18. Chapter eighteen #2
Instantly, I know what he means. I see it in the starry sky of his eyes. That thing living under his skin, the monster who’s pacing and snarling, needs an outlet. It’s fierce and hungry, and the pain turns it into something worse.
Stronger this time, fueled by the hurt, the loss and the overwhelming grief for his friend.
I don’t know why I do it, why a tiny part of me thinks this will help, why I dare to hope it might, but I surge up on my toes and claim his mouth with everything I have.
My hands tighten on his wrists like I’m anchoring us both, and the world narrows to wet heat and the taste of him. I kiss him like I’m trying to shove air and life back into his lungs, like I’m wiring him to me so he can’t fall apart.
Our tongues duel, my teeth find his bottom lip, and he answers in a shudder that breaks me right the fuck open.
His hands cradle my jaw, thumbs digging in, and I press harder, driving every stupid, bloody, desperate piece of me into that mouth.
He tastes like grief and smoke and the ocean.
He tastes like the thing I refuse to lose.
“Kee, I’m not… Not me right now,” he says against my lips when I finally pull away, voice ragged and raw.
“You are,” I rasp, “This is a piece of who you are, and I love all parts of you… even the broken, the dark ones.”
His eyes flare with something deeper than his shadows, flashes for a beat with something other than his itch. Something hungry and bright and frightening and filled with hope.
It’s a ravenous hunger, a thing that licks at the edges of the man I know. It wants . It wants everything .
The hunger stares me down and I don’t look away. I hold him tighter. I kiss him again.
“Take it out on me,” I dare him, the words pressed against his lips. “I can handle it.”
“ Kee ,” he breathes, the name falling like a plea.
“Do it. I can take it. The anger, the anguish… I know you need an outlet. Culling Walkers isn’t helping. Maybe this will.” My voice is rough, steady. I mean it. I want him to channel it somewhere that won’t break him further.
“I don’t…”
“You don’t what?” I ask, because if he won’t let it out, it’ll eat him alive.
“I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.” I can feel the tremor through his palms.
“You won’t hurt me. And, you know, some hurt can be good,” I whisper, and even as the words leave my mouth, I feel how insane they sound.
But there’s a truth in it, our truth.
He swallows. “I never… I’ve never—”
My cheeks heat because I know exactly what he means. I repeat it, softer. “You won’t hurt me. Start slow. Ease me in. Stretch me good.”
His eyes flash again, that ravenous thing, and then, for a sliver of a breath, the man pushes the demons back and I see him sharpen, focus. “And then?”
“And then do your worst,” I mutter against his mouth. My final dare, the last thing I’ll let him have before he lets go.
He surges forward, a sound coming out of him that’s almost feral, and attacks my mouth, pushing me back.
Guiding me past the bed, past the tub, his mouth searing mine like he’s trying to burn the grief out.
His hands are brutal and sure. At my throat, at my jaw, fisting my shirt, pinning me to him as he ushers us around the tiled corner into his bathroom.
We collide, man, monster, and whatever the hell else lives in him. He’s all teeth, heat, and desperate need. And I’m all answer, all willing, letting him use me as the outlet he needs, because if this is how he keeps from tearing himself apart, then I’ll be the damned bridge.
As he manhandles me against the cool tile by the walk-in, he rips my backpack off, and throws it in a corner. He undoes my belt. My dagger and the portable radio Roe gave me both tumble free, then he snatches the strap across my shoulder, and—
“Is that Whisper?” he asks suddenly, only now noticing the hilt and the way the blade sits along my back, momentarily pulled out of the heat of the moment. His brows pull together, something heavy sitting in his gaze.
I nod, fingers clenching on his waist because I want the contact, need it. “Yeah. I never knew how fucking heavy it is. I hope it’s okay they brought it to Roe…”
He nods absently, fingers fluttering over the handle. “Yeah… It’s okay. I figured they’d do that. I just…”
“Left it there, so I’d know you were okay?” I supply softly. “That Roe knew you were okay? You wanted them to find it.”
He looks down at me then, jaw tight, and he doesn’t need to say it. The yes is already in the set of his mouth. I know it’s true.
I cup his face and draw him down to me, my lips finding his in a heavy, loaded kiss. It’s wet and hungry and for a second everything else drops away. Then I help him tug the rest of my gear and my soaked, red-streaked shirt off, the ruined sneakers I kick into the corner.
“I have to get you new ones,” he mutters.
“I have my flip-flops in my bag.”
He rolls his eyes in that way that’s so entirely him, and the motion hits me like a promise. He’s still in there somewhere. Not fixed. Not whole. He’ll never be whole, not without Tass. But maybe time will dull some edges of that gaping wound.
Speaking of wounds .
My brows knit when he jerks his shirt over his head and I finally see it; a filthy, half-assed bandage taped at the junction of his neck. It looks like it’s slapped on in a hurry.
Fear lurches cold through my chest and my hand lifts before my head catches up.
He flinches and clamps on my wrist so fast I snap my gaze up. His expression is broken and raw. “Please. Not now.”
“Is that—?” I start, because I don’t want to say the thing out loud.
He answers with a curt nod, jaw ticking. “It’s… I’ll explain. You can fix it later, Kee. Promise.” His hands cup my face, fingers threading up into my wet curls. “I just need you right now. All of you. I need it so fucking bad.” His voice cracks on the last word, raw and urgent.
I swallow, nodding because what else do you do when your man asks for you, wants you? I seal it with a kiss, a hard press that urges his mouth open, my tongue slipping in, pulling a heady groan from him.
The rest of our clothes go after that promise.
When we’re naked, his mood darkens when his hands roam over my shoulders, ribs, my stomach, fingers tracing the red lines the rain left on my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
But when they drop lower and land on my erection, I swear those starry eyes fucking blaze .
His fingertips grazing the soft skin almost in referent, encircling me, pushing the demons away.
A full-body shiver runs through me when he pumps me one, two times, before sliding that hand up as he steps closer.
He grabs my throat, pressing me back against the cold tile, his delicious body flush against mine, hard cock straining against mine.
The tile is hard and unforgiving under my spine, and the pulse in my neck stutters under his grip.
“Mmm-Max.” His name comes out as a moan as I sag against the wall, shivering like a fucking lunatic when he delves his tongue so deep in my mouth I swear he’s fucking eating me alive.
I welcome the pressure from his hand, his mouth, his body like an anchor. My muscles uncoil, tension sliding out of my shoulders, my thoughts going deliciously hazy, numb.
He’s the best fucking drug. Always is the best fucking drug.
Then the bastard turns on the damn shower.
I gasp as the cold water hits us, but before I can do anything, he’s on me, kissing deep, claiming me in a way that makes me shiver from scalp to soles.
When our dicks meet in that wet slide, he groans into my mouth, and I answer with a sound that comes from somewhere under my ribs. My hands find his perfect, muscled ass and squeeze hard, nails dragging, and he steadies me with a rough, needy laugh.
Gods, how I want this, him, how I want everything he’s willing to give. If I can cull some of his monsters by being his in every damn way, that’s only a bonus.
Then his hands move, but not like I expect. He’s cleaning me, not taking me, owning me like I want him to, like I need him to. No… he’s washing the red from my skin, scrubbing at the streaks until the lines smear and run away. His thumbs trace the worst spots like erasers, hands steady and fierce.
“I hate it on you,” he mutters, voice tight. “It makes it roar harder. I need it off. ”
I hang on his shoulders, practically grinding into him because I can’t think of anything else to do while the rot-streaked water, the blood, the traces of the red rain sluice down the drain.
He scrubs us both until the water at our feet runs clear, and only then kills the shower, me still rubbing myself all over him.
“Kee—” he breathes, but I can’t stop, can’t think. Having this naked fucking god against me is too much. He’s a perfect specimen. Scarred, yes, but he’s a damn mountain of muscle, and I just want to lick every fucking one of them.
Speaking of which…
I drop to my knees, nearly sliding on the slick tile, and he swears, low. As I look up and give him a filthy grin, he leans his forearm against the tiles, his other hand threading into my curls, fingers clenching hard when I finally—fucking finally—grab that thick as fuck cock.
I swear I make a sound that’s half moan, half prayer when it twitches in my hand. I tear my gaze away from his ravenous expression and surge forward.
I don’t want to wait another fucking second.
I’m greedy—too greedy—as I swallow him whole, taking what I need without apology. My free hand anchors at his perfect ass, fingers digging in, steadying myself against the heat, the lust, the drug that is him.
And I love it. The taste of him, the feel of him, all of him.
Moaning around him, I drag my head back, tongue twirling at the top, and do it all over again. I work him with my mouth and hands, shivering every time he grunts and flexes, hips moving to whatever rhythm I set.