A Single Touch (Irresistible Attraction 3)

And then, just in the moment when I’m breathless with fear, water rains down upon us. It comes down heavily. No sirens, no noises at all. Only water, leaving a chill from the cold droplets to bring goosebumps along my heated skin.

“There’s always something to calm the fire,” he groans in the crook of my neck and then drags his teeth along my throat as the deluge descends around us, extinguishing the flames. Every thrust is that much deeper as I lift my hips and dig my heels into his ass.

Even knowing it’s safe, knowing the fire’s gone, my heart still pounds with a primal instinct to run. I can’t though, pinned beneath Jase and wanting more of him.

The light goes out around us, the flames diminished to nothing. The warmth of the room vanishes as the water washes us of the fear from being consumed by the fire.

Lifting his head up to look down at me, I stare into Jase’s eyes as he presses himself deeper inside of me and then pulls out slowly, just to do it all again. Every agonizingly slow movement draws out my pleasure, raising the threshold and I whimper each time.

That’s how I fall. Staring into his eyes longingly, praying for mercy to end it just as I whimper and beg him for more. Clinging to him as he hovers over me and loving this man. Loving him for all he is and knowing what I do. Knowing I never want to stop.

Jase

“I love the smell afterward,” I comment, listening to the crackling of the flames in the fireplace. I lit it for the heat and the light both as Bethany lays against me, still on the floor.

Although I used the thick blanket to dry her off, her hair’s still damp and the light from the fire casts shadows against her features, making me want to kiss along every vulnerable curve she has.

“The char?” she asks weakly, sleep pulling her in. The adrenaline should be waning now. Sleep will come for her soon and I hope it comes for me too.

“The water. It has a smell to it, when it puts out the fire.”

“It does,” she agrees and then lifts her head, placing a small hand on my chest as I stay on my back. “Will you tell me something?”

“What?”

“Anything,” she requests in a single breath and lies against my chest. Spearing my fingers through her hair, I think of the worst of times in this room. I think of the fire, the way it feels like everything will end, the intensity and the simplicity of it all being washed away.

“Do you know how many men I’ve killed?” I ask her as the question rocks in my mind. “Because I don’t.”

Although I keep running my fingers along her back and then up to her neck, noting the way the fire warms her skin with a gorgeous glow, her own hand has stilled, and her breathing has stopped.

“Are you scared?” I ask her and she shakes her head, letting her hair tickle up my side. “I just don’t want to do anything to stop you from saying more. I want to know.”

“I used to keep count and memorize their names,” I admit to her and remember when I first built this room. Its purpose was different then and the memory causes my throat to tighten.

“I’d sit here, and let the fire go. I’d let it burn whatever I’d brought, I’d let it spread and surround me. All the while, spouting off each person’s name. Every person I murdered with intent or for survival. Every one of them. And there were many.

“At first, I’d give both first and last names. Then it became only first names because I’d run out of time otherwise. I thought if I could say them all before the fire went out, it’d be some kind of redemption. In the beginning I could do it. I could say them all before the water would come down. It never made me feel any better, but I did it anyway.

“Then I started forgetting,” I confess. “Too many to remember, and the names all ran together. Some names I didn’t want to say out loud. Names of men who I’ll see in hell and smile knowing I put them there.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Bethany admonishes me. She whispers, “I don’t like you talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to die and go to hell. Don’t say that.” The seriousness of her tone makes me smirk at her with disbelief.

“Of everything I’ve done and said, that’s why you’re scolding me?”

“I’m serious. I don’t like it.” She settles herself back down and nestles into me, seeming more awake now than before and with tears in her eyes.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” she tells me. “And you’re not a bad man. You just do bad things and there’s a difference. God knows there’s a difference, and I do too.”