Delicious - Page 47

Sharp. Not in a terrible way. Not even in a mildly bad way. It’s justdifferent. Apparently different and intriguing enough that I don’t realize at first when I lick at his upper lip, tongue flicking over the split and bringing more of his blood into my mouth.

But Jed’s groan brings me back to myself and he pulls away with fluttering-shut eyes, his lashes dusting his cheeks. “That’s so hot, Saylor,” he grates out hoarsely, pressing his body againstmine firmly enough I can feel that even that little action is enough for him to be interested. “Fuck.I never thought I’d be so turned on by you licking the blood off my lip.”

“It’s not bad like I thought it would be,” I whisper, though I’m nowhere near craving it like him, I’m sure. Still, I pull on his hand, bringing it back to my face as his eyes fly open, surprise glittering in their depths.

“You don’t have to—” His words cut off into a strangled, desperate sound when I flick my tongue across his still bleeding knuckles. A shudder goes through him, and while the taste isn’t my favorite, his reactions are. I do it again, being more thorough as I clean the blood off of his skin.

“Fuck.”Even before, in the woods, he didn’t sound like this. He sucks in a breath through his nose, eyes magnetized to my mouth, and flexes his fingers as I move to the next one. “Fuck, Saylor. I’m gonna need you to stop if you don’t want me to rip off your clothes right here,” he informs me, though he doesn’t sound so sure of his actions. As if he might do it anyway, even if I do stop.

“I would really like you to fuck me tonight; if you want to. Unless…” I look toward the door, blinking. “Did you kill him?”

“No.” Jed’s tone is flat as he flexes his hand, moving it to stroke my cheek. “I didn’t kill him. But if he shows up again, then I will. I made that very clear.”

“What if he goes to the police?”

A smile ghosts across his lips, and his eyes turn morbidly amused. “Let him. I’m pretty sure they’d just love to have a word with him about how much he knew of his brother’s actions. I’m not afraid of him, Saylor. And you shouldn’t be either. You still want to come home with me?” He looks down at my state of undress again and sucks in another breath.

“I definitely would rather be at your place than here,” I assure him, breaking away enough that I can walk unimpededback to my room. “I just, maybe, need pants. And a shirt. And shoes.”

“Just for the drive back,” Jed agrees, not arguing with my words as he follows me instead of waiting in my living room, like I’d thought he would. No, he’s much more interested in looking around, gazing at the photos on my walls with fascination. “You’re pretty good at this photography thing,” he points out, staring at the photo closest to my room. It’s a shot of the woods close to my dad’s house, near nightfall, and there’s a coyote staring at the camera with one ear up and another down.

It’s one of my favorites, truth be told, because of the slight edge of eeriness that the photo holds.

“I’m okay,” I dismiss his praise, shrugging one shoulder as I go back to my dresser. Suddenly, the clothes aren’t as important as they were a few minutes ago. Not now, when I know he likes the underwear I picked out. Besides, from the way his eyes flick to my ass and travel along the rest of me, it really does seem like the clothes are a formality for the drive.

A shiver goes up my spine at that fact, and I approve heavily of it. Iwantto be naked at his cabin, under him on the bed with his mouth on every part of me. I’vemissedhim, and I definitely did not get enough of him last week.

God, I hope he doesn’t get tired of me.

As if knowing my mood has dipped, even just a little, my phone rings again just as Jed passes through my open door. He glances at the phone, blinking, and picks it up to show me the screen. “Who’s Brenda?” he asks, all curiosity and no malice or jealousy in his tone.

At first, I don’t answer. I rifle through t-shirts until I find a red one that fits me loosely enough to be comfortable. “She’s…” I pull it on, then go for a pair of leggings with cut-outs in the front to show the red-colored mesh underneath. They’re morecomfortable than I’d thought they’d be, and they’ve become my go-to when I want to be comfortable but still look good.

But I really don’t want to tell him about my family life. That’ll lead into everything else. Like my depression, my self-deprecating nature, and how Brenda has never approved of any of my choices. Though she might approve of Jed. As long as she never finds out what he is.

“You don’t have to tell me.” His words are quick, and obviously meant to reassure me I don’t have to tell him. But that just makes me feel so much worse. This isn’t a secret I want to keep from him. If anything, it’s just incredibly inconvenient when I’d rather talk about anything else.

Including having another chainsaw safety lesson.

“She’s my step-mother,” I say, pushing through the discomfort as I shrug on a too-big hoodie. “She married my dad after my mom died.”

“Do you want to answer?” He holds the phone closer to me, but when I vehemently shake my head, he puts it right back down on the edge of the desk. “That’s fair. I don’t answer calls from my family, either.”

I pause, interested in the topic of his family, but not wanting to pry. “Did they disown you?” I ask at last, toeing on my shoes and grabbing the backpack I’d already packed when I first got home. Jed casts an incredulous look at it, and I feel my cheeks flushing. “It’s just…stuff. So I could stay for a few days,” I explain before he can ask. “But only if you want me to.”

That has him plucking the strap out of my hand, and he shoulders it with a wolfish grin. “No amount of clothes you could fit in here could be enough for how long I want you to stay at my place, Saylor,” he promises in his low, promising growl. “And uh, not exactly. My mom would take me back. Grandpa likes to tell me how much he misses me, but that’s only because he thought I was an ‘asset to the family.’” He slowly shakes his head as hetalks, bowing me dramatically out the door as I swipe my phone off of the desk and pocket it.

“That seems really dramatic,” I point out as we head for the door, my mood lifting when he tells me about his family instead of prying into mine. Still, I owe him an explanation. If he’s going to tell me, then it’s only fair for me to tell him. “Like, weekly serial on FX dramatic.”

“I’ll tell you about them when we get back. I can show you my skills as a bartender so you can appreciate me even more while I tell you the most dramatic family tale you’ve ever heard,” he bargains with a chuckle. “How does that sound?”

“Incredibly appealing. Let’s do that,” I reply, matching his grin with a wolfish one of my own. If there’s one thing that can match how much I want his hands on me, then it’s definitely hearing about cannibal family life.

Hearinghis life story and the epic tale of his family, however, doesn’t happen.

And I’m not sure if it’s my fault, or his.

We make it to his house, and I even manage to set my backpack down on his sofa politely, my shoes off and by the door. But when I turn and look at him—only to see him staring at me with something like disbelief andwantacross his gorgeous face—I can’t remember any of what we’d planned to do.