as he goes. My thoughts go haywire at his nearness. I should be shakin’ in shock at what happened. My body should be flashin’ me waves of pain as debris is pulled from my skin and muscle, but nope. Why would I react normally when I can get all hot and bothered instead?
Why wouldn’t I get myself all worked up as I bleed slowly where I stand and recover from the attack that just happened? It seems Post-Tribulation Medley is a hornball instead of a worrier.
Apparently, my mind decided dealin’ with the events earlier is just not high up on our list of priorities, but possible orgasms are. I shake my head at my internal reactions and try to rein my unusual neediness in. I mean, Iwashopin’ when I put that skirt on that it would tempt one of them to get me out of it. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll take it.
“Medley?” Alder questions again, and I shoo away my thoughts to focus on him. It’s clear he asked me a question, but I have no idea what.
“Who got shot in the what now?” I ask.
Alder’s features fold in confusion. “No one was shot,” he tells me perplexed.
Flint snorts. “No, it’s a saying. It basically meanswhat,” he supplies, lookin’ up at me with a wink, like he’s proud that he knows so much Southern lingo.
“Oh,” Alder states. “Well, I was just asking if you’re comfortable with me removing your bra and underwear. We don’t mean anything untoward by it, but there’s glass in both fabrics,” he tells me, but I see a slight purple blush stainin’ the tops of his sharp cheeks.
My pulse picks up, and it takes a moment to think through his question, because blood seems to be headin’ south instead of feedin’ my brain. All I can do is picture my naked body in front of both of them, their hands skimmin’ over my sensitive flesh. “Yeah, that’s good,” I tell him. “I mean, that’s fine,” I breathlessly correct.
I wonder if it would weird him out to tell him that Iwanthim to get alluntoward. Maybe it’s too soon. I still have blood on me, after all.
I seriously have no idea why I feel such an intense need to get my dick on right now, but I do. Lord, I do. Those panties he wants to cut off? They’re wet. That can’t be normal, right? The worddemonflashes in my mind like a bar sign that flickers on and off, but I shrug that off. I don’t see Alder and Flint goin’ all hard and goo-goo eyed, so maybe I can’t blame this one on what I am. Maybe I’m just so damn attracted to them that, as my adrenaline drained away, it stripped me down to nothin’ but lust and a need to work out my stress from the night.
The feel of the metal scissors skimmin’ low on my hips traps my gaze as Alder begins to cut my thong off. The smooth sound of the lacy fabric being snipped away by the sharp sears sends goosebumps over my belly.
Plink.
