Page 73 of Creatures Like Us

“Yeah?”

“Did you really mean that? What you said about?…?about using my blood?”

“I don’t know. Would you want me to?”

“I think so. I can’t stop thinking about it. Is that bad?”

“Fuck?…?I don’t know. Come here.” I clutch him closer, feeling like I need to console him, but at the same time, I suspect I’m more afraid of my desires than he is. The force of them, the depravity of them, and my own unwillingness to resist.

In many ways, it feels like when I first started taking drugs: that lurch of exhilarating want at the pit of your stomach, and the lack of care for what consequences those wants may bring.

“Asher,” Noah whispers into my ear.

“Yeah?”

“I need something.”

“What do you need, baby?”

“I need your hands on me.”

I’m already holding him, but I know what he means. I turn around, he turns with me, and we fall into our familiar position with our bodies lined up and my hand snugly around his throat.

“Like that?”

He sighs in relief. “Yeah, like that.”

“Do you want to sleep?” It’s the middle of the day, but considering all the other shit we get up to, napping is hardly the worst of our sins.

“I don’t know. Do you?”

I hum and lead my hand down the side of his body, past his hip, down to his buttock, and dip my fingers into the slick heat of his crease. “Not yet.”

Chapter 20

Noah

Dayspass.I’mnotsure how many.

Days consisting of blissful mornings with Asher’s hands in my hair and around my throat, and long, dark nights where we keep exploring each other’s bodies. We bathe and eat regularly, and I wash the bed sheets when needed, but other than that, we don’t do much else besides just enjoying each other’s company. We lie awake until deep into the night, snuggling in bed, until our touches turn heated and we can’t stand not being inside each other one way or another.

Neither of us has brought up the blood thing again, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it: giving Asher that control over me, allowing him to see my insides?…?It feels like a means to assure him I’m not a threat to him. Not anymore. Not ever, though I doubt he sees it that way.

It feels like a means to make him stay with me. To make him feel safe.

“What are we going to do about money?” he asks one afternoon. Or morning. I’m not really sure; without proper daylight, the time of day is hard to discern. “I saw how empty the fridge is.”

He’s right. We have a couple of days, max, then we’ll be all out of food.

“I have money,” he continues. “We could go grocery shopping today.”

When I blink, I see us under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the local grocery store, illuminated, exposed for what we are. Asher would glance around all the people with grocery carts and normal lives, and he’d wake up as if from a bad dream and realize he can’t be with me—that he has to rejoin the world and go on with his life.

Without me.

“Not today,” I mumble, anxiety taking hold of my heart and making me sweat.

“Order it online, then; I don’t care. I want pizza. And Coke.” He casts me a glance. “I didn’t meanthatkind of coke.”