Page 121 of This Blood that Bonds Us

“Off.” He pulled back briefly to look at me. “Take your shirt off. Now.”

“Are you demanding me?” I smiled, unfazed.

“Yes. Now.” His brow bent, and his smile was gone.

Heat flared in my body at his touch and the intensity of his gaze.

“I don’t think I like it when you tell me what to do.” I teased.

“If you keep talking, I’m going to rip this off you.” His eyes darkened as he took a fistful of my shirt, then he stopped. “But—this is your favorite shirt. I really don’t want to rip it.”

Presley brought me home a shirt from the shelter. Aaron remembered I’d mentioned how soft it was, and likely, how often I wore it.

Savoring the want in his eyes, I peeled it off slowly. It was payback for the teasing he’d given me. He groaned, pulling it over my head and throwing it across the room. Before he could grab me, I ran up the stairs to our bedroom.

I didn’t make it past the doorframe before he lifted me and tossed me on the bed. I gasped. He growled, pinning down my arms and biting into my neck.

The pressure swelled, and I arched my neck to give him better access. Losing blood felt like floating on a cloud, then landing in the safety of the arms of the person I loved the most. It was full surrender.

When he pulled away, his eyes were still charcoal.

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I said, moving my hands through his hair until his rigid muscles let go.

I marveled at how lucky I was to love my best friend and to have him love me back. Lover. Not a title I’d ever thought I’d carry. Scientist, psychologist, friend. Something. Anything, but never lover.

Suddenly, being a lover was the most important thing. Something I’d die for. I never thought much of marriage. It didn’t occur to me that being tied to anyone mattered that much. It was just something people did and spent too much money on. I thought a husband might be nice in the far future,if he was helpful.

I didn’t know it could be like this. I was convinced I wouldn’t be satisfied till there wasn’t a place on my body that Aaron hadn’t touched. His tongue. His teeth. His lips. I wanted to be tied to him in every way possible. I wanted his last name.

The candles on the bedside table and chest of drawers glowed a deep yellow that cast an orange tint along the wall of our room. Vanilla and cinnamon filled our small space.

He let out a slow breath. “I don’t think it’s getting better.”

His fingers caressed my cheek as the warm brown came back into his irises.

A thought I tried to push away came up again. What would it be like to taste his blood? How would it make me feel? Could it help in some way, like William drinking Luke’s blood to cleanse it? He needed to get better, and I would try anything. Usually, I never said it but . . .

“What if I . . . bit you?”

He was still leaning over me. “What? Why would you ask that?”

“Because I . . . I wondered what it’s like for you. And maybe that’s what we need to do to cleanse your blood. Maybe it will help whatever is happening to you.”

“No.” He moved away from me and onto the bed to sit.

“Why not?”

“Because this is my burden. Let me carry it. Alone.”

“Since when do we do things alone? It could help you. This Thing is all about blood sharing. I want to help you.”

In the dim light of the candle glow, Aaron’s expression softened.

“Kim, you can’t. We don’t even know if it works like that.”

“I’m not too scared to try.”