“Suit yourself.”
Chapter 5
I swear the tip of my nose is frozen solid by the time we get to one of the cabins no one is currently living in. I’m cold, partly disgusted by that whore, and frustrated. Death kissed me and it was better than I ever could have imagined. Jesus can the man kiss. Then my father showed, and he might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water on us.
I’m shivering on the porch while Death is climbing through a window because he forgot to get the key. It’s probably as cold in there as it is out here. I hear a loud thump then, “god damn it,” being grunted as a light flickers in the window.
The front door swings open and Death is standing partially behind it all sexy and brooding with a gash above his brow.Shit. He’s bleeding.
“What did you do?” I rush him, inspecting the wound.
“Fell through the fucking window and caught my brow on the corner of the end table. It’s nothing.”
“I’ll see if there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.” I drop my bag inside the door to the small cabin as he closes it behind me.
“I’ll get the fire going,” he announces.
“Good idea.” It’s colder than a witch’s tit in here. My hair’s wet and snot drips from my nose as I rummage under the bathroom sink. There must have been a chick staying here. I don’t find any bandages but there’s an unopened box of maxi pads in here. I grab one and a bottle of peroxide. I’m sure Death will bitch but it’s better than nothing.
I find him squatting at the fireplace lighting the pilot light. This cabin is newer and more modern than the others in comparison. It’s a rebuild after a terrible fire that happened before I was born. When my father was a teenager. The story goes that one of the club members had a bad addiction to drugs and booze. Him and his ol’ lady got into a fight. They say he murdered her then set the cabin on fire and went up in flames with her.
A shiver coils around my spine, but I shake the ominous sensation away that warns I’m playing with fire. That nothing good will come of my pursuing Death. I know it’s wrong to want him. To chase a married man but he said it himself that there’s no love there. I’ve watched him and Belinda. She rarely comes around. When she does, she isn’t rubbing all up on him to mark her territory or anything.
The flames light up from the burner.
“Let me see your head.”
“It’s fine.” He dabs the end of his tee on his forehead as he changes from squatting to standing revealing his stomach and a trail of dark hair dusting the path to his cock. I never thought hairy anything was attractive till this very moment.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I pick my jaw up and lick my lips. “Admiring what Santa left under the tree for me.”
“Best ask for a return or refund if what ya got was my old ass.”
“You’re only as old as you feel.”
“Then I hope he left a shovel for ya to bury me.”
“That’s not funny. Don’t joke like that. The thought of you…” I shake my head. “Let me see what you’ve done to yourself.”
“Heat’ll be blazing in no time. I should get back to the clubhouse.”
“You don’t want to stay?”
“What I want and what’s right are two different things. Think we both know that.”
“And what about what I want and what I think is right?”
“Why do you have a pad?” He squints then winces.
“Sit.” I shove him toward the couch. His ass drops to the old navy-blue pull-out couch that doubles as a bed. I straddle his lap and open the pad cotton side up of course and hold it near the gash to catch the peroxide as I pour it over the cut to clean it. I press the pad to his temple.
The warmth of the fireplace fills the room. Death’s palms rest on my thighs as I gaze into his eyes wishing he’d kiss me again. I peel the pad back, the cotton soaked with blood, but the bleeding has slowed to a trickle.
“You probably need stitches.”
“Nothing some superglue won’t fix.”