Read Online Restrain (Siren Book 3) by Katie de Long - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katie de Long
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away from him and down it, coughing at the liquor's bitter taste. He laughs, and pats my rump when I get another shot, fully prepared to repeat the taunt if he oversteps again. “You gonna play nice this time?”
He smiles at me, a charming, lopsided thing that would make my panties melt if I still had them on. “Pretty please , Mil?”
I hold the little bottle to his lips and tip it down his throat. “Since you asked so nicely.”
He reaches out to me, tracing the back of his fingers down my side softly, since his palms have a few stitches of their own. “I guess I'll have to think of something else for my freedom celebration, then?”
I shrug. “Wasn't there dancing in your original wish?”
His chuckle echoes in the pipe around us. “I guess. I'd suggest knocking that out now, too, but I don't think my feet are up for it.” He heaves a deep sigh; no doubt the liquor's kicking in faster, on his empty stomach.
“Yeah,” I say as gently as I can, and pat his knee. “You're gonna need to be off your feet for a while. Call me the Babysitter.”
“Well, if that's what you're into ...”
My smile fades as his eyes take in every nude curve. His cock's hardening. At least the blood's still in his body, even if it doesn't belong there . “Don't even think about that , idiot. There's no way in hell you're—”
He laughs. “But you could do all the work! You do everything, right?”
I elbow him, and hold up another pair of bottles. “No way in hell .”
“Awwww.”
* * *
Three shots in, each, I dig out the remains of the sandwiches from a few days ago, and make him finish his. It looks like I'm stuck playing nursemaid for a bit, and there's no way in hell I want to clean up his vomit. But our brutal day seems to have wiped away whatever was bothering him. He's back to being difficult and flirtatious.
The more drunk he gets, the more times he makes bad Adam and Eve jokes, until I threaten to go see if our fig leaves are clean yet— screw dry. He can catch a cold for all I care. Only then does he stop, leaning back and laughing at his own jokes. When he realizes I'm not laughing with him, he raises an arm and pats his shoulder, a clear invitation for me to lay down with him.
I obey, though I'm careful not to nudge the stitches in his legs. If nothing else, I don't want to have to redo that part if he tears them out. Sewing someone up is mildly nauseating work.
“You're really quiet, Mil.”
“Aren't I always?”
“Not like this.” He squeezes my shoulders, and kisses my forehead tenderly.
“It's—it's been that kind of day.” I take a chance on ensuring it's a long time before he gets at all suspicious. “For a few minutes there, it didn't seem like you were gonna come back.”
“For a few minutes there, I thought I wasn't gonna be able to, either.”
To make my sniffles genuine, I mentally relive every funeral I've been to. Mara's, my dad's, Harry's, Robin's, all one after another in an endless slideshow of misery and loss. “It's not just that—I thought, maybe you had gotten out, and were pushing ahead. I thought maybe you weren't gonna come back for us.”
“Shh, Mil. Don't think about that.” He rolls toward me, wincing as one of his stitched cuts brushes the bottom of the pipe. Some of this alcohol really should have gone toward wiping this area off for while his wounds are the most open.
I start to roll onto my back, and away, so I don't have to keep eye contact with him. Even recognizing the intimacy as part of a gambit, it's still hard to accept him seeing me cry. It hasn't gotten easier after all this time.
His arm flattens across me, preventing me from turning away further, and the back of his fingers guide my face back toward him. He gingerly wipes a tear away. “So long as my heart's beating, I'm gonna come back for you. Don't ever question that.”
If only he knew who I really am. Which promise would he keep?
He smiles at me, a charming, lopsided thing that would make my panties melt if I still had them on. “Pretty please , Mil?”
I hold the little bottle to his lips and tip it down his throat. “Since you asked so nicely.”
He reaches out to me, tracing the back of his fingers down my side softly, since his palms have a few stitches of their own. “I guess I'll have to think of something else for my freedom celebration, then?”
I shrug. “Wasn't there dancing in your original wish?”
His chuckle echoes in the pipe around us. “I guess. I'd suggest knocking that out now, too, but I don't think my feet are up for it.” He heaves a deep sigh; no doubt the liquor's kicking in faster, on his empty stomach.
“Yeah,” I say as gently as I can, and pat his knee. “You're gonna need to be off your feet for a while. Call me the Babysitter.”
“Well, if that's what you're into ...”
My smile fades as his eyes take in every nude curve. His cock's hardening. At least the blood's still in his body, even if it doesn't belong there . “Don't even think about that , idiot. There's no way in hell you're—”
He laughs. “But you could do all the work! You do everything, right?”
I elbow him, and hold up another pair of bottles. “No way in hell .”
“Awwww.”
* * *
Three shots in, each, I dig out the remains of the sandwiches from a few days ago, and make him finish his. It looks like I'm stuck playing nursemaid for a bit, and there's no way in hell I want to clean up his vomit. But our brutal day seems to have wiped away whatever was bothering him. He's back to being difficult and flirtatious.
The more drunk he gets, the more times he makes bad Adam and Eve jokes, until I threaten to go see if our fig leaves are clean yet— screw dry. He can catch a cold for all I care. Only then does he stop, leaning back and laughing at his own jokes. When he realizes I'm not laughing with him, he raises an arm and pats his shoulder, a clear invitation for me to lay down with him.
I obey, though I'm careful not to nudge the stitches in his legs. If nothing else, I don't want to have to redo that part if he tears them out. Sewing someone up is mildly nauseating work.
“You're really quiet, Mil.”
“Aren't I always?”
“Not like this.” He squeezes my shoulders, and kisses my forehead tenderly.
“It's—it's been that kind of day.” I take a chance on ensuring it's a long time before he gets at all suspicious. “For a few minutes there, it didn't seem like you were gonna come back.”
“For a few minutes there, I thought I wasn't gonna be able to, either.”
To make my sniffles genuine, I mentally relive every funeral I've been to. Mara's, my dad's, Harry's, Robin's, all one after another in an endless slideshow of misery and loss. “It's not just that—I thought, maybe you had gotten out, and were pushing ahead. I thought maybe you weren't gonna come back for us.”
“Shh, Mil. Don't think about that.” He rolls toward me, wincing as one of his stitched cuts brushes the bottom of the pipe. Some of this alcohol really should have gone toward wiping this area off for while his wounds are the most open.
I start to roll onto my back, and away, so I don't have to keep eye contact with him. Even recognizing the intimacy as part of a gambit, it's still hard to accept him seeing me cry. It hasn't gotten easier after all this time.
His arm flattens across me, preventing me from turning away further, and the back of his fingers guide my face back toward him. He gingerly wipes a tear away. “So long as my heart's beating, I'm gonna come back for you. Don't ever question that.”
If only he knew who I really am. Which promise would he keep?
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