“Pity,” Conan said, referring to the first part, but he was smiling now. His recovery made Lam want to grab at his shoulder and squeeze the fresh sutures just to see him wince again. Not as punishment, but to see if he would take it. If he’d let Lam hurt him again, before making another quipping, flirtatious remark.
It was doing something to Lam.
He resisted further violence, taping the plastic around the shoulder neatly. If he gave in they might never get out of this bathroom, and Lam was looking forward to seeing what Conan could do in a bed.
“Shower ready.” Lam declared. He closed the kit and strode across the room to the shower.
It was a large, glass-doored space, big enough for two or three, but he and Conan were still on new ground. Lam didn’t think being in a slippery, weapon-less space would serve him. Being close to Conan was also now giving him a dizzying desire to hurt him more. To see if he’d let Lam.
Best to wait until the bedroom.
Lam opened the shower door and turned the water on, adjusting its warmth, eyeing his own shaving razor on the wall. Conan could use a shave, but did he trust the man with a razor? Maybe Lam could–
He was ripped from the thought by movement. It happened quickly, so quickly that Lam only had time to turn before he was slammed into the wall.
Conan had moved from the toilet to the counter, grabbed the knife, and in heartbeats had it at Lam’s throat.
Lam froze, eyes wide.
Fuck,he’d been so stupid. Soreckless–
A wide smile spread across Conan’s face. The edge of the knife traced up and down Lam’s throat like a caress.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Conan said, his eyes flat and sharp. Lam could see then how he could kill someone without remorse. They weren’t the same kind of creature, but that darkness in his eyes Lam was familiar with. “I just want you to know that I can. I don’t want to spend all night tiptoeing around each other. I want you to know I have the opportunity to kill you right now, and I’m not. I don’t want to.”
Lam’s heart was battering in his chest. The adrenaline was a roar in his ears. He hadn’t been in danger like this since his early days of hunting. It was thrilling.
And underneath that was a relief. Because the longer he spent around this man the less he wanted to kill him, and this was an ingenious solution to Lam’s own guardedness.
“I don’t want to kill you either,” Lam confessed.
“Then we have an agreement for tonight,” Conan said, lifting the knife away from his skin. Lam’s hands were fisted around Conan’s wrists to hold him back, but he loosened one and Conan put the knife in it. “So I’ll ask you again, would you like to join me in the shower?”
Lam was breathless. His hand tightened around the knife and his whole body pulsed hot with need. Conan was a head taller than him, boxing Lam in with all his size and strength. If they were really calling this a truce, if Lam could really put himself in those big, strong hands…
“If I do, we won’t make it to the bed.” Lam said. Because he was certain that was true, and they’d be at risk for concussions or worse in such a slippery space. “You shower, I’ll watch.”
Conan’s eyes were piercing, and his smile curled, wicked. He stepped closer, his hips pushing up against Lam’s own. Lam gasped, feeling his thick length pressing into him through the layers of clothing.
One that had been inside him less than an hour ago.
Lam wanted it again. Wanted to know what it would feel like without restraint holding Conan back.
“You like to watch,” Conan said, statement not question.
“I do,” Lam said, licking his lips. Conan’s eyes went to his mouth, and for a moment Lam’s heart tripped over itself.
Then he was pulling away.
“Then I best give you something worth watching,” Conan said as he started toward the running shower.
Steam was beginning to fill the room, making everything a little gauzy. Conan began undoing his jeans. Lam took a deep breath to get a hold of himself, moving away from the wall, discarding the knife on the counter.
When the jeans dropped, the metal belt buckle clanked hard against the tile. Conan stepped out of his jeans and made little fanfare in shucking the tented boxers as well.
Lam couldn’t look away.
Conan was thick everywhere, weathered and masculine. There were more scars across his thighs, a round burn mark just below the beltline that looked suspiciously like a cigarette burn. Lam wanted to lick it, bite it.
