Delicious - Page 48

Instead, I find myself walking towards him, once more reaching up to bring his face down to mine so I can look at his lip. It’s a nasty cut, that’s for sure, and I feel like I should do more than justlick it.

“Does it hurt?” I murmur, both of my hands on his face. “It looks like it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Jed growls, his gaze locked on mine. “But you are always welcome to kiss it and make it better. Again.”There’s a note of teasing in his voice, and in his eyes, but I can tell he doesn’t really expect me to do it.

Then again, I don’t expect me to do it again, either. I know what it tastes like now, from the accidental to on purpose licking of it I’d done when he’d kissed me in my apartment. My breath hitches in my throat, though, and I lick my lips before managing to ask, “Did he hit you first?”

“Yes.” Jed cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “Well, he tried.” That danger lurks in his eyes, and this time I want to push to find out what, exactly, it is.

“Did you like that he tried?” This close, he can’t hide from me. It’s not dark, so I can see every emotion in his expression-filled face as he thinks about my question. “Did you like getting to hit him back?”

Jed shifts his weight from one foot to the other, doing his best to look ashamed, though he can’t hide the opposite feelings from his face that my question brings. Not only that, but he knows it, too. I can see that just as clearly as I can see the sick, perverse joy that the thought brings.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he says at last, bringing his hands up to wrap lightly around my wrists, though he doesn’t push me away.

“I think I’m doing pretty good at not being so afraid of you anymore,” I admit, a small smile cracking my lips. “Come on, I’m here aren’t I?”

“So you aren’t afraid of me at all?” By the shrewd, narrowed look he gives me, I know that lying won’t fly. Neither will downplaying what I’m feeling.

But I don’t pull away from him. If anything, I pull him closer until his mouth is only inches from mine. “You terrify me,” I finally get the courage to admit. “Every time I look away, I ask myself how in the world I could be okay with this. But then…” I search his face, my grip tightening.

“Then?” he prods, obviously impatient.

“Then I miss you. Or I look at you, or you touch me like this. You open your mouth and say something sweet, or you kiss me. And Irememberall the things that outweigh that fear. Jed, I watched you murder a man the first night we met with a chainsaw. You held my hair after I saw all the body parts in the slaughter shed. Whatever you tell me isn’t going to scare me. Or at the very least, not enough for me to run away.”

His eyes darken in earnest, and the smile that crosses his lips is a little less than friendly. “You want to bet on that?” he asks, in a dark murmur I’ve never heard from him before.

It makes my heart jolt, and suddenly it reminds me of a trapped bird with my ribs as its cage.

I wonder if I’ve fucked up this time and gone too far. But I still hold his gaze and dip a nod to him, then add, “I’m more than sure.”

“Then let’s find out. Because if you’re going to stay, if we’re going to make this work, then I need you to accept all of me, Saylor. Every fucked up, bloody inch and all of my sharp edges.” Without warning, he lunges forward, picking me up the same way he had in the woods. He throws me over his shoulder, ignoring my yelps of protest. Even without being able to see more than the gorgeous line of his body and the floor, I know instantly where he’s taking me.

So it’s no surprise when he throws me down on the bed, though when I expect him to join me he just stares down at me, eyes still dark. As I watch, he pulls off his shirt, much like he had that first night, and finally falls down to his knees over me, pinning my hips to the mattress.

“You can ask me to stop at any time,” he assures me, voice soft against my throat when he leans in as if he’s scenting my skin. “I willalwaysstop when you ask, Saylor. Don’t ever be too afraid to ask. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, unclear where in the world my voice is or why my heart is pounding in my throat. It’s the same as last time…right?

But, it doesn’t feel like it.

Jed bites me suddenly, one hand pinning me down as his teeth press into my skin. I squeal in surprise, twisting under him as he sucks what I know will be a dark and lasting mark onto my fair skin. “Good girl,” he grates, finally pulling away, though it’s only so he can lick over the mark. “You’re so good for me, perfect, Saylor.” When he looks at me, though, I still see that sweetness in his face, and I know he’s checking to make sure that I’m all right.

It calms my pounding heart, and my stomach loosens a little at the sight. My body relaxes a second later, when he flashes me one of his caring, adorable grins that reminds me of a puppy. He’s stillmyJed.

But he’s something else as well. Something he’s been hiding from me since we met.

“I wanted him to keep going,” my ex-cannibal tells me, fingers finding my shirt hem and pulling it over me in one quick jerk. He leans over me once he does, fingers tracing the silver design on my bra while he stares down, contemplative. “I taunted him into hitting me, because that’s how I convince myself that I’m not the same as before.”

“Before?” I whisper, unable to keep quiet.

“Before Virgil and Wren found me hitchhiking, fresh out of Texas,” he supplies easily. “They made me want to be a better person. You make me want to beeverythingfor you.” He bares his teeth in a wolfish grin, his fingers skimming across my stomach until he can hook them in the top of my leggings.

“He would’ve walked away if I hadn't pushed him. Butfuck,I wanted to push him, princess.” His fingers pull downward, and he uses his other hand to maneuver me until my leggings andunderwear are somewhere over the foot of the bed, leaving me just in my bralette. “And I enjoyed it when he snapped. He hit me once.” Jed taps his lip before his hands come back to smooth up my sides. I shudder at the touch, my body on fire from his voice and his hands alone. “I let him have it, because he was drunk, and if I didn’t let him have a little something, I would’ve felt terrible.” His smile darkens as he leans over me, his knee pressing between my thighs.

“But after that first hit, I didn’t give him anything at all.” His bloody, raw knuckles trail up my sides, over my arms, until he can stroke one thumb along my lip. “And I loved every sound he made. I wanted him to make more. His blood was sour and flat. Filled with cheap booze and cigarettes. My mother would’ve called him bad meat and made jerky out of him, if that.”

“Why…” I lick my lips, accidentally touching his thumb with my tongue. “Why jerky?” He has to be joking, right?