Page 92 of UNAwere

My stomach clenches.

I head back to the bed and take my bags off, throwing open the quilt.

‘Last chance,’ I say light-heartedly.

He raises his eyes to me. ‘Go to sleep, Red.’

‘That chair looks awful.’ I nod to his stomach. ‘And you’ve still got a stab wound.’

‘Almost healed,’ he murmurs, shaking his head.

I bite down on my bottom lip. It’s true: there was only a pink mark on his stomach when he came out of the shower. Good old Were biology is doing him wonders, but I still feel awful for taking the bed.

‘Jude, can you just do this?’

He sighs, meeting my gaze.

‘For me?’

‘Red…’

‘I’ll build a pillow wall.’ I start arranging them down the middle of the bed. ‘I know you’re terrified I’ll jump your bones again, and I get it, but I’ll protect you from myself. I mean, you can even tie me up if it’ll make you feel safer.’

He shakes his head, as if I’m not understanding something he’s not even saying out loud.

I kneel on the mattress, patting the pillow wall down.

‘There!’ I turn to him. ‘Come on. Hop in.’

He grunts, standing. I beam at him when he walks to his side of the bed and throws back the quilt. The mattress shifts as he sinks down, and I clap my hands.

‘Happy?’ he asks.

‘Very.’

‘Go to sleep.’

I salute him and lie down, burrowing under the blankets, my back pressed against the pillow wall.

‘See? Isn’t this so much nicer than the chair?’

He grunts but says nothing, flipping off the light.

Iwake to the ants.

Even dazed by sleep, I know what it means, and I thrust myself from the bed, racing for the bathroom and closing the door behind me. I turn on the tap with shaking hands and splash cold water on my face and neck. I’m shivering, trembling, so incredibly hot.

My canines have contracted without me consciously making the effort, and I twist my lips around them, grunting as they burn my gums. I lap up water from my palm, but it only hits my stomach and makes the swirling worse.

Sweat trickles down my back.

I close my eyes, running a hand over my stomach until it’s between my thighs.

Oh, boy.

The slightest touch sends a bolt of pleasure straight through me, and I gasp, bending over the sink. I duck my head against the water flowing from the tap, trying desperately to douse my face in coolness, but it doesn’t seem to matter. My body doesn’t seem to care. It’s screaming for only one thing. Only one person.

Before I know it, I’m opening the bathroom door again, panting.