ARC10

Chapter 14.4

After an essentially sleepless night after being torn from Dean's lap and the full day of emotional turmoil, I'm in no mood to deal with anyone's bullshit when I arrive at the Sink. When the last customer of the night tries to linger on his last call, I swipe it from under him and snap, telling him to get the hell out.

I'm ready to lock the Sink's doors when they slide open to reveal a familiar figure.

Dean slouches in the entrance, his hands limp at his side.

"What?" I throw the question at him like a knife.

"I came to apologize."

"No need."

"Nika, I—" he steps forward.

I stop him with one hand on his abdomen. His abdomen which is solid cement. My breath catches. All my thoughts slip out through my fingers.

"I have to apologize for my father."

An unbidden rush of heat washes over me. "I really don't care." I want to let go of his abdomen, but I can't break away. My body won't let me.

He places his hands on my mine. "He should never have said those things. My dad's changed. I don't remember him before my mom and brothers died, but—"

"What your dad said doesn't matter. I'm just pissed he ruined the best sleep I've had in years."

Dean straightens to his full height. "Oh?"

The frenzied frustration from earlier doesn't disappear but shapeshifts into something different. A spark ignites. "Yeah. It must have been the position. I haven't had such a pleasant, sturdy, enjoyable place to rest my head in forever."

He releases my hand. I trace the outline of his waistband through his shirt with my finger.

"I had no idea your . . . couch . . . was so comfortable."

Dean smirks. "Who am I to deny you a good night's sleep? It's yours whenever you need it."

Currents of electricity pulse through my veins. I want him to follow me. I want him to beg me to stay the night. It might make up for the fact that he ignored me all day.

Breaking away, I saunter through the swinging doors of the kitchen, my hips swaying of their own accord as I depart. I peer over my shoulder to watch him fall prey to my games. Once in the kitchen, I figure I might as well be productive. I bend over the sink, resting against the ledge as I absently wash the remaining dishes.

I hear the creak of the swinging doors and Dean's heavy footfalls approach me from behind. His hand traces the curve of my hip as I continue to rub a cloth around the half-dirty plates.

My eyes close on their own as he brushes my hair to the side, exposing my neck. I stretch back, bumping into his chest. I tilt my head to invite him to play.

His hands start on my hips but venture up, caressing my sides, brushing past my breasts. One hand wraps across my body and pulls me closer. I grin devilishly when I feel his excitement pressing on the small of my back.

The saloon doors swing open with a bang. Simon halts mid-step.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, kids. I . . . There's something I forgot to do, uh . . . somewhere. I'll leave you two for bit. I'm headed out and will definitely not be home. Nika, get the griddle for me, wouldya?" I hear the doors flap with Simon's quick escape.

"Maybe your cot is as comfotable as my couch. Maybe you haven't been sleeping in it the right way," he whispers in my ear with a gruff voice.

I toss the dishcloth down and beckon him to follow me home.

We take our time strolling back to my pod, our hands brushing slyly against each other's, little fires igniting between them as we move. I surprise him by pushing him into a darkened alcove where I pull him down to my lips. My nerves are in a frenzy. His hands rove over my clothes—clothes I'm desperate to be out of.

Dean breaks off, breathing hard. I watch the sparks kindle behind his devilish smirk. He pulls me out of the nook, and we take off running.

My neighbors lounge on the mismatched sofas with their limbs dangling over the edges of various cushions while watching the screen hanging drunkenly from the wall of the common room. The nightly news flashes blue lightning throughout the darkened space. Its glow highlights us as we pass.

Dean waits in the middle of the room as I shove the curtain closed and turn on him, prowling across the small space until I can leap into his arms.

He holds me up as we reconnect, his hands squeezing me through my pants.

I break away from our kiss, suddenly tense. My displaced nerves seek an exit strategy. "Hold on. There are people out there." I jerk my thumb at the thick canvas curtain separating our heated bodies from the public.

"Okay, fine. I'll stop." His hands disappear. I slide down his body and land on my feet. Bereft of his touch, I realize what I want.

I spin away from him and stand out of reach. When he attempts to get closer, I move away again. "We can't corrupt the impressionable citizens," I say with mock resolve. "Be good, Captain Freyer. We don't want to traumatize them."

He tries again. I wiggle free from his grasp.

Dean gives up and stands in the middle of the room, his empty hands dangling at his side, a playful smile gracing his lips.

I face the other direction and make a show of removing my shirt one button at a time. I sway my hips from side to side, a natural motion that comes from somewhere deep, primal, and predatory in me. I check over my shoulder at Dean who is in rapt attention.

I can't take it anymore. With the sides of my shirt dangling open, I attack him again, wrapping my arms around his neck.

His kiss deepens and we fall backwards onto the cot. Our hands rip at zippers and buttons below the waist, breaking barriers so we can come together again.

Our bodies are growing accustomed to each other.

I can feel it—my skin, my pores, my bones, my core—they crave Dean's calluses and prickly body hair.

I lust for him as plants thirst for the sun.

Our pants crumple to the floor. The TV emits noise in the near background.

Poorly muffled moans slip from us.

The TV crescendos, shouting its news reports in the background.

I clutch the slick cot.

I cling to his slippery back.

I grab at whatever I can before I'm sent skyrocketing out of the URE faster, harder, paced like meteors battering the earth.

Faster. Please.

A shrill vibration pulses through my hand pushed against the wall above my head, down my arm and through my bones. It vibrates and beeps erratically, startling us out of our mission.

My PAHLM alarm clamors for attention.

***WARNING WARNING WARNING***

FIRE ON LEVEL 6: THE KITCHEN SINK