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My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I briefly peered up into his face, feeling the heat and weight of his stare. “Is that your line? The one that gets women to fall at your feet?”
His rough reply rumbled through my cheek. “Go to sleep, Fallon.”
Eventually, my hands found their way back to his shoulders, where I stroked him with a featherlight touch. He made a strange, sort of strangled noise, and I thought I’d gone too far. Curling my hand into a fist, I tucked it under my chin.
“Don’t stop,” he said.
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “I asked you not to stop.”
I began stroking him again. “You confuse me,” I whispered into the dark.
A hand brushed against my shoulder. “Go to sleep, Filly.”
But I couldn’t go to sleep. I was wide awake, my ovaries throwing ideas at me like dragging his mouth to mine and kissing him. Was it inappropriate? Yes. Did it stop me from having those thoughts? No. And if I was being honest with myself, I’d had them since the first time I realized who had passed out on my doorstep.
I’d never met Orin before that night, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know who he was. He was the Reaper—known only by reputation. I’d seen him from afar when Grayson had been picked up for jobs. He was an enigma. Elusive. Cold, I’d thought. But now I saw him for what he really was.
A man.
A man who craved the comfort of another warm body beside his even though he couldn’t articulate that.
When you dealt in death, the living must be the mystery.
Lifting my head, I tilted my face up toward him to find his dark eyes already on me. There couldn’t have been more than an inch between us—so close that his exhale fed my inhale. So close that even in this dark room, I could see every single dark lash that adorned his eyes. I bit my bottom lip, and his hawk-like gaze darted to my mouth.
His lips parted, and I saw the hesitancy in the stiffness of his jaw.
He wanted to kiss me, but at the same time, didn’t want to. He was playing a game of tug–of-war and was the only participant. He must’ve been exhausted running between both ends of the rope.
Before the incident, I didn’t think twice about kissing someone. A kiss was meaningless until you took the freedom of choice away. Then it became an act of torture. I had no intention of torturing Orin. I wanted him to want this.
To want me.
His chin tipped toward me in invitation, and I accepted. Licking my lips, I brought my mouth to his and kissed him. His lips were warm, but he wasn’t actively participating. It felt as if an assault victim had retreated inside their heads where they could stay mentally safe while the unimaginable happened to their bodies.
This was not what I wanted our first kiss to be like.
I wanted him to want it, too.
I wanted passion.
Pulling back, I buried my face into his neck and did my best to keep the tears in check. If he ever suspected I was crying, he didn’t mention it. If he felt regret for letting me kiss him, he didn’t show it. I fell asleep with Orin Lynch wrapped around me, but his heart wasn’t there with him.
TEN
ORIN
The taste of Fallon’s lips lingered on mine …
Distracting me.
Torturing me.
Driving me insane.
I’d frozen when her soft mouth had pressed to mine. It wasn’t because I wasn’t attracted to her. I was so fucking attracted to her that my cock had decided to let its presence be known, and I’d had to brush off my reaction like it was a perfectly natural, involuntary biological reaction.
