I couldn't imagine any cruelty coming from a mouth as soft as his. His bottom lip was slightly larger than his top, and when they pressed together, I suddenly wondered what it would feel like to touch them softly with my lips.
My toes shuffled forward, touching paper, and I took a closer look at the folders that covered the floor around him. He'd set a stack of pictures on the carpet between his legs like he'd been looking at them—or planning to—when he'd finally succumbed to sleep. I reached down for the stack, and my wraiths begrudgingly swooped down to bring them to my hands.
The first was a picture of a plot of land that had caught fire. Whatever had been there was ash. The edges of the picture were worn, like it had been looked at and held long enough to break down the glossy finish. There was something terribly familiar about the trees on the horizon. I shuffled that picture to the bottom of the stack, revealing the next. This one wasn't a picture of destruction, but of me. My hair was shorter than I wore it now and shiny. I stood beneath the massive arm of the man currently sleeping on the floor in front of me. He smirked at whoever took the picture while I beamed like I was exactly where I wanted to be.
This sleeping man hadn't always been my tormentor. Once, he'd been my shelter, and I'd loved him with every atom of my heart. He'd held me when I was upset and tended to me when I was sick. He was always there when I needed him. All I had to do was look up, and he'd find me.
When my love for him had transformed from platonic to romantic, I'd been the aggressor. Or, at least, I'd attempted to be the aggressor.
"I said we're waiting, Quinlan. That's all I'm going to say about it."
Diesel never used to use that stern voice with me. Now that he was, that deep, rumbling tone had the opposite effect on me than the one he intended.
His nostrils flared, and he let out a low, continuous growl. "Finish getting ready and I'll drive you to the club," he snapped.
I couldn't call what I felt anger, though it was similar. It was closer to extreme impatience. Diesel had said we needed to wait, that I wasn't ready. But I did the things he asked. I lived a life with friends my own age. I acted as his representative when he was away, I had hobbies and interests that didn't include him. There was no reason for him to not be in my pants right now, and yet no matter how I flirted, Diesel's gaze burned, but he never acted on it.
He wanted me. I might not have had a shifter's keen sense of smell, but I had eyes. I knew a boner when I saw one.
"Why are you mumbling about boners?" Diesel asked.
Oh frick, I'd accidentally spoken my thoughts again. At least that time they'd only been a mumble.
Our eyes met, and there it was again, Diesel's desire plain on his face.
He couldn't even talk about boners without wanting me as much as I wanted him. There I stood, ready and willing.
Diesel clenched his hands into fists, but not before I spotted the dark, blunted edge of his claws.
My chest warmed with triumph. He wanted me; he'd finally take me. All this waiting was at an end—
He turned around, opened the door, and stomped outside.
He left me.
No…I narrowed my eyes at his retreating figure. He was running from me, maybe not physically, but mentally. "I'm ready now," I called out.
Diesel snarled. I'd chosen today's outfit with Diesel in mind. We were in the middle of a heat wave, so he couldn't say anything if I wore a pair of biker shorts that stretched to mid-thigh but clung to my body like a second skin. I paired the shorts with a tight, white ribbed tank top and had enjoyed a day of flustering my alpha.
"I'll just wear this. It's a hot and sweaty club anyway. All those bodies writhing together, rubbing all over me. No way to avoid getting their scent on me. I guess when they do that, they'll cover your scent, won't they? No matter. When you pick me up, you can fix it. It'll just be a few hours without your scent. I still think it's more important I stay cool. Don't want heat exhaustion."
Diesel's head hunched