Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

As if sensing me there, he slowly turns, those star blue eyes penetrating down to my core. He’s even more striking than before. Those features are almost shocking to witness up close. He isn’t touching me, but I feel him everywhere. There’s an unspoken intensity between us. His body appears to shudder, the muscles coiled around his thick limbs. A black raven tattoo is now inked across his chest.

“You’re home,” he says, almost in a whisper.

“I want that kiss,” I say, trembling. I don’t care how desperate and pathetic I sound. I’ve waited, like he told me to, and I still want it.

“What?” his dark hair drips down his cheek, the little teardrop filling the crease at the side of his mouth.

“You promised you’d show me what it was like,” I remind him, moving closer. Our breaths mingle. Heat pulses between us.

“Kiss me. I want it to be you who shows me what it tastes like. I want to taste you,” I say brazenly. He doesn’t laugh this time or shake his head no, he just stares at me, making me squirm. My flesh is feverish. My breathing labored.

“Close your eyes,” he tells me, and my heart skips. Blinking a couple times, I slowly close my eyes. Can he see my heart beating out of my chest?

The touch of his palm against my cheek makes me gulp in anticipation. My head feels loopy, like I’m floating, imagining all this. My hand comes up to rest on his firm chest when he steps closer. His body smells of chlorine from the pool. Softly, he places his lips on mine, and a pulse throbs up my spine as ballerinas twirl in my stomach. A warm swipe of his tongue against the seal of my lips almost buckles me. I open to him, meeting his tongue with a caress of my own. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I give him everything he’s giving me. His grip tightens on my face, moving into my hair. Fisting a handful, he deepens the kiss. I move up on tiptoes, my body begging me to climb his.

“Remi,” I sigh, and he breaks away, panting.

“Again,” I beg. He leans back in, capturing my bottom lip between his teeth, biting down. My eyes open, the sting of pain shocking my system. Our eyes lock, and he bites down harder, puncturing the skin, making me yelp. He releases me and backs away.

My fingers trace the cut he’s inflicted, metallic liquid clashing over my tongue. I’m bleeding. Snatching his towel back up, he walks away without another word.

If he had asked, I would have told him it felt like flying and falling all at once. Like losing yourself to sensation. I want to do it again. I never want to stop. But I don’t see him again all summer.

Nine

Freya

Remi was right, smoking does taste like ash. Passing the joint to Ivy, I hiss and kick a rat off my shoe. It squeaks and scurries off under some boxes. It smells of mold and bleach down here. Such a contrasting scent. The basement was always left unlocked at school. They assumed no one would be crazy enough to want to be down here with the cleaning supplies. It’s my and Ivy’s hideout when we want to get out of chores or bible study.

Ivy has a friend who sneaks contraband in, and this is where we smoke it. “I can’t believe we get to go home again soon. This year has flown over. Only one more year and we’re out of here,” she mumbles, taking a couple tokes on the joint. “We should just run away.”

“Oh yeah? Where would we go?” I snort.

“I don’t know. Hollywood. Paris. Ohhh, London! Get ourselves one of those princes they have over there.”

Laughing, I lean back against a huge bag of salt used to de-ice the steps out front in the winter months. “They don’t just hand them out like tourist favors. There are two.”

“Which one is the fuckable one?” she adjusts her boobs in her bra, scrunching her nose up when they look no different. Ivy lacks in the boob area but makes up for it with booty. I’d always catch her staring at my boobs with longing.

“Harry. And they’re both married,” I remind her.

“Yeah, that’s right. Harry. He’s married to that actress. She’s fuckable too.” She winks at me, jiggling her feet when another rat decides to join us.

“You want to fuck everyone.” I swat her arm. “Chill your vagina.”

“It is chill, it’s almost frozen over. It hasn’t had any action in forever.” She blows a plume of smoke into the air.

“Tell me about it,” I groan.

“You should try to give the V card away over the summer. It’s criminal you’re not using that killer body for pleasure.” She passes the joint, having almost smoked it all.