Page 54

He took a seat right next to me on the couch without leaving any space between us, cramming me between him and the armrest. His weight is enough to dip the cushions, making me slide into his hip. We are pressed together just enough to be a form of torture. His masculine scent and the warmth of his body make me constantly glance his way.

Uri doesn’t seem to want to have a repeat of last night. He’s acting a bit more handsy than usual, but that’s just because he remembers I need physical closeness after a panic attack. Every time he’s near me, it is as if time slows down and tranquility reigns around me.

I look down at my lap. Albert E. is sleeping on the blanket covering my legs. The familiar sight of him napping so soundly gives me a little comfort. He sleeps a lot. I caress his smooth back, lingering on the tuft of hair on his head. His short, right leg starts kicking the air—it’s his way of letting me know he enjoys it since he has no tail to wiggle. It makes me smile affectionately at him.

Uri’s low growl makes me raise my head.

“Why are you glaring at Albert E.?” I ask, catching the angry look pointed at my guinea pig.

“He has his room to sleep in.” There’s a weird inflection to his words, a dark one.

“My lap is very comfortable too,” I retort, piqued by his annoyed tone.

“I know.” The corner of his mouth curls up, lifting the hoop around his lip. I suddenly remember pulling on it with my teeth.

His hand moves into my loose hair. I forgot to braid it after the shower, and his fingers start a toe-curling massage over my nape that makes me forget about everything but the soothing sensation.

“You always give me what I need,” I suddenly feel the urge to say to him. Because it’s true, even though he’ll never give me what I need the most: his heart.

“I always will.” The rumble of his voice gives me delicious goosebumps.

What if I ask him to kiss me right now? Would he? I don’t open my eyes, too afraid he’ll read my desire in them. Too afraid he’ll reject me…or oblige me.

“Always?”

His reply comes quickly. “Till the end of me.”

“Or me.”

“No,” he rumbles. “I’d never let you go first.” The confidence in his voice almost makes me believe he has any say in it.

His hand leaves my hair and grazes mine, it brings fire licking up my limb. Then he moves away. The empty space he left feels inhumanly cold.

He turns off the television and grabs Albert E. from my lap. “You sleepy?”

“No,” I tell him, noticing how delicately he’s holding my pet.

“Come.” He turns and moves to the door.

I leave the blanket on the couch and follow him. I’m wearing only an oversized white sweater that reaches my thighs. Underneath I have a simple cotton bra and panty set—it’s the comfy pair of lingerie I wear when I feel off.

Uri leaves Albert E. in his room before taking me by the hand and moving down the corridor. His fingers feel so warm and reassuring around mine as he keeps walking with confident steps. He stops in front of the metal door to go through the security checks. I know it will open to the shooting range. I’ve never been inside, but Uri told me about it.

A small beep, and then he pushes the door open. The room is bigger than I expected. The targets lined up on the distant wall on the right have pictures of people on them. They must be Uri’s future donors.

He’s taking something from one of the drawers on the opposite wall. I move closer; it’s filled with guns.

“I haven’t practiced in months.” I hear myself say, dragging my gaze away from Uri’s tanned throat; his dreads are in a bun again, putting all that smooth skin on display.

“Six months,” he remembers since the last time was with him. “Here.” He hands me a beautiful gun, small, light, with a white pearl handle.

“A Walther PPK, James Bond’s gun.”

I smile. I know he enjoys watching OO7 movies—anything detective-ish. “Her name?”

“Honey Ryder,” he replies, guiding me toward the firing stand. There’s a pair of earmuffs on the counter, but I don’t wear them. I’m used to the loud noise. It’s kind of comforting even. Such a strange thing to be reassuring.

“What’s the first rule about new weapons?”