Page 67 of Scavenger's Oath
When we reach the holding room, he goes to open the cell again, already slipping back into that authoritative role.
But I’m not ready to go in yet.
“I still have a few minutes,” I say, lifting my arms in a stretch. “You said ten.”
He turns to glare at me. “You’ve had your shower.”
“And now I’m stretching,” I say, tilting my head slightly. “Unless you’re revoking that offer?” I give him a pouty look. Feigned, but I know it works.
That muscle in his jaw tics and his eyes narrow. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says through gritted teeth.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach.
He watches my every move like he's cataloguing it. Every sway of my hips, stretch of my arms as if I'm simply loosening my body. As if I don't know how the thin shirt rides up.
I want to make him squirm. See how far I can push him.To make him come undone. I want to see those careful hands lose their tightly held discipline.
He shifts, jaw clenching, arms crossed as he leans against the far wall like he's keeping himself anchored. Like if he moves an inch, even a little, he might come to me.
That thought makes me ache.
“You always honour your trades this quickly?” I ask, slowing my walk so I can pass him at a closer distance. My voice is light, teasing, but there's a bite beneath it.
“Only when the return is worth it,” he mutters.
I stop right in front of him. “Did you get your return today?” I tease.
His eyes trail over me slowly, until I feel it all over my skin.
When he finally answers, his voice is tense and low enough that it rumbles. “I'm still deciding.”
There's something dangerous in him. As if he's holding himself back by a thread. I can hear the war in his voice while his eyes linger on the curve of my neck, the hem of the shirt brushing my thighs.
He's trying not to fixate… but he's failing.
And I’m enjoying making him crumble.
Shifting my weight, I let my shoulder brush his arm as I pass him again. “Well… I do hope I tip the scale soon,” I murmur sardonically.
His hand snaps out and catches my arm. I gasp, snapping my head back to meet his now fiery eyes.
“You keep moving like that, and I'm going to tip the fucking scale myself,” he growls.
My pulse is wild. But I don't move away. I look up at him again, eyes wide and lips parted. Enough to let him see the invitation.
Disappointingly, he doesn't take it. He lets go abruptly,pushing away from the wall as if distance is the only thing keeping him from doing something he can't take back.
“You've got five minutes left,” he mutters, changing the subject.
Five minutes? He’s cutting my time.
Well, I'm going to make every second count.
I take a few slow steps toward the old wooden desk in the corner. Using the edge of the desk to stretch again, leaning forward just enough to lift the hem of the shirt that smells faintly like him.
My thighs shift, skin brushing fabric, completely bare beneath it. I can feel my own wetness in the cool of the air.
Then I hear the shallow pull of his breath.
