17 #2
Immediately, my gaze pings to him.
“Beckett lost his mind about a year ago. He’s been in a Whisper Sanctum ever since, comatose, dead to the world.”
I cover my mouth with my hands. “Oh, Rook. I’m so sorry.”
“We believe the ability runs in family lines—like you and Raine. My parents almost stopped having kids when both Beckett and I turned out to be defective.”
“You’re not defective,” I say vehemently.
He shrugs. “Even so, it skipped Justin, but Navy . . .”
“Oh no,” I whisper. “Not her, too.”
“She already exhibits some signs of transitioning to the Silence, and I need to protect them both,” he says.
“This is personal, so if there’s any chance we might find that cure, then I’m returning to the city.
Even then, we need it. You remember what Simon told us at Station Five.
Eventually, this will affect everyone unless we find a way to stop it. ”
Given everything he’s just said, I would feel the same.
“I want that. I couldn’t help my brother, but I can help yours.”
He offers me a smile that almost seems proud, then reaches out, circling my wrist where it rests on the table, and tugs gently. I allow him to draw me onto his lap.
My hands land on his shoulders as we sit eye to eye. “What’s this?” I ask.
“I missed holding you.”
“You held me all night,” I say, and he smiles.
“Fine, I miss holding you while you’re awake.” I laugh. “Now that you hate me a little less.”
“I never hated you. I was angry with you. Those are different things.”
“Do you remember what you said before you fell asleep?”
“Did I say something?”
“That Navy was probably right and that you might feel the same.”
My pulse stutters, a rush of sparkles exploding in my stomach as the memory comes back to me. “I said that? Must’ve been the drugs talking.”
“Was it?”
“Maybe.” My answer is a fragile puff of possibility, hanging between us.
“Do you mean that?”
I stare at him, reaching up to tuck back a piece of his hair. I trace the cut on his brow and the one on his lip with my thumb, dragging it down.
“I’m not completely sure yet,” I whisper.
He smiles, the corners of his hazel eyes crinkling. “I want to kiss you. I can’t stand not kissing you anymore.”
I lick my lips as he zeroes in on the movement. “I was pretty fond of it,” I say.
He tips his head in a question, and I lean in, brushing my mouth against his.
“Does your cut hurt?”
“I can’t feel a thing,” he answers. His hand slides up the back of my head as he brings me closer, and our tongues meet in a slick, wet slide. Immediately, I’m melting, curving into him as he shifts me so I’m straddling his hips.
His hands clamp onto my thighs as we kiss. My arms loop around his shoulders, my fingers tangling in his damp hair. He rolls his hips, the zipper of his jeans rubbing against me in a way that makes me moan.
“Poet,” he gasps, his warm hands sliding up my hips and under the hem of my shirt.
I writhe against him, wanting more. I’ve wanted more of him for so long.
“One of the worst parts about that night when everything went so wrong was that we never got to finish this,” he says as he peppers kisses to my throat and collarbone.
“I want you. I wanted you that night in our room, and I want you now,” I say.
A low sound rumbles in his throat as he stands with my legs wrapped around his hips and carries me to the bed. He drops me onto the blanket and then leans over me, crushing my body to his. We kiss, churning together, his hardness pressing between my thighs.
“We aren’t going to have sex right now,” he says softly, and I whimper as he chuckles, then whispers against my lips, “but I am desperate for a taste of you.”
“Rook,” I say as he silences me with another long kiss and then drags his mouth down the center of my body. His lips brush the exposed skin of my stomach, and then he opens the buttons on my pants. Slowly, he lowers the zipper and tugs down on the waistband.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his soft hands traveling up the insides of my thighs.
Then he leans down and presses a kiss between them.
I bow off the bed with a gasp, muttering something unintelligible that I can’t even make out myself.
He breathes a low laugh against my skin, causing gooseflesh to erupt.
“I’ve never . . .” I try to say. “No one . . . Knox didn’t . . .”
“Of course he didn’t,” Rook says with a roll of his eyes. “Because he didn’t worship you the way you deserve.”
My heart wedges into my throat as he blows cool air across my skin.
“So, it’s about fucking time someone did this, and I want it to be me.” He gently pries my knees apart, fitting his shoulders between them. “Just relax,” he says. “I promise I’m here to take care of you.”
I shiver and gasp, whimpering as he teases me toward the edge with his mouth and his fingers, my head turning left and right, my breath tight, my hands twisting in the sheets.
“Oh,” I whisper when I can feel my release cresting.
He rumbles a moan of approval as he continues worshipping me until I finally break apart, waves of light rolling through my limbs. Slowly, he finishes, allowing me to float back down to earth before he kisses his way up my body.
Then he captures my mouth, bringing us a little closer after so much distance between us.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asks, and I nod.
“I want to help them. I want to honor Raine’s memory, and I want to help Navy and Beckett.”
He nods. “Then we’ll do everything we can.”
“Or die trying?” I ask, lifting a brow.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a half smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”