Slay Bells #4
He leaned over the sink and cupped water.
The muscles in his back moved under the thin cotton of his shirt.
His shoulders weren’t broad, exactly, but they were strong where it counted.
His arms looked like they could haul kegs and men in equal measure.
He had a burn scar on his left arm, a pale little comma from an oven, probably.
His blue-green eyes were too bright in the mirror, rimmed pink from smoke and shock.
I forced my gaze back to his hands. “Face, hands, arms,” I instructed. He obeyed, splashing water over his face and bending to scrub, his breath coming in short, controlled pulls like he was breathing through a panic he didn’t want to acknowledge.
While he did that, I stripped. Shirt first, then pants. The fabric stuck where ichor and blood had joined it to my skin. I tore off a fat wad of paper towels, ran them under hot water, pumped soap, and started scrubbing. The ichor came off in greasy gray streaks, stinging wherever it found a cut.
I worked quickly—neck, shoulders, ribs, thighs—until the wads of paper started coming away clean.
The mirror gave me back an unflattering view: old scars, new cuts, and bruising on my chest. I was sure my back would look even worse, after the fall I’d taken.
But my hands didn’t shake, which I took as a good sign.
Dylan looked up and caught my eyes in the mirror. Something flickered across his face that wasn’t terror. He went back to scrubbing his forearms, but he didn’t look quite as freaked out as before.
“Can you please explain what happened tonight?” he asked. “What the fuck was that thing? Why was it here? How did you know it would be? And how did you know how to kill it?”
I answered him in solid, reassuring words, not giving him more detail than he needed. Corvathos demon. Heart eater. On a rampage, with me trying to catch up and kill it. With his help, I had. I reminded him that it was dead now. Dead, gone, not coming back.
He listened without interrupting, but when I finished, he still looked like he was having trouble taking it in. Which was fair. I hadn’t handled it much better when I’d been introduced to the paranormal.
I put my hands on his shoulders. Heat seeped from his body into mine. He shivered, but I didn’t think he was cold. Under my thumbs, the slopes of his collarbones felt like an invitation.
I squeezed with measured, grounding pressure and kept my voice low and even. “You’re okay. I got rid of the body. And corvathos demons hunt alone, so there’s no reason to expect another one to come through.”
Dylan looked like he was trying to fit that sentence into the reality he knew. “How do I go back to living my life, now that I know there are demons out there?”
“You do your best to forget it,” I said. “People like me work hard to make sure you can. Non-witches like you aren’t meant to know about magic. Chances are, you’ll never have another encounter.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head.
Then he opened them and seemed to notice for the first time that I wasn’t wearing much in the way of clothing.
To be honest, I’d forgotten too. But his gaze traveled down my body, then back up, and when he met my eyes again, I couldn’t quite name the expression I saw.
I tried to laugh it off. “Sorry. I’ll get changed.” I turned, ready to unzip the duffel I’d stashed on top of the toilet tank.
“Wait.”
His hand landed on my shoulder. His palm was warm and callused. It wasn’t a heavy grip—just enough to say I’m here, and so are you.
I turned back to him, expecting another question. Instead, he stepped forward and kissed me.
I froze in surprise, in shock. My body hummed like a live wire, the fight still burning in my muscles, heat pooling low in my stomach. Dylan’s lips were everything I needed in that moment. But I forced myself to step back.
His eyes flicked down my chest and back up, and I felt the weight of his stare like a hand on my body. I tried to concentrate on the cool air against my skin.
“Maybe this isn’t a great time. You’re probably not thinking too clearly after tonight’s revelations. And after a brush with death—”
“You had a much closer brush than I did,” he said, grinning crookedly. He leaned casually against the wall, all traces of his earlier panic gone. “And I’d say now’s the perfect time. After all, I just learned I could die any minute in a demon attack.”
“I’m still not sure it’s a great idea.”
“I’ll be sure enough for both of us.” He smirked. “I’ve wanted you since the moment you walked through the door. Nothing that’s happened since has changed that.”
Fuck, he was making it hard to be responsible.
“Come on,” he cajoled. “It’s not like I’m asking for a wedding ring. And you don’t strike me as a guy who needs scented candles and soft jazz before he can fuck.”
He pushed off the wall, closing the space between us. His T-shirt clung to him in the low light, and I caught myself staring at the faint outline of his chest, the narrow lines of his hips, before I jerked my eyes back up.
“I’m the kind of guy who knows when something’s a bad idea,” I said. My voice was steady, but my body betrayed me, inching closer instead of away.
Dylan noticed. Of course he did. His grin widened. “Yeah, but you’re also the kind of guy who likes bad ideas. I can tell.”
I should’ve laughed it off, but the words landed too close to the truth. I’d built a career on chasing bad ideas with sharp teeth. His hand brushed against my arm, casual but not. Heat shot through me at the contact.
“You’re reckless,” I told him.
“Thanks,” he said, like I’d handed him a compliment instead of a warning. He tilted his head, messy blond hair falling into his eyes. “And you’re gorgeous.”
The compliment hit like a kick to the chest. My line of work didn’t lend itself to romantic attachments, much less whispered sweet nothings. I wasn’t sure when the last time was that someone had made it so clear they wanted me.
“Don’t,” I muttered, but it came out softer than I intended.
“Don’t what? Tell the truth?” His hand slid up to my shoulder, thumb brushing the line of my collarbone. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this as much as I do. Your body’s already giving you away.”
He wasn’t wrong. My pulse thudded, loud enough that I wondered if he could hear it. And my cock was doing its level best to thrust itself through my boxer briefs.
“I’m serious, Dylan. You don’t know me.”
His smile turned sly. “Maybe not. But I know enough.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “And I want to know the rest.”
And god help me, I’m only a man.
This time when he kissed me, I didn’t pull away.
His mouth was warm and tasted like whiskey.
The kiss was messy, hungry, full of adrenaline and the need for release.
He nipped at my lower lip, and I answered with my tongue, and then it was just heat and slide and breath, our noses bumping, our hands wandering like thieves.
He made this low, pleased sound in his throat that shot straight down my spine, and I pressed him back another inch until his shoulders found the wall and we were breathing the same air. He smiled into the kiss, the cocky bastard, and I swallowed that smile like a dare.
He broke the kiss, leaving my head spinning, to peel off his T-shirt. His chest was perfectly muscled. Not showy, but thick enough to make me want a mouthful.
“Jesus. You’ve been hiding this under a band tee?”
“Unwrapping’s half the fun,” he said, smug.
He hooked his fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and did a little shimmy.
I rolled my eyes, and my hands went straight to his fly.
I drew the zipper down slow enough to make him shiver, but I didn’t really have the patience to torture him anymore.
I’d been eyeing his ass all night, and I wanted to feel it in my hands, skin against skin.
He kicked his jeans and boxers off, and I pulled him forward so I could reach around and cup his ass. It was perfect. Tight but springy under my fingers, muscled from manual labor and incredibly good genes. I ground my hips against him, and he groaned into my mouth.
“You too,” he whispered, and I felt his fingers slip underneath my boxer briefs.
He was pushy, all forward motion and heat, and I liked it. I shucked my underwear, and he pressed his hands against my chest, walking me backwards until my shoulder blades met the wall. Kiss, bite, breathe. He set the rhythm, and I let him, enjoying letting someone else take the lead for once.
His hand slid down my chest and stomach, inching ever lower until he grasped my cock. I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped me as his fingers slid up the shaft, then circled the tip. How long had it been since someone else had touched me? Too long, if I couldn’t even remember.
He swiped a finger through the precum leaking from my tip and slicked my shaft with it.
His hand was like silk, gliding across my skin, and I moaned into the kiss.
My hands gripped his ass tighter as he brought his cock next to mine and began stroking us together.
His tongue probed my mouth, and I bit his bottom lip, desperate to release the energy pent up inside me.
Dylan’s hand was amazing. His cock was amazing. But I wanted more. So I pushed forward, then spun him around, pressing his chest up against the wall.
“Hands on the wall,” I commanded.
He complied and grinned over his shoulder. “Bossy. I like it.”
“You’d better.”
I dragged my hands down the muscles of his back and onto his hips. He arched his back and thrust his ass out at me. He might like me being bossy, but that didn’t mean he was going to stop asking for what he wanted. Luckily, we apparently wanted the same thing.
I sank to my knees on the concrete floor and put my hands on his ass, spreading his cheeks open. His hole winked out at me, pink and flush and deliciously tight. I leaned in and licked a long strip across it, and he shuddered underneath me.