I’m fluttering, clutching the knife with white knuckles, forehead lined in duress. Of course, I don’t want him to kill me, but I don’t want him to feel bad about it either.
I have no idea what the hell I’m doing anymore…
“Well, okay… Maybe a quick stab then?” I unbutton my shirt. “Just a tiny poke to the gut…? It’s okay, I can handle it. Prometo.”
“What the actual fuck?!” He snorts a befuddled sound. “Usteddemente, I swear to God!”
“Baby, please,” I chuckle sadly. “I don’t want you to be upset. What do I have to do?”
Handing out the knife, move closer still. But he won’t take it.
“In what world is that a fair fight??” He growls.
“Fine, then just take it, and you can wait until my back is turned or something.”
He stops this time, as if maybe he’s considering it. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.
“You realize you’re asking me to stab you because I wouldn’t watch a movie with you… right?” His expression is one of morbid fascination.
I think I like it a lot.
“Not just that,” I pout.
Angel laughs, and it warms my insides like a shot of the hard stuff.
He bites his lip, taking a hesitant step closer. “What else?”
Easing up to meet him in the middle, I say, “I want more dates, pajarito.”
He slips his fingers inside my open shirt, running them over my tattoo. “Si?” His gaze lifts to mine, and I nod. He’s quiet for a moment before he whispers, “Me too.”
Taking his chin, I hold his eyes for a few heavy seconds, absorbing the emotions in them. Goodandbad. Then I drop my mouth onto his in a lush kiss, though he breaks it before I’m ready.
“After our dates…” He speaks in a breathy rumble over my lips, “do I have to come back into the cage?”
Jaw straining, I’m fighting to loosen the reins of my control just a little. Because I know I want to, but it’s just… difficult.
There’s so much other stuff tied to it.
“Yes…” I mutter. He rolls his eyes like the petulant little thing he is, until I add, “For now.”
His fingers graze down the curve of my pectoral, tracing the sinews in my torso. “I think I can work with that…”
I hand him the knife one last time, but he shakes his head.
“If you trust me…” He peeks up at me. “Then I don’t think I need it right now.”
Fuck me, what is this kid doing to me?
Pressing another soft kiss on his lips, I give it only a few leisurely seconds of sweet suction and playful tongue-flicks before I’m pulling back with a hum.
Holding up the knife, I look it over in my hand. “Do you know the origin of this knife? Where it really came from?”
His lashes flit past the hooded lust. “I heard my grandfather made it and gave it to my father in hopes that it would be passed down by each Alvarez man to his son when he became Lieutenant.”
I have to fight rolling my eyes. “Of course you did.” His brows knit, and I exhale. “It is true, your grandfather passed this knife down to your father. But he sure as shit didn’t make it himself.”
“He didn’t…?” He looks uneasy at the prospect of hearing something unfavorable about his family.
