Cerulean Sins (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #11) - Page 13

25

I loved the new shower that I'd had installed in the downstairs master bathroom. One of the bear lycanthropes in town turned out to be a plumber. I'd still paid full price, but at least I knew he wouldn't be asking stupid questions about my living arrangements. I liked a good long bath when the occasion called for it, but at heart I was a shower girl.

I set the showerhead on hard, so that the water beat against my neck, head, shoulders. I hadn't been embarrassed about having sex with Jason, and maybe that was wrong, but it hadn't felt sinful. Maybe because it was just another way for him to take care of me. But the little talk afterwards, that had bothered me. That hard emotional truths bothered me more than having intercourse with someone I wasn't in love with probably said something about how far down the well of moral decay I had fallen.

I stood in the hot, hot water, steam foaming against the glass doors of the stall, and was happy that I didn't owe my heart to anyone. It was mine damn it, and I was keeping it in one piece if I could. Richard had broken some part of me, some last bit that had been trying to hang onto a softer more romanticized view of love. He had left, dumped me because I wasn't human enough for him. My fiance in college had dumped me because I wasn't white bread enough for his mother. My stepmother, Judith, had never let me forget that I was small and dark, and she and her children and my father, were tall and blond, and blue-eyed. People had spent my lifetime rejecting me for things I could not change about myself. So fuck them, fuck them all.

I was sitting on the bottom of the shower. I hadn't meant to. I hadn't meant to huddle in the water, hiding. Why was I always chasing after the love of people who I could never be enough for? There were plenty of others who wanted me exactly as I was, small, dark, hard, bloody, thick with metaphysical shit. People who loved me just as I was. Unfortunately, none of them were me.

There was a knock on the door, and I realized that someone had been knocking for a while. I always locked the door when I went in, out of habit,

I turned the water down, so I could hear better. "What is it?"

"Anita, it's Jamil, I need to come in."

"Why?" That one word held a universe of suspicion. If his reason had been something I wouldn't hate he'd have already said why he needed to come in.

I actually heard him sigh through the door. "It's Richard, he's hurt, and we need to use the big bathtub."

"No," I said. I turned off the water and reached for the oversized towel.

"Anita, since the pack sold Raina's house we don't have any body of water big enough to soak him and other pack members in. I found him unconscious on his bedroom floor, he's ice cold."

I wound a smaller towel around my wet hair. "You are not bringing him in here, Jamil. There's got to be some place else to take him. Jean-Claude would let you use the tub at his place."

"Anita, he's icy, if we don't get him warm soon, I don't know what'll happen."

I leaned my head against the door. "Are you telling me that he's going to die?"

"I'm telling you, I don't know. I've never seen another werewolf this bad without some kind of wound to show for it. I don't know what's wrong with him."

I did, unfortunately. Belle hadn't only fed her people off of me, she'd been feeding off of Richard, too. I'd thought about that earlier in the day, but I hadn't dreamed that he wouldn't call his pack and have some of them near him, to strengthen himself on their collected energy. I hadn't known that he would just let himself die. Because long before he got that bad he'd have known something was very wrong.

"Did he call you for help?" I asked, still leaning against the door.

"No, I needed to ask him about pack business, and I tried him at the school, but he'd called in sick. Then I called his house and got no answer. Anita, please, let us in."

Mother fucking son of a bitch. I could not believe that I was having to do this. The man that had broken my heart, called me a monster was about to get soaked in my bathtub for God knew how long.

I unlocked the door and opened it with me behind, hiding, so I couldn't be seen, or see.

Jamil eased through the door with Richard in his arms. It wasn't weight that made it hard–Jamil could have bench-pressed the entire bathroom–it was that Richard was broad-shouldered, and Jamil wasn't small himself.

I tried not to look at either of them, getting only a brief glimpse of Jamil's cornrowed hair, bright red beads intertwined. His shirt was a red to match the beads, his suit jacket black. I didn't take the time to see if his pants matched the jacket. I just started for the door, towels clutched to me.

"Can you turn on the water for me, Anita?" Jamil asked.

"No," I said, and I fled.

26

I got dressed. I couldn't remember if I'd gotten around to using shampoo on my hair, or only gotten it wet, and I didn't care. I had an image of Richard's face burned in my mind. Eyes closed, that perfectly square jaw with its dimple. But there had been no spill of that glorious hair around his shoulders. That wonderful hair that was brown shot with gold and copper, so that it almost glowed in the sunlight. He'd cut his hair. He'd cut his hair.

I remembered the feel of it in my hands, the silken slide of it over my body, the spill of it around his face when he rose over me. Richard lying underneath my body, his hair like a rich cloud on the pillow, as his eyes lost focus and his body thrust into mine.

I was sitting on the bed, crying, when there was a knock at the door. I had jeans on, but had only gotten to my bra. "Just a minute." My voice was only a little thick.

I slipped the red T-shirt on over the black jeans. I started to say come in,then realized it could be Richard. Unlikely since he was unconscious minutes ago, but I couldn't take the chance. "Who is it?"

"Nathaniel."

"Come in." I scrubbed at my eyes and had my back to the door, while I looked at my shoulder holster and tried to figure out what I'd done with my belt. I needed the belt to slide through the shoulder holster. Where the hell was my belt?

"The police are on the phone," he said, voice quiet.

I just shook my head. "I can't find my belt."

"I'll find it for you," he said. I knew from his voice that he was farther into the room now. I hadn't heard him move. It was like I wasn't hearing everything, like I was losing pieces of things.

"What's wrong with me?" I hadn't actually meant to say it out loud.

"Richard's here," Nathaniel said, as if that explained it all.

I kept shaking my head, trying to run my hands through my wet hair. It was tangled. I hadn't used shampoo, let alone conditioner. It was going to be a mess when it dried. "Fuck!"

He touched my shoulder, and I jerked away. "No, no, don't be nice to me. If you're nice I'll cry."

"Do you want me to be cruel, would that make you feel better?"

It was such an odd question that it made me look at him. He was still wearing the jogging shorts he'd left the room in, but he'd unbraided his hair and brushed it into a shining auburn curtain. A stray bit of sunlight gleamed in his hair. I knew what all that hair felt like rushing over my body. It was so thick, so heavy, that it made a sound like dry water when it cascaded around me. I'd always denied myself everything that Nathaniel could offer. I'd always backed off from enjoying every part of him. Jason's words came back to haunt me. That I hadn't really given myself completely to anyone. That I held back something from everyone. I'd held back huge chunks of myself from Nathaniel. More than any of the other men in my life, he was the one that I'd held back from the most, because I didn't believe I was keeping him. Once I had the ardeurunder control I wouldn't need a pomme de sang everyday. Once I could feed the ardeurfrom a distance like Jean-Claude could, I'd stop using a pomme de sang.Wouldn't I?

He looked worried. "What's wrong, Anita?"

I shook my head.

He took a step towards me, and that small movement sent his hair swirling over one shoulder. He gave a negligible flip of his head, sending it sliding back behind him.

I had to close my eyes, and breathe, in and out, concentrate on just breathing. I would not cry. I would not fucking cry again. Every time I thought Richard had gotten the last tears he'd ever get from me, I always seemed to be wrong. Every time I thought there was no other way he could tear me up, he found a new way. Nothing turns to hate so bitter as what once was love.

I opened my eyes and found Nathaniel close enough to touch. I stared into those compassionate lilac eyes, that soft, caring face, and I hated him. I don't know why. But I hated him just a little. I hated him for not being someone else. I hated him for the hair that fell to his knees. I hated him because I didn't love him. Or maybe I hated him because I did. But it wasn't what I felt for Richard. I hated him, and I hated me. In that one instant I hated everyone in my life, everyone and everything, and me most of all.

"We are out of here," I said.

He frowned. "What?"

"You, me, Jason, we're out of here. I need to take Jason back to the Circus before Jean-Claude wakes up anyway. We'll pack a bag, and we'll give the house over to Richard."

Nathaniel widened his eyes. "You mean to leave this house until Richard is gone?"

I nodded, maybe a little too fast, maybe a little too often, but I had a plan, and I was sticking to it.

"What will Micah say?"

I shook my head. "He can join us at the Circus."

Nathaniel looked at me for a second, then he shrugged. "How long will we be there?"

"I don't know," I said, and looked away from him. He hadn't protested, hadn't accused me of cowardice. He just stuck to the facts. We were going. How long would we be gone?

"I'll pack for a couple of days, if we need other things, I'll come back for them."

"You do that," I said.

He moved towards the door, leaving me to stare around the room. "Your belt is at the foot of the bed."

That made me look at him. There was something in his eyes, something older than he was, something that made me want to squirm and look away, but I was already running from Richard, I couldn't run away from anything else. One act of extreme cowardice per day was about all my ego could handle.

"Thanks," I said, and my voice sounded too soft, too hoarse, too something.

"Do you want me to pack a bag for you, too?" His face had fallen back into neutral lines, as if he'd realized the look in his eyes was too raw for me, right now.

"I can pack," I said.

"I can pack for both of us, Anita, it's not a problem."

I started to argue, then stopped. I'd spent the last twenty minutes trying to find a belt that I'd probably walked over twice. If I packed in the state I was in, I'd probably forget to bring underwear. "Fine."

"What do you want me to tell Sergeant Zerbrowski?" he asked.

"I'll talk to him while you pack."

Nathaniel nodded. "Okay."

I took the time to tuck my shirt in, put my belt on, and thread my shoulder holster. I checked that the clip in my gun was full, automatically. I started to say something to Nathaniel and those old eyes in that young face, but I didn't have anything worth saying. We were fleeing the house until Richard was gone. With that decision, I didn't know what to say.

I left Nathaniel and went into the kitchen to get the phone, wondering if Zerbrowski would still be on the other end, or if his patience would have faded before my confusion had.

27

I entered the kitchen and found the phone on the hook, and Caleb sitting at the kitchen table. Caleb was my least favorite of the new leopards who had come in when Micah and I merged our pards. He was cute enough in a young, boy-hooker, MTV sort of way. Curly brown hair with the lower part shaved short, and the top a crown of thick curls that flopped over his eyes artfully. His tanned skin was dark, not quite as dark as his hair. The tan had faded a little in the few months he'd been in town. His eyes were a nice solid brown with a silver hoop piercing one eyebrow. His smooth upper body was naked so I could see his belly button piercing. I also noted that he'd added two new piercings–both nipples were pierced with tiny silver dumbbells. He routinely went around with the top button of his jeans unfastened, his explanation was that the waistband irritated the belly piercing. I didn't believe him, but since I had never even pierced my ears, I couldn't really call him a liar.

He kept one hand on the coffee cup, but the other one traced over his chest and rolled one of the little silver dumbbells between his fingers. "I had them done a couple weeks ago. Like them?"

"What are you doing here?" I asked, and I didn't care that it sounded hostile. I was having a hard day and having Caleb in my kitchen wasn't going to improve it.

"Taking messages for you." He hadn't risen to my grumpy bait. It wasn't like Caleb to miss an opportunity to bitch.

"What messages?"

He held out a small sheet of paper to me. His face was as neutral as he could manage, only that faint gleam in his eyes that he never quite lost. That look that said, I'm thinking wicked thoughts, about you.

I took a breath, let it out slowly, and went over to him to get the paper. I recognized the notepaper; it was one of the sheets we kept near the phone. Caleb held on to it for a second too long, making me pull a little, but he let it go and didn't say anything irritating. That was almost a first.

I looked at the note. I didn't recognize the writing, which probably meant it was Caleb's. It was surprisingly neat, all block letters. "NO ONE'S DEAD. WHEN YOU HAVE TIME, CALL ME. DOLPH IS ON A TWO-WEEK LEAVE OF ABSENCE. LOVE ZERBROWSKI." I must have raised an eyebrow at the end part, because Caleb said, "I wrote down exactly what the policeman said. I didn't add anything."

"I believe you. Zerbrowski thinks he's a wit." I met Caleb's brown eyes. "Why are you here, Caleb?"

"Micah called me on his cell phone, told me to stay close to you today." He didn't look particularly happy about it.

"Did he mention why he wanted you to stay close to me today?"

Caleb frowned. "No."

"And you dropped everything you had planned today to come baby-sit me, out of the goodness of your heart."

He tried to keep frowning, then gradually that smile of his that matched the wicked light in his eyes emerged. It was an unpleasant smile, as if he was thinking unkind thoughts, and those thoughts amused him very, very much.

"Merle told me he'd hurt me if I failed Micah on this."

Merle was Micah's chief bodyguard, six foot of muscle, and attitude that would make a Hell's Angel think twice. Caleb was about five six and soft in ways that said he had nothing to do with muscles.

I had to smile. "Merle's threatened you before, and it hasn't impressed you much."

"That was before Chimera died. He liked me better than he liked Merle or Micah. I knew he'd protect me, no matter what Merle said."

Chimera had been their old pard leader, in a way he'd been like the Godfather of lycanthrope groups. But he was dead now, and we'd divided his people up among ours. Most of them thought it was an improvement because Chimera had been a sexual sadist, a serial killer, and an all-round very bad man. But a few, who had enjoyed helping him mete out his little blood fantasies, seemed to miss Chimera. Since Chimera had been one of the scarier things I'd ever run into in a list that included would-be gods, and millennia-old vampires, I didn't trust any of his people that were nostalgic for the good ol' days. Caleb was one of those.

"Great, fine, glad you're beginning to take orders like a good soldier. Tell Micah when he comes back that I'll be at the Circus of the Damned."

"I'll go with you." He was already getting to his feet. He was barefoot. But of course, because it was Caleb, he was wearing a toe ring.

I shook my head. "No, you are staying here, give my message to Micah."

"Merle was pretty explicit. I am to stay near you today, all day."

I frowned. I had the beginnings of an awful idea. "You're positive that neither Micah nor Merle told you why they wanted you to be glued to my side today?"

He shook his head, but he looked worried. I wondered for the first time if Merle had done more than just "talk" to him.

"What did Merle say would happen if you didn't stay close to me?"

"He said he'd cut all my piercings with a knife, especially the newest one." His voice didn't sound the least bit like teasing. He sounded tired.

"Newest one? The nipples?" I said, and made it half question.

"No." He shook his head.

His hands went to the top of his jeans and the already partially unbuttoned line. He undid a second button.

I held up my hand. "Stop, that's plenty. I get the idea. You've pierced something . . . there."

"I thought, why not, I'll heal in a matter of days instead of weeks, or months for a human."

I wanted to ask, Didn't it really hurt?But since silver burned a lycanthrope's skin, you had to be masochistic to get anything pierced. I'd asked one of the other leopards that was pierced, why not use gold? Answer: their bodies grew over the gold, healing over the wound. But they didn't heal over silver.

"Thanks for over-sharing there, Caleb."

There was a shadow of his usual smile, but mostly his eyes looked worried, almost scared. "I'm trying to do what I was told to do, that's all."

I sighed. One thing I hadn't expected was to feel sorry for Caleb. Damn it I didn't need another person to take care of right now. I was having enough trouble taking care of myself. "Fine, but Nathaniel and I are taking Jason back to the Circus so he'll be there in time for Jean-Claude to wake up."

"I'll go with you."

I just looked at him.

The worry bloomed to outright fear. "Anita, please, I know I've been a pain in the ass, but I'll be good. I won't cause any trouble."

Had Micah really sent Caleb here in case the ardeurrose early? I disliked Caleb, intensely; did Micah really think I'd use him like that? Of course, the first time I'd met Micah I'd fed off of him. It had also been the very first time the ardeurrose, and my control had been nonexistent. I was better now, but what I'd done with Jason proved not that much better.

I'd complain to Micah about his choice of baby-sitters later, and he'd probably argue, if not Caleb, then who? For that, I didn't have a good answer. Hell, I didn't even have a bad answer.

28

When more wolves arrived from Richard's pack, and the screams started, I left. He had a half dozen baby-sitters. He did not need me. Hell, he didn't even want me.

I didn't know what to do for Richard anymore. I could help the pack as a whole, but helping Richard seemed beyond me. He needed healing, and I didn't know how to do that. If you needed someone killed, or threatened, or even hurt, I was your girl. I did self-defense, murder wasn't beyond me in a good cause, but suicide, I did not do that. Richard had let himself grow cold, his energy sucked away, and he hadn't called for help. That was suicide, passive suicide maybe, but the intent was the same.

Jason drove. He pointed out that I'd had weird physical reactions all day, and it would be bad to have one of the fainting spells behind the wheel of the car. I replied that I'd fixed the reason for the fainting spells by putting crosses at the Circus. He'd countered with the fact that we weren't one hundred percent sure that was the only reason I'd been fainting. Wouldn't caution be better? With that, I couldn't argue. My pride was not worth crashing the Jeep with three other people in it. If it had only been my skin at stake I'd have probably taken my chances. I was usually more cautious of other people's safety than my own.

The fact that all three were lycanthropes and would probably survive a wreck better than I would had nothing to do with it. If you throw the furry through a windshield, do they not still bleed?

We were on Highway 21 turning onto 270, when I smelled roses. "Do you smell that?" I asked.

Jason glanced at me, his hair still damp from the shower, his white T-shirt dark in spots from water as if he'd dried in a hurry and missed places. "What did you say?"

"Roses, I smell roses."

He glanced behind us at Nathaniel and Caleb. Nathaniel I'd invited. Caleb had nearly cried when I didn't want to bring him. Whatever Merle had said to him had well and truly scared him.

I could taste the sweet, cloying perfume on the back of my tongue. And no one could smell it but me. Shit.

Belle Morte's voice whispered through my head, "Did you truly believe you could escape me?"

"I did escape you."

"What?" Jason asked.

I shook my head, concentrating on the voice in my head, and the thickening scent of roses.

"You did not escape, you fed me, and you will feed me again, and again, until I am sated."

"Jean-Claude says you're never sated."

She laughed in my head, and it was like having the inside of my skull rubbed with fur, as if she could touch things with her voice that no one should have touched with their hands. That purring, contralto laugh rolled through my body, raising goosebumps along my skin.

I had an image, a memory in my head. There was a huge bed, and a mass of bodies on it. It was a jumble of arms, legs, chests, groins, all male. Then one man raised up, only his upper body, and I glimpsed Belle underneath him. He lowered his body and she vanished from view. It was like watching a nest of snakes, so much movement, disconnected in the candlelit dark, as if each limb were something separate and alive without the body. Belle's arm rose above the mass of bodies, then she swam her way to the top, peeled the men from her naked body, until she stood in the midst of them, their hands reaching up to her, pleading with her. She had released the ardeurupon them, and fed, and fed, and fed, until she rose from the mass of flesh glowing with power, her eyes so bright with dark flames that they cast shadows as she half stepped, half floated from the bed. One man's body had fallen to the floor, forgotten. He lay very still as she stalked nude and ripe with curves, glowing with power. She walked over the body of the man who had given everything to satisfy her needs, while the other men reached for her, begged for her not to stop. The men began to rise to their knees, or fall off the bed in an effort to follow. At least two other bodies lay on the bed forever still, forever gone. Three of them dead, loved to death, and still the others begged her for more, still they tried to stand and follow her.

I knew it was Jean-Claude that she had tied to a chair and made watch. I knew it was him, and not me, that watched her with fearful, hungry eyes. But when she walked past him, without so much as a caress, I choked on his despair. Part of his punishment for daring to leave her.

"Anita, Anita," the voice seemed distant. Someone touched my shoulder, I gasped, and was brought back blinking, breath harsh in my throat. I was still seat-belted into the Jeep. We were still on 270, about to turn onto 44. I wasn't tied to a chair, I wasn't in Belle's lair, I was safe. But the sweet scent of roses clung to me like some kind of evil perfume.

Jason had been calling my name, but it was Nathaniel's hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright?" Jason asked.

I nodded, then shook my head. "Belle's messing with me."

Nathaniel squeezed my shoulder. I had opened my mouth to say, maybe you shouldn't be touching me right now,when the ardeurroared through me. The heat rushed over my skin in beads of sweat, brought my pulse pounding, rising like some ripe fruit to fill my throat, stop my breath, so for a moment I was drowning in the beat and pulse of my own body. I could hear my blood like a roaring flood. I could feel every pulse, every drop to the tingling tips of my fingers and toes. I had never been so aware of how very much blood was coursing through my veins as in that one heart-stopping moment.

I put my hand over Nathaniel's where it still gripped my shoulder. His skin was so warm, almost hot. I turned towards him. I looked into those lavender eyes, and just the intensity of my gaze, drew him closer, close enough to rest his cheek against my seat. I had enough left of me inside my head to think, dimly, he must have undone his seat belt, but there wasn't enough left of me to care for his safety. All I could think was that it brought him closer to me, and I wanted him closer.

"Anita," Jason's voice, "Anita, what the hell is happening? My skin is crawling with whatever it is, it feels like the ardeur.But it's not."

I never took my gaze from Nathaniel's face. Jason's voice was like a buzzing insect, noise, something I heard, but didn't really listen to.

I lifted Nathaniel's hand from my shoulder and pulled it gently against my lips. His hand cupped the lower part of my face, my breath was warm against him, and the heat of it brought the scent of him to me. His hands smelled not only of warmth, and blood, but of everything he'd touched that day. Faint traces that soap could not erase completely. His hands smelled of life, and I wanted it.

"Anita, talk to me," Jason said.

"What's happening?" Caleb asked, "why is it hard to breathe in the car?"

"Power," Jason said, "I don't know what kind yet."

I pulled Nathaniel's hand past my face, until my lips glided over his wrist, and there, there, just under the skin was a new warmth.

I flicked my tongue across the skin of his wrist, and he shuddered.

"Anita!" Jason said.

I could hear him, but it was utterly unimportant. The only thing that was important was the warmth of skin, and that faint pulse just below. I opened my mouth wide, lips pulled back to taste that pulse.

The Jeep swerved violently, throwing Nathaniel backwards and to one side, tearing his hand from me. He landed in Caleb's lap.

I looked at Jason then, really looked at him. In the back of my mind I knew it was Jason, but in the front of my mind, all I could really see was the pulse in the side of his neck. It beat against his skin like a trapped thing. I knew I could free it, make it rush red and hot into my mouth.

I unbuckled my seat belt. That froze me for a second, because I was fanatic about seat belt safety. My mother would be alive today if she'd used hers. I never rode in a moving car without one. Never. So deep rooted was that fear, it pushed Belle back, pushed back the blood lust she'd raised in me.

I found my voice, hoarse and strange, but mine, "I thought it was the ardeurshe raised, but it's not."

"Blood lust," Jason said.

I nodded, my hands still frozen on the unbuckled seat belt.

"Blood lust feels like the ardeur,but not. Sometimes you don't know which lust it is until you find out if he's going for your neck, or your groin."

I blinked at Jason. "What did you just say?" I never heard the answer, if there was one, Belle roared back through me, and I was suddenly more concerned with the beating of his pulse in his neck, than the fact that his mouth was moving. I heard no sound except that overwhelming thunder of my own blood, my own heart, my own throbbing, pulsing body.

I was sliding over the front seat towards him, and hadn't remembered moving, or wanting to. He hit the wheel again, sending me back across the car against the far door. The moment my back hit the door I could hear the angry honking of horns, as the Jeep slid through traffic, sideways. Then it evened out, going straight again. Jason was giving me wide eyes.

"I can't drive with you feeding on me."

My voice was thick, "I don't think I care." I sat up, my hands on the seat to keep him from throwing me against the door again.

"Nathaniel, Caleb, keep her away from me until I can find a safe place to pull over."

I was awkwardly straddling the gearshift when Nathaniel put his arm in front of my face. He didn't try and touch me, but held his wrist close enough for me to smell the warmth of his skin, then he slowly drew his arm back into the backseat, and I followed, sliding between the seats, following the pull of his flesh, like there was a line tied from him to me.

I spilled into the backseat. Nathaniel was sitting on his side of the seat now. I knelt over his body, straddling him. I could feel him stretched tight inside his shorts even through my jeans, but today that wasn't nearly as important as the smooth line of his throat. He'd braided his hair before we left, so that his neck was bare.

The Jeep swerved again, and I fell onto the floorboard, at Caleb's feet. We'd been lucky so far to avoid an accident or the concrete median on the road. Our luck would run out, and I wasn't sure I cared.

"If you can't take sex from Nathaniel yet, I don't think you should take blood. He's still weak." I heard Jason's voice, as though it were coming from far away.

I stared up at what sat above me, his jean-clad legs brushing my body. For sex, Caleb wasn't desirable, but for blood . . . I came to my knees between his legs, and began to pull myself up Caleb's body, fingers digging into the jeans, feeling the flesh underneath.

My hands slid under his untucked, button-up shirt with its loud comic book pictures. His skin was so warm. My fingers slid upward, touching the ring in his belly button. I hesitated there, tracing the edge of the metal ring, pulling on it gently, feeling the skin stretch, until he made a small sound of protest. I stared up into his face, and whatever he saw there widened his eyes, made his lips part in a small ooh of surprise.

I traced my fingers up his stomach, his chest, my arms lost under the