I nod slowly, finding that I genuinely believe him.
“Could be worse,” I say, not able to think of anything more clever. “I’m gonna start. Try to hold still for me, and this’ll be over fast.”
He inhales sharply through his nose just once, but then he turns stock-still, and I take that as my permission to start.
There’s no flinch this time when I grab his chin. He barely even flinches the first time I bite into his skin with the needle, and by some miracle of self-control and willpower, Fallow manages to sit like a fucking rock for every single stitch.
I don’t think I’m exaggerating this time when I feel the atmosphere building between us. Tension, yes, but something on top of that. The intensity of the trust he’s putting in me right now. The way his eyes track my movements, watching me with no expression but still so clearly, desperately turning to me for comfort, even if it’s in some unseen, unspoken way. It takes all my self-control not to stroke his skin under my thumb or do something else to comfort him, but I guess that’s what he’s trusting me not to.
He’s breathing fast by the time I finish, but still and silent otherwise. I clean the wound gently before covering it with another bandage.
“You okay?” I ask, letting go of his chin reluctantly and standing up.
Fallow continues to watch me, tipping his head back a little so his dark hair falls out of his eyes. In the dim lamplight he’s all tanned skin and high, shadowed cheekbones, dramatic angles and edges, and looks like that dark avenging angel I saw in him the first day we met. Something so fierce I can never truly comprehend it.
Not being able to kiss him may be the death of me.
At last, Fallow nods.
“Thank you,” he says softly, still holding my gaze.
My fingers itch to push that hair back a little more, see if it’s long enough to tuck behind his ear, but I stop myself for the millionth time.
“Any time,” I say. “Really.”
Fallow nods, and it takes a long time before our gazes finally drop away, but as soon as they do, I feel cold.
Chapter Thirteen
Fallow
Ican’t tell if it’s the pain in my face keeping me awake or the general feeling of discontent, but it’s something.
Colm is asleep, of course. I’ve fucked dozens of criminals, all with their own tragic backstory in one way or another, but I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who appears as well-adjusted as him. He moves through the world without obvious fear but also isn’t overconfident. He sleeps like the dead. He doesn’t get upset over little things or take offense at the drop of a hat. He doesn’t act like he’s got something to prove.
I thought if you wanted to be all of these things, you had to grow up in a house with loving parents or ponies or something. Apparently, Colm was born to be the warm little center of the universe when it comes to beingnormal.
Never in a million years would I think I’d be into that, but here we are. I guess this fucktuationship has been surprising for both of us.
I still can’t believe I let him stitch up my face last night, but it had to be done. I did my best to zone out and not let myself lookat how steady and sure his expression was the whole time, like this was no big deal and I could just trust him.
Just like that. Trust him.
Whatever it is that’s unsettling me, I don’t care for it. Historically, I know the best distractions are fucking or murder, and only one of those is an easy option without leaving the hotel room right now so I’ll take advantage of the dick on tap I have snoring next to me.
I get out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake him up until I’m ready. After a quick pit stop in the bathroom to clean up, I scoop up the supplies and strip off my clothes before whipping his blanket off and hopping up to straddle him in one fluid movement.
Colm inhales sharply, his eyes opening and his consciousness coming back to him as he looks around the room for threats. It only takes a few seconds for him to settle, though. He doesn’t say anything, but studies my face with a serious expression.
“Fuck?” I ask him, head tilted, getting straight to the point.
I’m holding myself above him—just an inch—so I get the very satisfying sensation of his cock starting to swell and push out his boxer-briefs, grazing against the underside of my balls and making me shiver in the best possible way.
“You sure you should move that much? With your face?”
He reaches up a hand but stops short of touching me, and the sweetness of the words and gesture combined hit me harder than I expect.
“I wasn’t aware that you knew how to properly top. Is that an offer? You’ve seemed very content to lie back and let me ride you, until now. My little pillow princess?”
