Page 244 of Immune

“You’re very quiet,” she whispers.

I swallow hard before I confess, “I’m trying very hard not to embarrass myself.”

“With what?” she asks. “Feelings or premature excitement?”

“Both. Both are a problem,” I tell her, maybe a little too quickly.

A laugh breaks out of her, only small but very real, and it hits harder than her hand.

I kiss her before the sound can disappear, before the world can steal it back, and she makes a brand new sound against my mouth that I store away in my brain. My hands slide to her hips, and she splits her thighs wider around me before pulling me close with her heel behind my leg.

Her pants are already sitting low on her thighs, so I ease them down a little farther, careful of her knee, her bruises, and in ways that make sure she doesn’t feel handled.

When I reach the edge of her underwear, I stop.

Her forehead drops against mine and she whispers, “Xeon.”

“Yes?”

“If you ask where one more time, I’m going to start throwing out threats.”

“You enjoy making threats,” I counter.

“I do,” she agrees. “But I’d much rather be naked.”

My control splits at the edges and my voice grows a little rougher when I say, “Then lift your hips.”

She does, but not gracefully. Not timidly.

Dakota braces one hand behind her on the workbench and lifts just enough for me to slide the last barrier down her legs. I keep my palm under her bad knee while I do it, supporting the joint without once mentioning it.

She notices anyway, and her expression shifts. Not soft, exactly, but a lot less armed than usual. Then she reaches for me again, fingers curling around the back of my neck.

When she tugs, I gladly follow, kissing her just as my fingers slide between her thighs. She’s slick and hot against my fingers, and the sound she makes into my mouth is low enough to turn every single thought in my head to ash.

Her knees tighten around my hips when I stroke her slowly at first, learning the kind of pressure she likes, the angle that makes her fingers dig into my shoulders, and the rhythm that steals her sarcasm before she can conjure it.

Dakota breaks the kiss with a breathy, “More.”

I oblige, pushing one finger inside her. Her whole body goes still, but not in a way that’s wrong. More focused. Her eyes stay open, locked on mine, as if she’s daring me to look away first.

I don’t.

I curl my finger carefully, watching her face closely, and when her mouth parts with a silent gasp, I do it again.

“There?” I ask.

Her nails bite into my shoulder, and her words leave with a breathy moan as she warns, “If you stop, I’ll kill you.”

“There,” I confirm, and she makes a furious little sound before rocking into my hand.

I add a second finger the moment her body allows it, slow enough to feel the tension give way to want. Her head tips back under the grow lights, pale hair spilling down her spine, her throat exposed and untouched.

I look but I don’t bite. I don’t even lower my mouth there. Not tonight, even if my teeth are aching with my restraint.

Dakota sees it and her breath catches before she whispers, “No bite.”

“No bite,” I promise, and her eyes flicker with a trust just as lethal as a freshly sharpened blade.