Nothing.
But then he thought about the woman currently driving him crazy and each and every time his cock would harden. He would think about what he wanted to do to her, taking his time so that he didn’t miss anything, needing to savor every last touch, and-
“What about a scratch?” Samantha asked, making him pause mid-rub.
“No,” he bit out, watching as she nodded, seeming lost in thought as she murmured, “That’s good to know at least.”
“Are you done?” he asked.
“Probably not,” she admitted, sighing heavily as she got up and returned her attention to whatever it was that she was cooking while he sat there, unable to help himself when he said, “As long as they didn’t touch you, you should be fine.”
“What?” Samantha asked hollowly as she slowly turned around to face him while he sat there, forced to bite back a smile.
“They…they didn’t touch you, did they?” he asked with a pitying look as he watched as her mouth worked soundlessly before she closed it, noticeably swallowed, worried her bottom lip between her teeth and finally mumbled, “No?”
Nodding, Trace reached over and helped himself to her abandoned Coke and was forced to bite back another smile when she said, “Let’s say that they did, ummm, what would happen?”
“You mean besides the fleas?”
“Fleas?”
“And the rash.”
“Rash?”
Nodding, he said, “Well, then there’s the lice.”
“Lice?” she mumbled weakly as she absently scratched her arm.
“That comes before the welts,” he said with a sad shake of his head.
“W-welts?” she said, looking a little panicked as she continued to absently scratch her arm.
“As long as you haven’t noticed any unusual itching, you should be fine,” he said, watching as that hand that had been scratching her arm suddenly went still and…
“I’ll be right back,” Samantha mumbled, licking her lips nervously as she casually headed for the kitchen door and once she reached the hallway, he listened as she ran, stumbled, cursed, and mumbled, “Please don’t let there be a rash,” all the way upstairs.
For a moment, Trace simply sat there finishing off her Coke, contemplating going upstairs only to decide that he’d tell her about the green dots later when he felt like annoying her again.
God, he loved being married, he thought, as he watched his blushing bride come stumbling back into the kitchen with a, “I really do hate you.”
*-*-*-*
“Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?” Trace asked as he glanced up from the board game that his wife was teaching him how to play to find her sadly shaking her head with a sighed, “I’m really going to need you to pay attention here.”
Eyes narrowing on his wife, he glanced back down at the board game and then back up at her to find her sitting there, trying to appear innocent. Frowning, he glanced back down at the board and-
“When did you buy Park Place?” he demanded because he’d had his eye on it for a while, knowing that sooner or later, she would land on it.
“What are you talking about? I bought it a long time ago,” Samantha said with another sad sigh as she reached for the dice and-
“It’s still my turn,” he pointed out, biting back a smile as he watched his devious wife try to manipulate him.
“Is it though?” she asked with a pitying look.
“I rolled doubles,” he reminded her.
“But they weren’t evens,” she said with a shrug as she gave the dice a toss and-
“Looks like I get to roll again,” she said, clearly biting back a smile.
“You’re a little cheat,” he bit out.
“Because I’m winning?” she asked, giving up on trying to bite back that devious little smile that was threatening to break free.
“Because you’re cheating,” he pointed out.
“Is this because you’re a sore loser?” she asked, looking thoughtful.
“I’m not playing with you anymore,” he said firmly even as he had to admit that he’d never enjoyed spending time with anyone this much before. She was sweet, kind, and devious and he couldn’t get enough of her. Every day she made him smile, made him relax, and tempted him into wanting more.
“Really? Because there was this other game that I was thinking of showing you but maybe it’s for the best since I would probably win anyway,” she said, looking thoughtful as he sat there, deciding that he would happily play whatever game she wanted to show him just so that he could wipe that smug little smile off her face.
*-*-*-*
“No,” the stubborn man said with a glare as he allowed his eyes to turn red, no doubt hoping that the move would save him from having to do this.
“Please!” Samantha said, wondering why he was being so difficult about this.
“Not a chance in hell, wife,” Trace bit out.
“Pretty please? I won’t ask you to do it again if you do it this one time. I promise!” she said with a hopeful smile as he continued to stand there, glaring down at her and then-
“Fine!” he snapped as he grabbed the book off the shelf and stormed past her, dropping down on the bed with a glare.
“Thank you!” Samantha said, not wasting any time in crawling onto the bed and settling back against him, sighed and then gestured for him to continue.
She normally wasn’t into this sort of thing, but…
God, she loved his voice.
There was a heavy sigh and then, “Please tell me that you didn’t really tell Judge Peters to go fuck himself,” Ryan said with a forlorn sigh as he leaned back against the other side of the cell’s locked door, acting like this surprised him.
“Fine. I won’t,” Hunter said, trying to get comfortable on the paper-thin mattress before finally giving up on the lost cause and-”
“No, skip to the sexy parts,” Samantha said, interrupting him as she laid her head back against his chest and closed her eyes, fully prepared to savor the sound of his voice.
“No.”
“You promised,” she reminded him.
“I changed my mind.”
Opening her eyes, she tilted her head back and asked, “Do you really want to do that?” with a pitying look.
His eyes narrowed as he considered her and then, with one last glare, he focused back on the book and angrily flipped through it as she settled back against him and closed her eyes.
“Oh, god,” she mumbled on a shaky breath when he did it again.
“Look at me, Kylie,” Hunter said as he reached down and pulled her other leg up, giving her no other choice but to wrap her legs around his waist as she met his gaze.
Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he continued to slowly work his way inside her, sliding inside a little further each time until finally, he was pressed tightly against her. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her away from the wall. His gaze never leaving hers, he carried her upstairs.
Without a word, Hunter-
“I’m gonna need you to go back a bit. I’m not sure what he did ‘again’ to earn that ‘Oh, god’,” Samantha said, forced to interrupt him once again for the sake of the story, of course.
There was a slight pause and then, “Wife?”
“Hmmm?” she murmured absently only to decide that perhaps she’d pushed him too far when he said, “Why don’t we go for that swim in the river?”
*-*-*-*
“So, you heal people?” Trace asked, still trying to figure out what his wife was talking about when she sighed heavily, grabbed the iPad off the bed and after quickly typing something in, handed it to him with a, “This is what I do.”
Curious, he looked down at the screen and-
Found himself tossing the iPad away and looking at his wife in horror. “You cut people up?”
“What? No!” Samantha said, frowning as she picked up the iPad and cringed when she saw what was playing. “Okay, that’s actually a clip from Dexter.”
“The next television show we’re binge-watching,” Samantha said, gesturing for him to look at the screen.
Knowing that he really didn’t have a choice, Trace looked down at the screen and frowned only to wince and-
“And you like doing this?” he asked, deciding that it would probably be for the best if he didn’t mention that seeing all this blood was making him hungry.
Shrugging, she said, “I’m not really sure anymore.”
“Then why do you do it?” he asked, watching as she climbed off the bed.
“It pays the bills,” Samantha said, shrugging it off as she headed towards the bathroom.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, tossing the iPad back on the bed and followed her.
“I honestly don’t know,” she said as she reached inside the shower and turned on the water.
For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to change her, the things that they could do, but it wasn’t an option. At least, turning her into a Pyte wasn’t an option, but once he took care of the bitch, he could still change her. She wouldn’t be a Pyte, but she could potentially live forever. He’d watch over her and protect her to ensure that happened. She wouldn’t be able to tolerate the sun, but they’d make this work if it meant that he never had to lose her.
*-*-*-*
“You’re supposed to be paying attention,” Samantha said, trying to sound firm as she glanced up so that she could send him a glare that he simply found adorable.
“I am,” he lied, having absolutely no idea what she was doing.
Then again, something told him that she didn’t know either. Over the past two weeks, she’d made it her personal mission in life, at least that’s how she’d described it, to show him everything.
Absolutely. Everything.
At least, she tried to, Trace thought, as the woman that meant everything to him grumbled something as she went back to doing whatever it was that she was trying to do. She was good at telling him what something was, but for the most part, she usually fumbled her way through trying to answer his follow up questions, for which there had been many. She usually ended up glaring at him as she shoved the iPad in his hands and told him to Google it.
Sometimes, he found himself asking her how something worked just so that he could watch that muscle beneath her eye begin to tick. She was a vicious little thing, Trace thought, unable to help but smile as she shifted her glare back to the television that she believed would help prepare him for all the changes that were waiting for him. The only thing it did was give him a headache, but he didn’t say anything since it seemed to make her happy.
“I think it’s broken,” Samantha mumbled sadly as her small shoulders dropped in defeat and she returned to staring at the thing in her hands.
“What is it supposed to be?” he asked, glancing at the television to find the screen black with the words “Video 1,” flashing, which didn’t tell him anything.
“A video game,” she said, sighing heavily as she handed him the plastic device in her hand with a muttered, “It’s a game controller,” and grabbed the papers that came in the box so that she could read through them again.
“What’s a video game?” Trace asked, watching as she gave up trying to make sense of what she was reading and focused her attention back on the wires connecting the small black box to the television.
“Something men play with to kill brain cells,” Samantha explained, making him frown before adding, “They seem to enjoy it,” with another heavy sigh as she gave up trying to play with the wires and reached for the papers again only to end up releasing an excited squeal and an adorable smile as she pointed towards the television with a, “It works!”
Frowning, Trace shifted his attention back to the television and-
“Sweet Jesus!” he shouted when he found himself faced with a rotting corpse taking a bite out of a little old woman.
“They’re zombies,” his wife said as she gestured absently towards the television with the other controller.
Frowning, Trace watched as her fingers moved over the controller as a man on the screen moved, pulled out a gun and-
Oh, he liked that, Trace thought, shifting his attention back to the controller in his hands and began pressing things, making another man on the screen turn around in circles as he periodically pulled out weapons and fired them only to end up walking into a wall.
It took him several minutes before he realized that his wife had stopped playing. He glanced over to find Samantha curled up in a ball with her back towards the television and mumbling, “Is my guy still alive?”
Glancing back at the television, he couldn’t help but cringe in sympathy when he spotted the man that she’d been able to make move, being torn apart.
“Yes, he’s fine,” he said, mostly because she drank the last cold Coke.
With a relieved sigh, Samantha rolled over and ended up squeezing her eyes shut on a whimper that turned into a grunt when she fell off the couch, which ended with a groan and a mumbled, “Stupid zombie.”
Chapter 28
“Can you just look again?” Samantha asked, worrying her bottom lip as she continued cowering beneath the blankets as she tried to ignore the headache that had been threatening to turn into a migraine all day.
“Wife,” Trace said, sighing heavily, but since they both knew that she wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep until he did, he double-checked beneath the bed. “There’s nothing there.”
“Are you sure?” she asked as she took a deep breath and slowly, just in case he was lying, peeked out from beneath the blankets to find him glaring down at her as though this was somehow her fault.
“Yes,” he said firmly as he made a show of checking again.
“And the closet?” Samantha asked, pointing towards the small closet that she’d made him check a total of eighteen times now.
Allowing his eyes to turn red, he grumbled something, stormed over to the closet and-
“Oh…oh, my god!” Trace said, slamming the door shut seconds before he pressed his back against the door and yelled, “Run, wife!” as she sat there, narrowing her eyes on him.
“Hurry, before it’s too late!”
Nodding slowly, she crawled back beneath her blanket, grumbling about all men being assholes while the asshole that she was stuck with chuckled. She hated him. She really did, Samantha decided as she blindly reached out to grab the iPad that was going to have to keep her entertained until she managed to pass out.
“Would it make you feel better if I slept in here tonight?” the man that had been sleeping in the other room since the ceiling incident that they weren’t talking about, offered.
“Maybe,” she muttered petulantly, mostly because she was still pissed at him.
“What if I apologized again?”
“You never apologized,” she pointed out before adding, “You laughed.”
“It was amusing,” the man that deserved the beating that she gave him with the throw pillow earlier, said.
“No, it wasn’t,” she said, determined to ignore him. Unless he tried to leave, that is. Then she would throw another pillow at his head.
“I eventually told you the truth,” the man that thought it was funny to tell her that goblins existed, said.
She hadn’t been sure exactly what goblins were until he’d casually mentioned that she might want to sleep somewhere else for a few days since he saw one crawling beneath her bed this morning. That had led her to search Google for an hour, double-checking all the doors and windows, and banging a spoon against the bottom of a pot, hoping to scare them away all while Trace laughed his ass off at her.
He really was an asshole.
“It could have been worse, wife. I could have told you about the ghost living in your closet,” Trace said, sighing heavily as she went still.
That was followed by her shoving the blankets aside
, jumping off the bed, turning every light on in the room and in the bathroom only to turn on the television with the hopes of blocking out any unwanted noises during the night, and grabbing a blanket off the bed, shoving the jerk in the corner and glaring at him until he reluctantly sat down with a sigh.
Once he was settled, she sat down on the floor between his legs, threw the blanket over both of them and then pulled it over her head with a, “Jerk.”
She would have dragged him over to the bed and made him guard her all night while she cowered beneath the blankets, but she knew that he didn’t like the bed. She had a feeling that it had something to do with that tomb. He was used to sleeping on hard surfaces and it was going to take some time before he was comfortable doing anything else.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, even as he wrapped his arms around her.
“You should have thought about that before,” she pointed out as she shifted to get comfortable and closed her eyes, fully prepared to ignore him for the rest of the night.
“Apologies, wife,” he said, using that sexy voice that she liked so damn much and taking her irritation to a whole new level.
Shoving her blanket away, she glared up at the large bastard and said, “Rot in hell,” before pulling the blanket back over her head as he chuckled while she laid there, pretending that she didn’t love the way that he held her or that she was happy to be back in his arms.
*-*-*-*
This was a mistake.
But even knowing that, Trace couldn’t make himself let her go. For the past two weeks, he’d been forcing himself to keep his hands off her, forcing himself to stay away from her at night, pretending that he didn’t want her, didn’t need her, and-
Found himself looking up at the large man that had somehow managed to take him by surprise.
“Get your fucking hands off my sister,” the large man with the coldest glare that Trace had ever seen said evenly as he leveled his weapon at Trace’s head.
“Nathan?” his wife mumbled as she blinked up at the large man only to shove the blankets aside with a broken sob and climbed to her feet.
Tall, Dark & Furious (A Pyte/Sentinel Novel Book 6) Page 17