Outcasts (Badlands 3)

I went back to scowling, but I wasn’t upset with him. Granted, the man could have worded that much, much better. I wasn’t expecting flowery poetry from him, though.

I wasn’t expecting any of this. I knew in the back of my mind he was right about this being inevitable—in the fantasy land I lived in, where my feels weren’t one-sided, that is.

I hadn’t ever been certain he knew how I felt. It was never discussed. It was just a shared look here or there. He saw right down to the bare bones of my soul. I should’ve known better. Course he’d known.

“You hungry?” he asked, standing up again from his crouching position.

“So we’re gonna just move right along then? That’s it?”

“Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m not hungry, Grimm. Don’t change the subject, either.”

“Eat this.” He threw something through the air.

As it came towards my face, I instinctively reached up and caught it. A damn red apple.

“I just said I wasn’t hungry.”

“You lied,” he confidentially retorted, and at that very second my stomach snarled in agreement.

I bit into the apple so I didn’t launch it as his smirking face. I wasn’t goin to admit it was the juiciest apple I’d ever tasted. He came over with his own, and a plastic bottle, sitting down right beside me.

I didn’t pay close attention to the way his tattoos I’d committed to memory looked in the light, or how perfectly sculpted his body was beneath his black shirt. I didn’t even notice the little strand of hair that had fallen out of place and now sort of rested on his forehead.

We sat there munching in silence until he lifted the bottle up and took a swig. I watched his throat bob as he swallowed. He held out to me when he was done, and I slowly took it, staring down at the clear liquid inside.

I knew this wouldn’t be laced—Grimm wouldn’t do that—but it was a sure reminder of all the times I’d had some that had been.

It’s just water, I told myself. Somethin I’d drank plenty of times before Noah came along. Damn. Noah. He was still out there.

“You don’t want me like this.” That was the simplest way I could say I was a mess without having to go into detail.

He looked at the ceiling for a few seconds. “I’m not good at this shit, Brat,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I want you whatever way I can have you. Any version of you is better than none at all, and this one is perfect for me.”

See, I knew he’d understand what I was sayin without me having to elaborate. He didn’t disappoint.

“Who told you you’re not good at this, Romeo?” I teased with a smile.

“Romero is better at this than I am.”

I nearly choked on the water I’d just bravely sipped when I realized he was being serious. I was tempted to drop kick him off the bed for saying somethin that stupid.

“Sorry to be the one to tell ya you’re delusional, Grimm. He could never make me feel like you do.” I leaned over, intendin to plant a solid kiss on his cheek, aiming for right above his beard, but then he turned his head and suddenly his hand was gripping the back of my neck and he had his lips on mine.

I gasped, unsure what to do. I mean, I knew what to do, but this was Grimm. My reaper had his mouth on mine.

I reiterated the my part of that thought as he took complete control.

I willingly let him have somethin I never pictured me givin someone ever again.

But again…this was Grimm. The man who told me less than five minutes ago that he wanted me whatever

he could have me—which was majorly confused, undeniably fucked up, and forever being a smartass.

It was crazy to trust death with life, but I’d never trusted anyone more than I did him in that very moment. His skilled mouth coaxed mine to part, and then he had his skilled, silken tongue caressing mine.

I admit it took me longer than I’d have liked to reciprocate, because no woman wanted to miss a single second when it came to kissing this gorgeous man.