Another shaky breath. My chin trembled. “You’re a good man. A good cop. This city—these people—they need you.” I cleared my throat, surprised by how choked up I was getting. “So I guess this is me saying thank you. And goodbye. I left a note with Lex’s phone number on the counter. You can give her the addresses. I really appreciate the offer to stay here, but—”
Garth’s hand closed around my arm, just above the elbow, his fingers more than encircling it completely. I hadn’t meant to wake him, but I’d needed to say my piece.
I glanced down at his hand, then twisted on the bed so I could see his face. I wanted to ask him how much he’d heard, but my tongue was paralyzed.
Garth stared at me, unblinking in the dim light. “Stay.” His voice was rough with sleep.
I started to shake my head. “I really don’t think—”
“Please, Kat.” Garth sat up, wincing at the halfway point. “Stay.” He brought a hand up to my face and brushed a few strands of hair out of my eyes, tucking them behind my ear. He peered at me in the darkness, his eyes searching, assessing. “Stay with me.” He leaned in, and against my better judgement, I didn’t pull away.
His lips were soft and warm, his kiss gentle. Tentative. Almost chaste. His large hands settled on either side of my head, holding me like I was the delicate one. Like he was afraid of hurting me, when he was the injured one. The fragile one. The human.
“Stay with me,” he repeated, his lips brushing against mine as he spoke. Parting mine. His breath was hot and minty, his tongue gentle, coaxing. Even as he deepened the kiss, that sense of restraint remained.
My hand settled on his chest, and I broke the kiss, resting my forehead against his. I stared into his midnight eyes, lips parted and breaths quick. Without breaking eye contact, I pushed him back and stood.
He propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze questioning. Was I pushing him away? Was I rejecting him? Was I leaving after all?
I pulled my oversized, borrowed sweatshirt over my head, then followed with the T-shirt. The necklace holding Dom’s mirrored pendant came next, and I set the chain on the bedside table.
The questions fled from Garth’s moonlit stare, replaced by a simmering heat. By desire. It sparked warmth low in my abdomen and need deep within my heart.
I slid the sweatpants down over my hips and crawled onto the bed. He watched me, seeming to devour my every movement as I pushed the sheets to the foot of the bed. I knelt on the mattress beside him and reached out, slipping the fingertips of my left hand under the waistband of his boxer briefs. His abs flexed as I traced the waistband from one side of his hips to the other, enjoying the smooth contours of his skin stretched over hard muscle, of the faint trail of dark hair running down from his belly button to his underwear and lower.
My heart thudded in my chest as my fingertips skimmed up the length of his torso, exploring the topography of his body, the feel of his skin, his reaction to my touch. He sucked in a shaky breath when my thumbnail grazed his nipple, and a pleased smile curved my lips. I raised my gaze to his once more, resting my hand on his chest. I pressed my palm against the tattoo over his heart, and he let his elbows slip out to the sides until his back was flat against the mattress.
Using both hands, I ran my nails down either side of his rib cage, careful not to put any pressure on his yellowing bruises. His breaths were coming faster, and not even remotely steady. Unlike his stare. It was locked on my face; I could feel it even when I wasn’t looking into his eyes.
I hooked my fingertips into the waistband on either side of his hips and tugged, just a little, telling him to lift his ass off the bed. Once he did, I slid the boxer briefs down his legs and tossed them to the floor.
The fingers of both of his hands splayed on the bedsheet as I straddled his hips. He was hard, ready. But I was ready, too. That spark of desire had become a smoldering coal, ready to engulf my entire body if given the chance.
I settled on top of him, his hard length tucked snugly against the core of my body. His fingers clenched, gripping the bedsheet as I glided back and forth over him. I enjoyed the agony of prolonging the unfulfilled ache deep within me, of teasing my body, of bridging the gap between desire and need. Of pushing myself to the very edge, until there was no chance of turning back. Of bringing him there with me.
“Please,” Garth whispered. Begged. “Kat . . .”
My eyes locked with his, and I froze when I saw the sheer force of his desire. It was pure and unblemished by anger, by any lust for control. Nothing about his desire for me had to do with power or manipulation. This charge pulsing between us, connecting us, wasn’t born of adrenaline. This wasn’t about the heat of the moment, like so many of my hookups. It felt like so much more than that, than any of it. Like so much more than anything I’d ever experienced.
I raised my hips and reached down between my legs. Garth’s long, dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as I coaxed him into me, and he threw his head back, his neck arching, when I eased down until he was sheathed within me completely.
I sat there, unmoving, letting my body adjust to him. My inner muscles fluttered, almost like they were flirting with the idea of letting go, of washing my body with the pleasure of release from just that single moment of penetration. I sat absolutely still. Not yet.
Heartbeats passed, and I leaned forward, one hand on Garth’s waist, the other on his neck, my pointer finger curving over his chin. I wanted him there with me—needed him there with me—looking at me. Being present, in this moment, with me. I was suddenly starving for something beyond the basic primal connection I was used to. I was desperate to truly be with someone. To be with him.
Garth angled his face toward me and opened his eyes, dark pools in the dim bedroom. His hands moved to my hips, his fingers curling over my minimal curves.
I moved slowly, afraid of hurting his still-healing body. I’d never been one for soft, slow lovemaking. Hell, I’d never been remotely interested in having any genuine, worthwhile emotion involved at all.
Until now. Until I felt the slow well of pressure within me, the gentle build of heat, the soft swell of pleasure. This feeling . . . it was unreal. Unreal and so very unexpected.
“Kat . . .” Garth was breathing hard, his grip on my hips tightening. Not remotely painful, but enough to coax me to move with a little more force.
I was breathing hard, but not panting, and a thin sheen of sweat coated my skin.
“I can’t—” His fingertips dug into my hips. “I’m going to—”
“Come,” I said, rocking my hips in a steady, unrelenting rhythm. I was so close; sensing his spike in pleasure was bound to push me over the edge.
He went rigid beneath me, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowing to slits.
I threw my head back as pleasure exploded in my core, sending sparks cascading through my body. It seemed to last for a blissful eternity. I was still gliding along, lost to the sensations thrumming through me, when Garth pulled me down to rest on his chest and encircled me in his arms.
He kissed the top of my head and whispered, “That was insane,” into my hair.
All I could manage was a single, breathy laugh. I lay on top of him, feeling him soften within me, and listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady and fast. He ran his fingers through my slightly tangled hair, apologizing each time he got caught in a snag.
And for the first time since I was a child, I fell asleep touching another person. For the first time, as an adult, I felt comfortable enough to fall asleep that way. I felt safe. Like, just this once, it was okay to be vulnerable. Like, just this once, I could let my guard down for the night.
And so I fell asleep curled up on top of Garth. And it felt right.
***
When I woke, it was still dark out. I was no longer lying on Garth, but beside him, my legs tangled with his. I was on my back, sort of, him facing me on his side, his arm resting across my chest. His face was relaxed, peaceful, faint bruises and all. I watched him sle
ep for a couple minutes, waiting for a knot to form in the pit of my stomach. It always happened, after. It didn’t matter who I’d been with or what we’d done, I always felt that seedling of self-loathing. Of disgust.
It didn’t come. Even as I thought back through what had happened between us, as I replayed every touch, every sound and reaction, a feeling started in my belly, but not the one I was used to. A tingle and a flutter and a bit of a yearning ache. I wanted him again. And I never wanted them again. I wanted to kiss him, to look into his eyes. I wanted to know him.
I frowned, my chest tightening unexpectedly. All of a sudden, it was hard to breathe. My lungs were working—double time—but they didn’t seem to be pulling in anything except used, expended air. Not what my body needed.
I had to get up, to move around. I slid away from Garth on the bed, moving slowly to keep from waking him. By the time I stood, I was shaking.
One day, maybe tomorrow, maybe in sixty years, Garth would die. And because he was human, his soul would dissipate, its energy dividing up and floating away. If I let myself get any closer to him . . . if I let myself care any more . . .
I passed through the doorway into the living room and crossed to stand before one of the windows and stare out at my city. I would do what I could to make this a safe place for people like Garth so they could hang onto whatever short amount of time they had left. So they could exist for as long as possible. So the people who love them wouldn’t have to say goodbye until the last possible moment.
A chill rippled through me, and I turned and grabbed the fleece blanket bunched up in the corner of the sectional, wrapping it around my bare shoulders. It smelled like him, faintly, of his cologne and that underlying scent that was his alone. I hugged the corners of the blanket to me. Hugged myself. Held myself together.
I heard the sheets rustle in the other room, then the mattress creaked. Light footsteps marked Garth’s progress from the bed to the doorway. “Kat? What are you doing out here?”
“Just thinking.”
I listened to him cross the living room, making his way to me. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah.” My shoulders slumped. “No.” I laughed quietly. Bitterly. “I honestly don’t know.”
He stopped behind me, a foot or two by the sound of it. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head, letting out another quiet, humorless laugh. “I want to stop thinking about it altogether.”
Garth made a rough noise, faint and low in his throat. “Maybe I can help with that.” He pulled on the edge of the blanket at the back of my neck and I loosened my grip on it, letting it slip through my fingers and fall to the floor.
My brain was telling me to stop this, warning me that this would only make things worse when the inevitable happened. And it would happen. But my heart and libido had a mind of their own, and they took over.
Garth’s fingers trailed down my spine, from the base of my skull to my tailbone, and I shivered, both tickled and aroused. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice low and husky. He laid his hands over my ribcage, sliding them around my body until the “L” of his thumbs hugged my breasts. “So confident . . .” He stepped closer and moved his hands higher. I could feel the heat of him just inches behind me. “So strong . . .”
I leaned against him, resting the back of my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes.
“Do you have any idea how sexy that is?”
I smiled to myself, the faintest curving of my lips. I could feel the evidence of how sexy he found me pressed against my lower back, so yeah, I had some idea.
He flicked my nipples, and my eyes snapped open as I hissed in a breath.
“Put your hands on the window,” he ordered. This was new.
Reluctantly, I obeyed. I was so comfortable there, leaning against him while he fondled me. But I’d play along . . . so long as there was more fondling. I’m a big fan of fondling.
I pressed both of my hands against the window, fingers splayed.
“Spread your legs. Shoulder width.”
My belly did a little flip-flop as I did as he said. My heart was pounding, and all of the blood it was pumping seemed to be pooling in my core.
Garth took a step backward, leaving me chilled and alone at the window. But only for a second. His finger slid inside me, and I gasped, head drooping.
I didn’t think about anything for the rest of the night. I couldn’t. I was too busy gasping and moaning and begging for more. Always more.
And not once did Garth deny me.
9
I woke late into the morning in Garth’s bed and, once again, managed to untangle myself from him without waking him completely. He roused just enough to turn onto his side, and his breathing soon returned to the slow, even rhythm of deep sleep.
Moving as quietly as possible, I made my way around the foot of the bed to gather up my borrowed clothes. I carried them into the living room, shutting the bedroom door behind me. Once I’d donned the oversized T-shirt, I sat on the sectional, feet tucked beneath me. I fished my cards out of my backpack, doing my best not to disturb the cat dozing in a lone sliver of hazy sunlight on the far armrest.
The previous night had been fun—oh, who was I kidding, it had been amazing—but it didn’t mean I was any less focused on finding a way to help those infected with the mystery disease. If anything, it made me more determined to eliminate the disease so I could be sure the rest of the humans in my city were safe from infection. To make sure Garth was safe.
I pulled the vintage silver compact mirror from the pocket of my leather jacket and opened it, propping it up against a TV remote on the coffee table. Dom was there in the reflection, and I could see his lips moving, but I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Brow furrowed, I touched the pendant hanging from the silver chain around my neck.
My heart skipped a beat or three. It wasn’t there.
My lips parted, and I ran through the events of the previous night. I’d removed it when I was undressing, and I’d set it somewhere . . . but where? It hadn’t exactly been my main focus at the time.
I stood and headed back to the bedroom, inching the door open and poking my head through the crack to give the room a quick scan. The necklace was there on the nightstand, the pendant glinting in the dull, gray light of the overcast morning.
The burst of adrenaline I’d felt during the few seconds that I feared I’d lost my necklace abated, and I could breathe a little easier. I tiptoed into the bedroom and retrieved it, then returned to the living room once more, easing the door shut behind me. Dom was already talking to me as I secured the clasp behind my neck.
“Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been trying to get through to you for hours. You know I don’t like it when you take the necklace off. I need to be able to speak to you whenever I—”
“I was having sex.” I perched on the edge of the couch and looked at the compact, meeting Dom’s silvery stare. We had an agreement, he and I—I would only remove the pendant during amorous moments, and he would keep his incorporeal mouth shut about my perceived promiscuity. This was the first time I’d tested that agreement.
Dom pressed his lips together into a thin, flat line. “I couldn’t get through to you for the entire night.”
I raised a single eyebrow, smirking. “It was a lot of sex.”
His expression was flat, unamused.
“So what did you find out?”
He blinked and, just like that, was back to business. “None of the kids Neffe and Aset took back to Bainbridge are showing signs of the illness, but apparently some of them are missing.”
“Missing?”
Dom nodded. “It would seem we did not rescue all of the children who were abducted. Some, like this Sammy, were taken away. They were never seen again by the children still in the holding cells. Rumors spread about the missing children being killed, or even escaping, but none knew for sure.”
“How many disappeared?”
“Seven
,” Dom said. “Heru has people checking in with all of the hospitals in the area, but so far, there’s no sign of an outbreak cropping up anywhere but in the Tent District.”
“It might be too soon for anything specific to have been noted, let alone reported. It is flu season, after all.” I chewed the inside of my cheek and nodded to myself. “Let me know if they find anything, or if they hear anything new.”
Dom raised a single brow, his smirk mirroring mine from just moments ago. “So long as I can get through to you, of course.”
It was my turn to level a flat look at him. “Of course.”
“Neffe and Aset have requested blood samples from the victims, but they’re too busy to collect the samples themselves.”
“So, what—they want me to do it?”
“No,” Dom said. “Not with the warrant out for your arrest.”
“So you heard about that . . .”
“The whole state has by now,” Dom said dryly. “You need to stay put. Nik is going. He’s meeting with Dorman at noon.”
I sat up straighter and glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was half past ten.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Dom said, “and yes, little sister, it would be a very bad idea for you to go out right now, what with your image so fresh in everyone’s minds.”
My finger tapped against my thigh, and I stared at the blank wall beside the TV stand. What if I didn’t have to go out? What if I could see what happened at the meeting, from here? My sheut made it so the things I drew had power, sometimes even seeming to come to life. Sometimes becoming real, if only for a moment. If I drew a likeness of Dorman’s office on the living room wall, would it just be a pretty picture, or would it become something more—a window to what was actually happening in the Tent District? It was a long shot, but I thought, just maybe, not an impossible one.
Outcast Page 6