Page 6 of Double Shot
“Yeah.”
“It’s not you,” he said with a shrug, and I frowned. “It’s me… I think.”
“Okay, um, elaborate.”
“About the only thing that gets me worked up right now is the thought of Gwendolyn Kaijin’s severed head on a pike.”
I jerked back as though he’d just slapped me.
“It’s about all I can think about. When I sleep, I go through the last minute in the Bat Cave, and I see their faces, and I know their names. I want every last one of them dead, choking on their own blood. I want them toknow whyI’m killing them in the most violent and personal way I can imagine.”
“I-I care, but I don’t care aboutthat… does that make sense?” I asked.
He shook his head, and I flicked my tongue against my lips, wetting them.
“When it’s just you and me, like this… I-I can’t do this cold impersonal thing anymore, Kyle. I need more,” I said. “And I know it’s selfish and I know it’s wrong, and I—”
“Shit,pleasedon’t cry again,” he said, sitting up a bit straighter. “Just tell me what you need. I hate it when you cry and I can’t seem to fucking stop it and it happens so much now.”
I closed my eyes and said, “I need you toloveme.”
“Idolove you.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, looking at him, feeling my face start to crumble. “Are you sure you don’t blame me?”
“Blameyou?” His voice rose. “Forwhat?”
“For Conan…” I choked. “For Conan dying.”
“Holy fuck, is that what you think?” he asked, andhejerked back as though I’d just slappedhim.
“I feel like it’s all my fault,” I said, clutching my hands in my lap to belay their trembling.
“No.” The word came out with such a savage fervency. His hand lashed out, quicker than a viper striking. He snared my wrist and pulled me to him and I went, desperately needing to be held, to be touched.
He held me tight and said, “That’s total bullshit.”
He swept a hand into my hair and pressed my head to his chest, holding me so tightly as though desperate to hang onto me. As though he thought that he was somehow going to lose me, which could never happen.
He tugged on my hair lightly and I looked up. His night dark eyes bored into mine and he dipped his head, capturing my mouth with his.
The kiss stole my breath away, and I melted into his warmth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against my mouth. “I’m not good like—”
“Shut up and kiss me,” I begged, and he smiled then lowered his mouth back to mine slowly.
He was hesitant, almost shy with the way he kissed me, and I didn’t know what to make of that. Kyle Lachlan had never kissed me like that before, not even when we were teens – not the first time, not the last time before he’d gone off to basic training. I was confused by it, but seized the moment for what it was worth because how many times had I dreamed of this? How many times had I closed my eyes in the last few weeks, and wished for Kyle to kiss me like this, to lay me down gently like he was doing now? His hand was on my waist, the other untangling from my hair to caress the side of my face while he kissed me so gently, so sweetly.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered back. It was more than okay; his attention made this cold and dreary place suddenly more bearable.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Good.”
His lips were soft and sweet against mine as he gathered the hem of my flannel nightshirt, sweeping the soft material up my legs. I arched my hips when he reached high enough with the cloth and he worked things up and over. I sat up and raised my arms, breaking the kiss just long enough for him to whisk the offending fabric separating us away.
I put my hands to his hips and slipped them beneath his tank top, pulling gently. He smiled distantly at me and lifted his arms as I’d done for him and let me take the material from his body. My gaze was drawn to the fresh pink scars among the old white marring his skin. My fingertips went to one, tracing it lightly, and Kyle shivered and shied away from my touch, laughing almost nervously.
