49. Nat

49

Nat

best way to die? For good

“You feel like kissing me.”

“Yes.”

“You feel like returning to bed.”

“Yes.”

“You feel like giving me the rest of your Twizzlers.”

“You’re pushing it.” I narrow my eyes at the Demigod, lounging in his typical carefree sexy slouch on our bed. He doesn’t quite fit on the mattress. But the safehouse remains crowded as we slowly reunite survivors with their families.

Sin laughs. The whole body one, the one that prompts him to stretch the strong column of his throat back and fills me with an irresistible desire to lick him. Even in the pool-boy rocker outfit he’s sporting. Cut off jean shorts gripping his thighs and a faux band tee that reads Taken, Not Stirred .

“You look ridiculous,” I inform him, finishing the last of my buttons and turning from the dresser, red licorice in hand.

Sin’s laughter fades into a sly smile as he propels himself to stand, stalking toward me with a predatory glint in his eyes. “And you look edible.”

I bring my chin up, ignoring the way my heart hammers into my ribcage, the way heat pools in my belly.

Damn him.

Damn his effect on me.

“I have to talk to Theia,” I say, but it escapes breathy and unconvincing, even to my own ears.

Sin’s smirk widens. His fingers wrap around my last quarter of licorice to break off a piece. “About what?” he asks. “My sexual prowess? My quick turnaround time? How your teeth have established a permanent presence on my hip?”

“I’m organizing a roast for you. Your ego’s surpassing Zeus’s.”

“As if Zeus could satisfy a Fury.”

I resist a laugh. Arch a brow instead. “Who says I’m satisfied?”

Sin’s expression darkens with interest, his smirk taking on a dangerous edge as he takes his rope of licorice and drags it up my inner thigh, gathering the sticky wetness there. Invading my space, smelling of cloves and sex, he bites the end off. Chews.

“Artificial sugar. Cherry.” He grins, all indulgence and mischief. “Definitely me, and what’s that aftertaste?” He licks his lips. “It tastes a lot like you, Bloodspiller. I’d call that satisfied.”

He brushes a stray lock of hair from my face, caress lingering. “I think,” he says deliberately slowly, “that you’re trying very hard to convince yourself you don’t want to spend all of your time fucking me.”

“But Theia …”

He finds my hip and pulls me flush against him. “Is happy driving Drake mad. A skill you must have taught her.”

It shouldn’t be like this. As if every nerve is ablaze, despite just having him. Despite having him for days. But he pushes me, gives me hard when I need it, soft when he does. He sees all of me so clearly I can hardly see his aura anymore.

My mouth is suddenly dry. “Sin …”

He groans over me, body tensing to rigid planes and slabs of muscle.

I smile, pressing my hand over his heart. “I …”

“You’ve got it.”

I drop my hands to his belt. “Can’t you just know? Can’t I show you?”

“I so enjoy hearing it, watching it on those lips, how they fold into a pout.” He kisses my collarbone, teeth grazing sensitive skin. “I love tasting it. The sweetest lemon.”

I roll my eyes and force my face neutral, not sappy or desperate. I am capable of saying it when it’s not life or death. I can feel it all the time. “I love you, Blackguard.”

He crushes his mouth to mine in a painfully possessive kiss. Groans into me, hips grinding to meet mine, serving irresistible friction.

“It’s the same,” he murmurs against my cheek. “The same exact taste as when you told me you would never love me. My beautiful cruel martyr.”

“Your liar.”

“Both.”

I kiss him, ready to strip despite just dressing when a knock sounds on the door. “Hey. Cupid junior. There’s still a realm on fire out here.”

With a sigh, I withdraw, meeting Sin’s darkened gaze. “When Meda’s right, she’s right.”

He huffs but releases me, straightening his preposterous t-shirt. “This isn’t over, Bloodspiller.”

I give him a sly grin over my shoulder as I head for the door. “Counting on it, Blackguard.”

Suddenly, the air sucks out of the room. Atoms shooting apart, purple irises snap to mine. Sin’s smile evaporates. I stumble.

They’re here.