His eyes fly open, a bolt into my soul. I slide my palms over his arms and chest, dirty and sweaty.
I kneel and dip the cloth into the water and clean him some more. I want to clean him. I want to do everything for him. This is Kiro’s language. His pulse thrums in his neck. I slide my hand over his neck, feeling the way desire builds in him. In me.
I want to do everything for him.
My eyes rest on his cock, hard through his pants. I press my palm over him. He hisses out a breath. Maybe he’s hard from the fight, maybe from the way I’m caring for him, or just the kiss.
I kneel before him and put my face to the place where the bulge strains most tightly against the rough canvas of his pants. His cock jumps under the fabric.
I turn my eyes up to him. He’s watching me, half-wild. Words mean nothing, but actions mean everything to him. I set aside the shirt and hold his gaze as I unsnap his pants. I shove them down, partway down his legs.
His chest heaves.
Panting.
I’m stricken with awe at the sheer wildness of him, hair tangled and dirty from battle, breath heaving in and out. He’s like a medieval warlord, nostrils flaring with every breath.
“Ann,” he grates out.
I wrap my hand around his cock, wild and beautiful and foreboding as he is. His hand goes to my hair. I hold him around the root, barely fitting my fingers around his massive girth. I set my lips on his head, licking off the gleaming droplet at the end.
He strokes my hair, breathing ragged. His clumsy movements tell me he’s as turned on as I am.
I wet him with my lips, take in more of him, sucking, squeezing. He tastes of salt and sweat and man. He tightens his hand in my hair and begins to move, fucking my mouth gently.
I squeeze him and jack him off as I suck. I know the hand feels good, but it’s also a little bit of self-preservation—a stopper from him shoving his crazy Kiro hugeness all the way down my throat.
His hand snags on my hair. He’s covered in sweat and the dirt of battle. I love him like this. I want him to make me dirty.
I look up into his face as I suck him. I show him by my actions that I’m with him. It makes no sense to my brain, but utter sense to my heart. The affection I have for him is strange and real and true. Does he feel it?
He makes a little sound, eyes glued to mine, fixed on mine.
He’s all I see. All I hear. Until the explosion rips out from behind me. I pull my lips off him and turn.
A man on the ground. With a gun—pointed up at Kiro.
Hands clap down on my shoulders. A heavy weight. I turn and meet Kiro’s eyes. My first thought is that he’s unhappy I disengaged.
Then I see it—his eyes awash in pain. Shock. Accusation. Blood drips down the side of his neck.
“No!” I burst up to steady him.
Blood flows from the side of his head—a wound in the side of his head. That man just shot him.
“Oh my God! No!” I get him to the ground. I kneel at his side. There’s so much blood. “Kiro!” My hands shake as I wipe away the blood. Shot in the head.
A noise right behind us. I look around. The bloody man is on his belly, gun shaking in his hand. He’s going to shoot Kiro again, or at least try.
I go to him and slam my boot down onto his wrist. There’scraaaackas he releases the gun. He’s pale. Sweating. Respiration failing. Lots of blood on his shirt.
He’s alive but bleeding out. “Help me,” he says.
He has the look of a man beyond help. It would probably be best to kill him.
I take his gun instead and rush back to Kiro.
“Kiro, stay with me!” I brush his hair back with shaking hands, trying to assess the wound, keeping the man’s gun by my side, alert for any movement, any sound.