Page 31 of Twice Bitten
Too perfect, because nothing this good could last.
I hid my burning face in his shoulder, brushed my lips over his collarbone. He shuddered in my arms as I shifted position and squeezed my muscles around his knot. A soft kiss to the side of my head, and then he sighed and let his head drop down next to mine.
No, it definitely couldn’t last.
But I could keep it, keep him, for a few more minutes. And that had to be enough.
Chapter 10
Magical Attack Scorpions
As usual, my best-laid plans were worth absolutely nothing in the end.
I’d meant to wait until Jack’s knot went down and then let him fall asleep before leaving. Instead, I dozed off with him still buried to the hilt inside me.
And then I woke up to someone pounding on the door, jerking bolt upright in an instant. I dislodged Jack’s arm in the process. He’d had it slung over my waist, and he’d spooned up behind me. He rolled onto his back with a grumpy noise.
The doorknob rattled, and I clutched the blankets around my chest like a moron, but thank gods, Jack had locked the door behind him.
“Locked door, huh?” called a light, sarcastic kind of voice. Nate, I was fairly sure. “Oooh. But get some clothes on and open up, we have a situation. Your prisoners escaped.”
Our prisoners—the fuck. The Armitages had one fucking job!
Nate’s words jolted Jack out of his post-coital stupor, too, and an instant later he’d thrown back the blankets that he must have put over us while I lay in my own knot-induced stupor and strode for the door.
Still completely naked.
“What the hell, Jack, we’re not wearing any—”
But he’d already flung the door open, revealing a short, slim, dark-haired guy standing there with one fist poised to bang on it some more and a bundle of something under his arm. Nate, clearly, though I hadn’t managed to get a look at him before when I’d been injured.
“Oh!” Nate said. His mouth dropped open and he gave Jack a quick up-and-down once-over. And then he leaned around Jack and peeked at me, dark eyes gleaming.
And winked.
The little fuckerwinked. “Nice going,” he said. “Um. Anyway. So the prisoners! Matthew insisted we had to take all the tape off and be all humane, typical Matthew,” this with an exaggerated eye roll, “but then I guess they got out of the shed we put them in? And they made a run for it. We have a couple of guys trying to track them, but they have a head start and we’re having a little trouble. Uh, we’ll explain that part. It sounds like they’re going for the territory boundary, though.”
“Are you fucking kidding—” Jack’s voice rose, like he’d starting gearing up for a serious shout.
Nate cut him off with, “So you might want to get dressed! These are for Angelo.” He shoved the bundle at Jack and ran off, calling back, “Come downstairs when you do! Don’t worry, we’ll catch up!”
Cursing a blue streak under his breath, Jack flung the door closed behind him and stomped to the bed, dumping what he held on the end of it before he went for his jeans, which had ended up discarded on the floor. He didn’t even look at me. I tried very, very hard not to let that hurt like hell. To help in that effort, I got out of bed and picked up the clothes Nate had left.
Skinny jeans and a lumpy sweater in a truly hideous shade of olive green.
Well, fuck my life. As soon as I put these on I’d look like an even smaller, purple-haired, less-attractive Nate.
Jack and I dressed without speaking to one another and without even making eye contact. The awkwardness oppressed me even more than the hurt. If we’d mutually regretted what we’d done, that would’ve been one thing. And if Jack regretted it, and he’d said so, at least I could’ve dealt with that.
Instead I had to stew in the ambiguity of it all, guessing that he regretted it and unable to say anything for fear of sounding like a whiny little bitch.
I could still feel the stretch of his knot in every motion: as I bent my knees to pull on those ridiculous pants, as I reached up to put my arms through the fashion-crime sweater, as I sat to put on my boots, which bunched up the jeans at the bottom and made me look even more like a refugee from a particularly shitty thrift store.
Gods. Rejection stung so much less when you looked your best. But anyone would take one look at me and think, “Yeah, I get it. I’d walk away with my head hung in shame if I tapped that.”
Jack cleared his throat, and I reflexively tried to clear mine too.
That only reminded me of how well-used it was after having his cock stuffed down it.
