Page 35 of Slick & Spooky

He grins, unbothered. “And you love it.”

I don’t answer, but I don’t stop him, either.

I do, however, tug at the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head anyway.

“See?” he says, sing-songy. “Was that so hard?”

“No,” I say, “but if you keep touching me like that, it will be very quickly.”

He pauses, then his lips slowly curl upward. “Noted.”

“Christ,” I mutter, because there’s no winning with him. He knows exactly what he’s doing standing there half-covered in fake blood, all smug satisfaction and bad ideas.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I should tell him to back off. Instead, I breathe him in. Sweet, ridiculous, and completely mine.

“I was thinking about how I wanted to show you off tonight,” he says, almost thoughtful. “Parade you around and remind everyone what’s mine.”

“Yours?”

“Mine,” he confirms without hesitation. “I worked hard for it.”

I nod. He did.

His gaze drifts lower and he tips his head toward my jeans. “Pants too.”

I follow his eyes, already knowing what he sees. The fabric’s pulled tight, my body betraying me before I can hide it. His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, and there’s a hunger there that makes my pulse stumble.

I unbutton my jeans and push them down, more irritated than shy. The denim catches at my ankles, and I kick them off one leg at a time.

Laying on the bed in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, cock tenting the fabric, the air feels colder than it should. The room suddenly seems too small, the light too direct. Tyler’s gaze drags over me like a spotlight.

I hate how exposed I feel. How easily he gets me like this. For years, I treated vulnerability like a weakness, something to avoid at all costs, but he looks at me like it’s the point. Like the whole reason we’re here is to strip away what’s left of the armor and see if I’ll flinch.

He grins. “Perfect.”

I don’t say anything. Mostly because I can’t decide if I agree with him or if I’m just too far gone to care.

“What do you think about blood play, Knox?”

“Blood play?” I spit out, eyes wide. “I’m not fucking with blood, Tyler.”

“What if it tastes like chocolate?”

He shakes the bottle of fake blood at me.

“That’s what it tastes like?”

He shrugs. “Wanna find out?”

I inhale sharply, then nod.

My throat feels dry as I stick out my tongue in invitation. He tips the bottle forward and squeezes, letting a thin line of red trail from the tip straight into my mouth.

It’s bitter, a little chalky, but the chocolate taste is there.

“What’s in this stuff?” I ask, wiping at the corner of my mouth to catch what’s left, but the mixture’s too thick. It smears instead, leaving faint red streaks across my skin.