Ihave Haven in my lap. My fingers are tracing her body like a starving man. I should have better control of the situation, but ever since I found out that she came here with Grayson Sullivan and walked into the club on his arms instead of mine, I’ve been ill.
Rage built like a wildfire inside me, forcing me to act out of character.
I indulge for a few minutes, feasting on her mouth and swallowing her sweet moans. Her fingers trace my abdomen, coiling around my belt, before I capture her delicate wrist.
“You’re drunk, sunshine,” I say.
“I’m not,” she says.
“What’s 24 x 9?” I ask.
“That’s not fair,” she says. “I wouldn’t know that sober.”
A chuckle escapes me, and I pat her thigh before placing her in her seat.
“You’re no fun,” Haven mumbles.
The drive home is long and unbearable.
My eyes keep straying towards her. Her head is lying on the window, and before I know it, she’s fallen asleep. I brush aside her hair so I can see her face better.
She looks so innocent when she isn’t spewing venom and fighting me at every turn.
I pull into the driveway and scoop Haven into my arms; her head falls into the crook of my neck. Her breathing is soft and warm. My chest tightens when I look down at her. Why does she look so perfect nestled in my arms, and why do I have this sudden urge to protect her?
I carry her to the guest room and place her down on the mattress. I head to my bedroom and return with a t-shirt. I place it over her head, dragging it over her dress to keep her warm. I brush back her hair and drag the covers over her when she tangles her arms around my neck.
“Ender,” she murmurs. “Don’t leave.”
I kick off my boots, ignoring the voice in my head telling me to reject her request, that it is a bad idea. But I can’t resist her when she looks at me with those doe eyes.
I pull my shirt over my head and start to fold it.
“I want that one,” Haven says, just before I toss it in the corner. She pulls at the shirt I gave her. “Not this one.”
I swap the shirts, not understanding why her drunk brain wantsthisone in particular, but I indulge her nonetheless. I slide into the bed and pull her close to my chest. For one night, I’d like to pretend that the weight of the world isn’t on my shoulders.
Haven’s fingers trace the veins on my forearm before she lifts it and sinks her teeth into my flesh.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, amused.
“No,” she says. “I couldn’t resist.”
“You’re very drunk,” I say.
“Mhmmm,” she mumbles. “And tired.”
Her fingers slide along my vein, tracing it to my bicep. Her touch skirts across the scar there. The one I got when she shot me. She must realize where it is from, because she stills.
“I thought you would have gotten this healed,” she says.
“I didn’t even get it checked,” I say. “Besides, I wouldn’t have gotten rid of the mark.”
“Why not?”
“I will never get rid of anything that you give me,” I say.
Even though she is exhausted, I don’t want this conversation to end. I don’t want morning to come, because I know she will never look at me like this again, she will never touch me so simply, as if I belong to her.
