Page 165 of Cold-Blooded Creatures
He twirled his tongue around my tip when I pulled him away and pressed it to my underside when I pushed him to take me fully, dutifully fulfilling my non-verbal commands and doubling up his efforts when I began thrusting into him.
Drool dripped down his chin as he hollowed out his cheeks and his slurping sounds mixed with my grunts.
Doing as he was told, despite barely being able to breathe, despite my brutal rhythm without breaks, despite plunging into him so deeply I slipped down his throat, brought me to the sky-high edge, and tipped me over.
I crammed into him for the final time and held him immobile, his mouth stuffed full of me, as I fell the hundred miles back to our compound.
Obediently, he remained still, unmoving, watching me with wicked amusement, his throat constricting as he swallowed spurts of my cum.
I loosened my grip, but he did not retreat, instead lapping me up, his tongue one of a starving man working to catch every drop.
Zion lowered onto his heels, using a finger to collect a milky bead from his lip corner and sucking it clean. “Even moredelicious than I thought.” He smiled smugly, wiped saliva off his chin with the sleeve of his gray, long-sleeved t-shirt, and rose back on his feet. “Now, will you come back? She hasn’t left the room and refuses to eat. Again.” Plucking the gun out of my hand, he clicked the safety on and placed it on the table, among the others Ava had chosen for her lesson. “Or do you need me to bend over this table?”
Yes.
Shaking myself off, my mind fuzzy and confusingly cleared up at the same time, I fixed my pants and trudged away, toward the streets leading to our central building.
Zion’s laughter echoed behind me.
It wasa slip of my better judgment, stealing Kali from Ilasall. She would have been relatively safe there, not targeted because of my proximity.
But then she would not have been mine. And that I could not have.
“You can go,” I told Amari. She sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall in the hallway, an open book in her lap. Zion must have put her on guard duty. We were not leaving Kali unprotected, not for a second.
“She hasn’t come out.” With her russet hair weaved around her head like a crown, Amari rubbed her temple, a habit she had likely picked up from Ava. “Jayla brought her dinner but I had a suspicion she wouldn’t eat, so I peeked inside. It was untouched.”
My fist connected with the wall.
Was it smart? No. But I was definitely not in the right headspace. Usually, I expended everything in the training rings, but if I went there now, I knew I would not stop the fight until my opponent lay at my feet.
And right now, Kali needed us, not our mess.
And not my thoughts tied up in Zion.
Amari’s eyebrows flew up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I flexed my fingers, checking if anything was broken, but only one knuckle had split. Striking the wall sideways to avoid fracturing my bones had been the extent of control left in me. I was hanging on my sanity by a thread.
Praying the sound of my lashing out had not disturbed Kali, I dismissed Ava and entered the bedroom. The stuffy air hit me like a brick, and I aimed straight for the window, cracking it open a notch. The tray with the now cold dinner sat on the dresser, as Amari had said.
I gestured to the bowl of pumpkin soup and a plate full of cream- and raspberry-filled puffs Ryder had baked at my request this morning. “I thought these were one of your favorites.”
Half hidden by the fluffy duvet she liked to wrap herself in, Kali closed the book she was reading and hugged her knees. “I’m not hungry.”
Gritting my teeth at her answer, I brought the glass of water from the tray to her and sunk on the mattress near her legs, wary of my proximity. But she didn’t scooch away, and relief flooded me. “Please drink this.” I sighed at her frown. “I will not ask you to eat. Just drink this. Please.”
Her eyebrows furrowed further as she noted the red speck on my knuckle. “Why is your hand bloody?”
I pushed the glass for her to take. “I will tell you if you drink it.”
Torturously slowly, she took a sip. I pressed two fingers to the bottom of the glass. Gasping between every few gulps, she finished it, spitting at me every profanity she could come up with.
On average, a person could survive starvation for up to three weeks. But dehydration? Three days. And today had come to an end, if you held the sunset as the night bringer.
“Happy?” she sneered and rested her chin on top of her knees.
“I punched a wall.” I picked up a pair of my black sweatpants and a matching t-shirt from the bedside table I had left them on this morning, my movements unhurried and steady to avoid triggering an unwanted reaction. “We need to get you into a fresh set of clothes.” Zion had burned all of hers, but she had not called him out on it. Did not seem to care.
