Page 13 of Taste of Thorns

“But Thorne!” she protests as I carry her down the stairs to my bathroom.

“Is fine now. Trust me, I know him well. He doesn’t need you fussing over him now he’s better again. It’ll only fuck him off.”

“You’re just saying that because–”

“I want to fuck you?” She nods and I grin. “Nah, it’s the truth. And if I was that much of an asshole, I’d have fucked you yesterday. Bent you over that armchair in his bedroom–”

“Okay,” she gulps, “I get the picture.”

“You sure? If you want, I can describe it in detail. I know how much you love my dirty mouth.” I swipe my tongue right up her throat and she squeals again. This time with delight.

I kick open the bathroom door and carry her inside.

“Dray,” she says, as I place her down on the floor, “I’m serious. You really think he’s okay?”

“Kitten,” I tell her, bending down so our eyes are level, “you think anyone could be okay after what happened to him?” She chews her lip. “Fucked up things have happened to me and they’ve fucked me up too. Same with Beaufort. I’m betting same with you.” She hesitates, then nods. “We’re all fucked up. In fact, I’m more suspicious of the human beings walking around who aren’t fucked up. That ain’t normal.”

“Yeah, but–”

“He has his moments – just like we all do. It’s over now. Trust me, little Kitten,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “I don’t fuck about when it comes to the people who are important to me.”

“Thorne’s important to you?” she says, her eyes softening.

“Of course, he’s my bond brother.”

She smiles at me with affection and I’m gathering I just gained a load of kudos points. Ones I intend to cash in right now.

“You know who else I care about,” I say, lowering my voice and resting her small palms flat against my chest. “You, Kitten. All I want to do is make you purr.”

She giggles. “I think you’re the most fucked up of us all.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Also, you know what they say. The more fucked up they are, the better they fuck.”

I reach for the hem of her gray academy T-shirt and pull it over her head. She’s wearing some kind of contraption underneath that seems designed to strap her breasts in place.

“What is that?”

“A sports bra,” she says.

“It looks like some kind of kinky torture device.”

“It actually prevents the torture. No bouncing tits.” She jiggles up and down, demonstrating the secure nature of this monstrosity.

“I prefer it when your tits bounce up and down.”

“Well, it hurts.”

“Then I’ll kiss them better. And I’m also going to get you some better underwear.” I spin her in a circle, looking for the fastening on the damn thing, trying to work out how the hell to get it off. In the end, in my frustration, I tear the stupid thing in half.

“And a new sports bra,” she mutters.

Next, I yank down her gray sweat-pants and tug off my shirt, stroking my hand across my chest as I admire her, standing there in just a ridiculously small pair of panties.

“Sorry, Kitten, but I’m going to have to fuck you before I clean you up after all.”

I shake out my hair and stride towards her.

She backs away.