Page 17 of A Shot in the Dark (Fated Mates Collection | Triple Threat #1)
“Nice try, princess. We’re playing a harder game.
” He opens the box, rolling tiny chess pieces out of it and opening the box so its two sides form one continuous chess board.
His fingers fly through the set up; he occasionally steals a glance at me, watching for my reaction.
“On the real chessboard of life it’s the queen and her knights who hold all the power—if she can handle everything the enemy throws at her…
” He gently pushes the board towards me. “Do you play?”
“I used to play with my last ex. Every time I beat him, he had to buy me a bangle.”
“A bangle?”
Unbidden, my gaze drops to the bracelets lining my wrists.
“I see,” he says levelly. “And if he beat you ?”
“He, uh…got something he was very fond of.” I lick my lips and look away. “Do you want me to play you for something?”
“You’ll play me to learn. Understanding strategy can help you protect yourself.”
By the end of the game I’ve definitely learned something: Boots is not a gracious loser, and takes great pleasure in stripping off my bracelets, one-by-one, and replacing them with his belt.
He lavishes every detail of me with attention and a strange new earnestness as if he is trying to memorize each bit of me, unraveling me to find the core of my truth.
I enjoy my chess lesson immensely because we both get something out of the deal, win or lose.
I’m pressed tight to Boots, one leg hanging across his hip with him still inside me, in that moment after the heat between us has passed—the twilight time between fucking my brains out and falling asleep—I catch him peering drowsily at me, a certain sweetness glinting in those shimmering silver eyes.
My forehead resting against his, I run my fingers lightly down the side of his face, delighting in the prickle of stubble he works every morning to keep at bay, and coax, “Tell me you like me…”
A shadow flits across those magnificent sterling eyes, turning them to pewter and with a groan of “Mercedes,” he pulls out of me, rolling over to face the wall. It is the most quick, efficient, and complete withdrawal of American forces I’ve ever imagined could happen.
And it leaves me lost.
I sit up in bed and rub at my eyes, the fog of a fresh dream slowly lifting.
Silver eyes are watching me, and I reach out to run my fingers through his hair, waiting for his eyes to flutter closed again.
He shifts in bed, resting his head in my lap as he dozes and I continue brushing my fingers through his hair.
He sighs, and even more tension eases out of him.
Since the bite and the bond, my dreams, and even my waking moments, have taken on a strange and vibrant quality.
They’ve become cinematic, with panning camera angles and dazzling lighting.
Everything is so full of light . In the city my dreams were always easy to decipher, simple things that dealt with the normal things of life.
They were basic, average: a party, showing up late to work, jogging through the park, that annoying naked-in-high-school dream that seems universal, and a mysterious man in my bed with silver eyes.
Wait, what ?
I rifle through my memories, reaching for that one, but like a fantasy that fades with dawn, it drifts out of reach and dissolves.
I’m chewing on my lower lip, speculating the weirdness of Boots, bites, bonds, and belts that my life has so suddenly devolved into when Boots’ eyes open, flashing silver.
“Fuuuck,” he sighs in appreciative greeting as he stretches.
“Someone needs to protect you,” he mumbles and I wonder if he even knows what he’s saying.
A lazy smile stretches across his face and I’m struck by the idea that this is exactly who Boots should always be: strong, a little bit sleepy, and sweet.
This is what I’d wish for Boots—a lazy, contented life.
He lifts himself up on his hands and brushes the tip of his nose against mine.
It’s as close as he comes to kissing, and as much as I want to taste his lips—have him devour my mouth?
I know that has to come on his own time, not mine.
He rolls out of bed and hits the shower. “Care to join me?”
“I’m good.”
“I’ll be thinking of you,” he responds and I know exactly what he’s thinking when I feel a pulse in my core that tighten my nipples.
It’s the bond speaking up and reminding me we’re tied together—his sensations are frequently shared with me.
His hunger becomes mine and mine becomes his, making for a strange but nearly seamless partnership.
Oh, what the hell. Sex with Boots is better than not having sex with Boots, and how much longer can this possibly last? I slip into an already steamy bathroom. “Hey.” He looks out at me from the transparent shower curtain. “I was just thinking about you.”
I pointedly drop my gaze, step out of my panties and respond, “I can see that.” Then I step into the shower with him.
Soon suds are everywhere and we’re getting dirty and clean at the same time.
He calls in again to touch base with his headquarters. “They’ve adjusted my schedule,” he says, and I feel something cold gather in my gut because of the bond. “They never adjust a schedule.”
“What’s happening?”
But he will not tell me anything more and I only know that the worry inside me—inside him—builds into an ache.