Page 52 of Tainted Gifts
I stopped it, so why do I feel guilty? This is all so new to me. I don't even know if I should tell her what happened or not.
Not. Definitely not. She'd flip out.
She shakes her head gingerly so as not to aggravate it.
"It's nothing. Where did you go?" she asks, checking over her shoulder as she pulls her shirt lower.
I roll my eyes, exaggerating exasperation as I wrap my arm around her shoulders to lead her down the hall.
"Simone latched onto me like a leech. I had to carry her to her room before I could even disentangle myself from her. That show of power thing back at the bunker really did a number on her. I got us a room too. Apparently we'll be staying here until the children thing is sorted out. They're planning a meeting. It should be five hours from now."
I feel like a lying ass right now. I can't tell her Simone woke up in time to surprise me with a kiss - a damn strong kiss I barely escaped before fucking up.
"Is your head hurting?" I ask, stroking her cheek.
I ignore the fact she tenses under my touch instead of leaning into it the way she does when he touches her.
Fucking full blood. I hate him. I hate him more than I've ever hated anyone.
"Not too much right now. My temp is cooler too. I suppose I might should have thanked Jase for that."
I snarl, letting my distaste be known. She has no idea what a smug son of a bitch he was the whole time she was in his arms. I barely came out of the front. It was pissing me off too much to see her wrapped around him like she was his instead of mine.
"I'm sure he knows you're grateful," I murmur, not mentioning the fact she said his name during her sleep.
I'm so glad that asshole didn't feel it necessary to tell me what she was dreaming. Judging by the grin he proudly bore, I don't want to know what it was.
I have to find a way to make her pay more attention to me and less attention to him. I'm sick of the way she constantly looks at him, knowing I can't say anything about it without possibly pushing her away.
He says whatever the fuck he wants to say. He tells her exactly what he's thinking, and she takes it, still loving him no matter what. She gets pissed, but she always gets over it.
Until she reaches that plane with me, I have to tread lightly. I sure as fuck don't want to give her a reason to go back to him.
Most certainly not telling her Simone kissed me now.
"Do you want to go lie down? With me?" I ask, reaching down to take her hand in mine.
Her touch is soft, not at all fiery hot the way it would be if she was touching him. I have to stop making this a competition. He's had more playing time. I'm just getting warmed up. She's here with me right now. Not Jase. She's going to stay with me. Not Jase.
"Actually, I think I want a shower. I still smell like lake," she says, laughing sweetly while motioning to her slinky bottoms that she wore all night and day.
I frown, thinking back to how those sexy legs were wrapped around him on that small bed. It was as if she couldn't get close enough. I wipe away the irritation that is clearly etched in my face, and then I give her a devious wink.
"How about we make that a shower for two? I may not can cure you with a touch, but I can give you blood, and that makes you feel better too."
She laughs lightly, though it feels as though her mind is a thousand miles away.
"Sure," she murmurs, not sounding as enthused as I was hoping.
If I want her to fall for me the way she has for him, then I really have to step up my game. I have to make it me she dreams about. First, I have to give her something that makes her think about me.
We've had incredible sex, but we haven't had the kind of sex that would make her desperate to spend all day in bed with me. It's hard to find my swagger when it always feels like she's thinking of him.
I'll have to put it out of my mind today though. Counters are known for their bedroom-breaking, earthshaking sex, and I want to make that happen. If I make myself more desirable, she'll stop thinking about him eventually.
I push her through the door as I turn into a man on a mission to evoke passion from her. She smiles as I rip the strings off her tiny, torturing little ensemble, and she giggles when I throw her against the wall.
She seems amused more than turned on. She always does. I don't know if that's good or bad.
