Page 30 of Creatures Like Us

If I can’t kill him, I need to make him react instead. I need to disturb him, the way he disturbs me.

After bearing down one more time, I let go of his throat, and—hands braced on the mattress—I lean into his face and press my lips to his.

He tastes like coffee. Smells like rain. And he’s warm, so full of life. There’s no struggle at first, just a couple of desperate pants through his nose as he catches his breath. It’s hardly a kiss, to be fair—just two slack mouths smushed together, but it gets me the result I want.

Noah inhales a sharp breath, clutches my shoulders with both hands, and shoves me away.

“No,” he says roughly. “Stop.”

“Why?” I grit out.

“You don’t want this. Youcan’twant this.”

The uncertainty in his voice is laced with disbelief, with fear, and I thought I’d revel in that fear, but it only makes me feel like I’ve violated something between us. Like I’ve done somethingwrong, even though he’s the one who imprisoned and drugged me.

My lips are tingling. Something else is too, further down my body.

I get off him and land on my back. Noah stays beside me on the bed, and together, we stare up at the ceiling for a long time.

“I thought you were straight,” he says finally.

“I am.”At least, I think so.

“Then what the hell was that?”

“I don’t know.” But Idoknow.

I didn’t do it because I wanted to kiss him, surely not. It’s just like he said: I don’t want this. Ican’twant this. All I wanted was to get a reaction out of him, and for some reason, choking him wasn’t enough to do that. A kiss did a better job. It’s not my fault I—

“You got hard though,” Noah says.

“No, I didn’t.”I did.My dick presses tight against the fly of my jeans, trying to get my attention, as if it knows something that has previously been hidden from me. I glance over to Noah’s crotch, but it’s decidedly flat. No erection in sight.

Fuck, what is wrong with me?

I slide my eyes up to Noah’s face. In profile, it’s like a painting, with his smooth pale skin, pronounced lips, strong but delicate jaw, and high cheekbones. While his expression has relaxed, his body is still tense; I feel it in his arm lining up against mine, and I sure felt it when his pulse fluttered against my palm and when his hands shoved me away.

But it wasn’t enough.

I need him to scream. I need to see his blood, need him to writhe in agony, like I have. Maybe then I’d be satisfied. Maybe then I’d feel something other than this dark numbness overtaking my heart.

Not right now though—right now, I’m too tired and rattled from what just transpired between us.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to kiss him like that, but who’s the unfair one in this situation, huh? I can think of several things I can inflict on him before our score is settled.

Noah glances at me. “We need to take care of your arm.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Let me see.”

I hold my arm out, and he takes it in a confident but careful grip and rolls up my sleeve, exposing the cut.

“You don’t need stitches, but it needs to be cleaned.”

“Just leave it until tomorrow.”

“No.” He rises from the bed, and I mourn the loss of his warmth. Fuck this cold-ass basement.