Chapter 10 #3
"Seriously, the detail is incredible." She reached out and trailed her fingernails up my forearm, then across my bicep, her touch lingering. "Did you make it yourself? Because these muscles feel very real."
Sarah went very, very still beside me.
"I—" I started, but the woman wasn't done.
She stepped closer, close enough that I smelled her perfume—something cloying and artificial that made my nose itch. Her hand moved from my arm to my chest, her fingers splaying over my heart.
"And this chest," she purred, looking up at me through her lashes. "God, you must work out constantly. Are you a personal trainer or something? Because I would love some private lessons."
"He's with me."
Sarah's voice was cold. Sharp. Warning.
The blonde woman's smile faltered slightly, but she didn't remove her hand from my chest. "Oh, I didn't realize you two were—"
"Well, now you do." Sarah stepped between us, physically inserting herself into the space, her body language shifting into something protective and possessive.
She grabbed the woman's hand and removed it from my chest forcefully.
"So why don't you take your Marilyn Monroe act and your wandering hands somewhere else, because he's mine. "
The woman's eyes widened, but she tried to hold onto her innocent demeanor. "I was just complimenting his costume—"
"You were groping him," Sarah said, her voice dropping into something dangerous. "There's a difference."
"I don't think he minded—"
"I don't care what you think." Sarah took a step forward, and the blonde woman actually took a step back. "Walk away. Now."
The woman looked at me, then at Sarah, then back at me. Whatever she saw in my expression—probably the fact that I was completely captivated by Sarah's territorial display—made her decision for her. She muttered something under her breath about "crazy girlfriends" and disappeared into the crowd.
Sarah turned to face me, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with anger and arousal and something else I couldn't quite name.
"Sorry," she said, but she didn't sound sorry at all. "That was—I shouldn't have—"
I didn't let her finish.
I grabbed her hand and pulled her into a narrow alcove between two buildings, away from the crowd, away from the noise and the lights and the chaos. The space was small and dark, barely wide enough for both of us, and Sarah's back hit the brick wall as I stepped close.
"Say it again," I said, my voice rough.
Her breath hitched. "Say what?"
"That I'm yours."
Her eyes searched mine, and I saw the war happening behind them—the part of her that wanted to take it back, to laugh it off, to retreat behind her armor. And the part of her that meant every word.
"You're mine," she whispered.
Something in my chest cracked wide open.
I kissed her.
Not gently. Not carefully. I kissed her like I'd been dying to since the moment she stepped out of the cabin in that dress, like I'd been holding back for days and couldn't hold back anymore.
My hands found her waist, pulling her against me, and she made a sound—half gasp, half moan—that went straight to my head.
She kissed me back just as fiercely, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body arching into mine.
She tasted like salted caramel--sweetness and spice and I couldn't get enough.
Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except feel the heat of her mouth, the softness of her skin, the way she fit against me like she was made for this.
I felt her hands grip my shoulders as I tilted my head to deepen the kiss, and her breath caught slightly as my tusk brushed against her cheek.
There was no hesitation, no pulling away—just the soft, eager press of her mouth against mine, accepting every part of me.
The smooth ridge of my tusks framed her lips as she drew closer, and I felt a shiver run through her that had nothing to do with the cool autumn air around us.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard, her pupils blown wide, her lips swollen.
"Kael," she said, her voice shaky. "I want—I want to take you up on your offer."
Every cell in my body screamed yes.
But I forced myself to step back, to put space between us, to think past the haze of want clouding my brain.
"You're drunk," I said.
"I'm fine—"
"Sarah." I cupped her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. "You're drunk. And I'm not going to let you make this decision when you've been drinking."
"But I want—"
"I know what you want." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "And I want it too. But not like this. Not when you might regret it in the morning."
She looked like she wanted to argue, but I saw the moment the fight went out of her. She sagged against the wall, her eyes closing.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."
The drive back to the cabin was torture.
I'd insisted on driving—Sarah handed over the keys without argument, which told me exactly how tipsy she was—and I'd barely made it out of the parking lot before she started.
Her hand on my thigh. Her fingers tracing patterns on my arm. Her body leaning into mine, her scent thick with arousal, her breath warm against my neck.
"Sarah," I said, my voice strained. "You need to stop."
"Why?" She sounded genuinely confused, her words slightly slurred. "I thought you wanted this."
"I do." I gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make it creak. "But not while I'm driving. And not while you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk," she protested, but her hand slid higher on my thigh, and I nearly drove off the road.
"Dammit, female." I grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly, and moved her hand back to her own lap. "You're going to get us killed."
She pouted. Actually pouted, her lower lip jutting out in the most adorable display of tipsy indignation I'd ever seen. "You're being ridiculous."
"I'm being responsible," I corrected, keeping my eyes on the dark mountain road even though I wanted to look at her. Wanted to memorize the way she looked right now—flushed and disheveled and completely unguarded. "There's a difference."
She was quiet for maybe thirty seconds before her hand found my arm again, her fingers trailing up to my shoulder. "Kael..."
"Sarah." I caught her hand and brought it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before firmly placing it back in her lap. "Stop."
She huffed out a breath, and I smelled her frustration mixing with the arousal—a sharp, citrus edge cutting through the vanilla sweetness. "You're no fun."
"I'm plenty of fun—"
"You're a spoilsport."
"I'm trying to keep us alive—"
"I'm just trying to touch you." Her voice had gone petulant, and Gods help me, it was endearing. "Is that so wrong?"
"When I'm driving? Yes."
"What about when you're not driving?"
I glanced at her, and the heat in her eyes nearly made me pull over right there. "Ask me again when you're sober."
"But I want you now." She crossed her arms and slumped in her seat like a spoiled child, and I had to bite back a smile. She was absolutely adorable like this—all stubborn determination and tipsy boldness.
"I know you do," I said gently. "But you'll want me just as much tomorrow. And you'll actually remember it."
She muttered something under her breath that sounded like "stupid responsible Orc" and turned to look out the window.
The rest of the drive was an exercise in self-control. Every time she shifted in her seat, every time she sighed, every time her scent spiked—it took everything I had to keep the Jeep on the road and my hands to myself.
By the time we pulled up to the cabin, I was wound so tight I thought I might snap.
The cabin was dark when we arrived, the fire from earlier burned down to nothing but ash and a few glowing embers. The temperature had dropped, the autumn night seeping through the walls, and I noticed Sarah shiver as I helped her out of the Jeep.
"Cold," she mumbled, leaning into me.
"I'll get the fire going," I said, guiding her toward the door.
She stumbled on the steps—those damn heels again—and I caught her around the waist, lifting her easily. She made a small sound of surprise, her arms wrapping around my neck.
"I can walk," she protested, but she didn't let go.
"I know you can." I carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind us. "But you don't have to."
I set her down on the couch, and she immediately curled into the cushions, watching me as I moved to the fireplace. The embers were still hot enough to catch, and within minutes I had a small blaze going, warmth beginning to fill the space.
When I turned back, Sarah was standing.
She'd kicked off her heels, and she was moving toward me with a determination that made my pulse kick up. Her eyes were clearer now—still soft around the edges from the alcohol, but focused. Intent.
"Sarah—"
"No." She stopped in front of me, close enough that I felt the heat radiating from her skin. "You don't get to tell me what I want, Kael. You don't get to decide for me."
"I'm not—"
"You are." Her hands found my chest, her fingers splaying over my heart. "You keep saying I'm tipsy, that I'll regret this in the morning. But I won't. I know what I want."
I scented the truth of it—her arousal was a living thing between us, thick and sweet and impossible to ignore. But underneath it was something else. Something vulnerable and raw that made my chest ache.
"You've been drinking," I said quietly, covering her hands with mine. "And I won't—I can't—"
"Why?" Her voice cracked, and I saw the frustration in her eyes shift into something more fragile. "Why won't you touch me? Because I'm bossy? Because I'm not—"