Page 201 of The Wicked
Her perfectly shaped brows drew together. “Yeah?”
“Yes, if you must know, a lot of things can be created in fictional works. Like transportation tubes, Holophonors, and the What-If Machine inFuturamain 2000; DNA altering inGattaca, released in 1997, which was said to help children not contract genetic diseases from parents; and the Skin-Healing patch from the filmAeon Flux, made in 2005. That one is self-explanatory,” I said, expecting her to respond, but she just stared. “I can understand why someone like you would mistake the serial killer genes for—don’t give me that look, Sport.”
“What look?” She blinked, her eyes brighter than before, staring lustfully at me.
My index finger gestured in circles to her face. “Thatlook.”
She grinned. “Your intelligence is a huge turn-on, I’m not gonna lie. Besides, only a creep would want to see my wardrobe.”
I took off my glasses, dropping them on top of the book without taking my eyes off her. “If we want to talk about creeps, your name should be included on the list.”
She angled her body towards me, her nipples reflecting against the silk nightwear she wore, tilting her head and baring her neck for me to see how suckable it was. “How so?”
“Turning on my night lamps, closing my windows and curtains, drawing my covers up my body as if you don’t plan to kill me in the near future.”
She rose to her knees, fingers raking her hair back from her face. “You were shivering.”
“I never shiver.”
“And how would you know that? Do you set cameras around your room like a creep who loves to watch himself sleep after he wakes up?” She crawled to me, straddling my thighs and making breathing extremely difficult.
“Are you asking about cameras so you know which to take care of when you sneak into my room to slit my throat?”
“I already checked. There are no cameras or bugs. For a man who preaches about carefulness, you are very careless.”
“I am not. Getting killed in my sleep is one of my fantasies.”
She drew her body closer to mine. “Weirdo.”
“Creep.” My voice was hoarse as her long fingers brushed down my shoulders, stealing my breath with the warmth of each graze through my shirt.
“Asshole,” she whispered.
“Greedy thief.”
Her lips found my ear. “Psycho killer.” She bit my earlobe.
My lips parted. “Witch.”
She chuckled, lifting her face from my neck, then her lips aligned with mine, a breath touch away from brushing, and then she whispered, “Whore.”
My breathing fevered against her lips. “Slut.”
Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, her fingers disappearing underneath my shirt, her palms feeling up my stomach muscles, which flexed at the tantalizing burn from her touch.
Her gaze locked with mine.
Beautiful.
I switched to Spanish.“You do not want me obsessed with you, Zahra.”
“Funny,”she also said in Spanish,“I was about to say the same thing.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I can be really scary.”
My hand moved to the back of her neck, fisting her hair, not enough to cause pain, but enough to bare her neck for my hungry tongue.
