7. Midnight Snack
MIDNIGHT SNACK
DALTON
W hy do they always fucking squeal? I swear pigs are my least favorite animal, right next to sheep.
Another piece of meat swings from a hook in the basement of Rhys’ cabin. Deaton chills with his feet kicked up on a table housing empty bottles of beer. Rhys quietly cleans his rifle, acting oblivious to the animal noises erupting from the mouth of my current prey.
Something ’ s wrong .
Something changed, breaking off and rattling around inside me after the kiss with Natalia in the bathroom of Boudreaux’s restaurant. I can’t get the feel of her lips, the softness of her skin, and the buoyancy of her ass out of my head.
Dissatisfaction weighs heavily in my gut. Burying my blades in the swinging meat sack over and over doesn’t dull the roar of something in my veins. I need to see her again.
For research. For my parents. Nodding, I swipe the back of a hand across my brow, smearing blood. Huh. I guess I blanked out again. I can’t remember when the piggy stopped squealing.
“I’m going out,” I announce, turning away from the strung up carcass.
“Zachary—” Deaton starts, stopping when I whirl on him with wild eyes, blood staining my skin and hair.
“Relax, Dad . I’m not going hunting for something else to kill. I’m going to see a flower about a lead on my parents.” The lie slips off my tongue with ease and Deaton cocks a dark brow. He clearly doesn’t believe me, but what the fuck ever. I’m a grown ass man. My babysitting days are over.
“Let him go, D. You won’t reason with him with that look in his eye. And I’d like to not have to bury another family member so soon,” Rhys replies dryly, never looking up from the disassembled weapon.
Scowling, I flip him a middle finger he ignores because I’m not sure who he thinks he’ll end up burying, me or Deaton.
“Wash the blood off and don’t do something stupid.” Deaton’s voice slips into his usual indifferent tone. Not that I needed his permission anyway, but I give him a nod before striding toward the stairs. They can clean up the mess for once.
I need to see my little temptress again. Maybe even test out if she tastes as sweet as I remember or if novelty heightened everything.
* * *
T wo days and she’s still just as pretty. I trail a phantom finger along the curve of one cheek. Maybe she’s prettier asleep.
Oblivious, eyes closed. She can’t look at me with a mixture of lust and regret, like when our lips parted in the bathroom. I didn’t need to ask if she regretted the kiss.
Witnessing her remorse caused an odd feeling to take up space in my chest. I have no name for it. But at least the spot next to her in the bed is empty. With the way I’m feeling tonight, I’d go against Deaton’s directive to not do anything stupid and murder the man lying next to my temptress.
Fuck. Why her ? Because she laughed at me? Or because she didn’t pull away when I tried genuinely flirting with another human being, abandoning pretenses and lowering my defenses a little?
Maybe that was it. For the space of a few seconds, I allowed myself to be vulnerable, and she ate it the fuck up. And later, she didn’t push me away when I kissed her, despite fumbling with the act initially. No, her regret happened after she let me kiss her.
Now, I need another taste. My eyes slide from her face to the blankets tangled around her legs. There’s something else I’ve never done that I suddenly hunger to experience.
Natalia gifted me with my first kiss. I think it is only fair that she lets me sample a woman’s flavor for the first time, too. My hands move without command, gently sliding the blankets away from her mocha legs. Damn, she has nice legs.
I can’t think of a single fucking thing I don’t like about her. Maybe next time, I’ll talk with her longer to see if I enjoy her personality as much as her beauty.
No. Get a grip, Zac. She’s a means to an end. I try to envision the look on her face when she realizes what Samantha knew all along.
I’m a fucking monster.
But I don’t let that reminder stop me from sliding her panties down her legs. Furrowing my brow, I cock my head at the white piece of paper taped to the center of her underwear.
What the fuck is that?
After sliding a finger down the center, I bring it up to the weak moonlight streaming through the window. Red paints my finger.
Fuck, she’s bleeding. This really couldn’t get any better. My eyes laser in on the dark curls and the puffy lips beneath them. Licking my lips, I yank her panties the rest of the way down her legs, tossing them to the bedroom floor.
I don’t want to taste her from a fucking napkin. I want to drink straight from the source, like my own personal tapped keg.
Yes, little flower, give me all of your nectar. Settling on the bed without jostling her is tricky and I frequently dart my eyes to her face to ensure I haven’t woken her up. If I do this right, she’ll chalk this up to a wet dream, and I’d have satisfied an odd craving of mine. We both win.
Lying flat on my stomach between her legs, I don’t move hers aside. No, I focus on her opening and the bit of blood sticking to her lips. Using my fingers to part her folds, I drive my face forward, groaning when she coats my tongue.
She tastes so fucking good. The blood mingles with her naturally sharp taste. It’s an odd cocktail, but the metallic taste of blood is familiar. I wonder if I can make her taste even sweeter next time. I’ll have to look that one up, but for now, I swipe my tongue in and out of her channel, letting her blood flow to land on my tongue.
Weak moans spill from her and I switch from gluttoning myself on her flavor to trying to tease more moans from her. Her hips move slightly, encouraging me. My free hand snakes down, sliding into the waistband of my pants and stroking my cock.
It’s only ever risen for her. She’s truly a fucking enchantress, weaving a spell on me. But fuck it. If she wants me to be her damn slave, I’ll do it so long as she lets me eat her up anytime I want.
My tongue mimics my hand, sliding up and down in tune with my rough strokes. Her moans get louder and her hips lift more and more off the bed. She’s close and I want us to detonate at the same fucking time.
Come for me, sweet flower. Let me taste it.
I say none of that. When her hips jerk as I slide my tongue around a little nub above her slit, I switch tactics again. Clearly, it’s a pleasurable spot for her. I wrap my lips around it and suck at the same time I jerk hard on my cock.
“Ah!” she moans, whimpers chasing the sound. I keep sucking and swirling my tongue until pleasure zips down my spine and my cock twitches, releasing in my pants. Panting against her pussy, I rest my forehead on her mound.
Shit. That was better than any fantasy I could’ve cooked up in my head. Risking a glance up, I notice her lashes still rest on her cheeks, but a delectable flush stains her skin. I guess it was as good for me as it was for her. It’s definitely going on my list of things to do again.
I’m in so much fucking trouble when it comes to Natalia Bell, but I can’t bring myself to care as I slowly extricate myself from between her lush thighs. Sliding off the bed, I smirk at the wet spot right between her legs. Blood isn’t the only thing that leaked onto those sheets.
I don’t wipe the liquid coating my chin. I want to leave her home while wearing her on my face. Kneeling down, I pocket the discarded panties and pull the blankets back over her. If she can sleep through that, then I’m sure her mind can come up with an excuse for why she went to bed without underwear.
Affording myself one final glance at her sleeping form, I creep out of her bedroom.
A week. I’ll give myself a week to clear my head, plan for housing my alluring guest, then I’ll snatch her up like I did her panties.
A week. Surely, I can get whatever the fuck she did to me out of my system in a week, right?
Of course, I can. I’ve never let prey get the best of me before. Even if I am still wearing her blood and juices on my face.
I’m the hunter and she’s the meat. That’s all there is to it.
But I can’t shake the fucking feeling that I’m lying to myself.