Prompted by: Ember-Raine Winters
The crazy author confesses: I went back and deleted the last line from last week so this week would make more sense but anyhoo…
“There’s something you need to know.”
“Your name?” I tease.
“No,” his lips graze my neck, “something else.”
I tremble against the feathery kiss and whisper, “Shoot.”
“I’m not a good guy.”
“That’s a terrible pickup line,” I giggle.
He isn’t amused in the least. “I’m really not a good guy.”
“Okay.” What else am I supposed to say?
Exhaling a slow breath that scorches my skin, he murmurs, “I took a man’s life.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and low and dangerously sexy.
And every fuse in my brain short circuits at once. I don’t know what to think. I mean, how the hell is that funny? Unless he’s kidding?
“The asshole shot me first though.”
“But I deserved it.”
“Oh,” is the only sound I can make, which is actually damn-near miraculous considering I’m in the arms of a killer.
His mouth travels northbound to my ear. “You want out yet?”
I swallow hard and shake my head. No, I don’t want out yet. Because I’m clinically insane, remember? I’m also curious, the burning sort of curious, “What did you do?”
“Stabbed him twice,” he touches my sternum, “right here,” and shifts to my breast, directly over my heart, “and here.”
I’m breathless, “What did he do?”
Taking my hand, he presses it to his chest. Then drags it lower, down the entire length of his abs, which are ridiculously chiseled until…
They’re suddenly not.
He guides me an inch to the left, where a rough, circular crater greets my fingertips, and asks, “Feel this?”
“Is that how…”
“Yeah, it is,” he interjects, releasing his hold.
I caress the scar on my own, tracing the shape over and over and over. Committing it to memory before moving onto my next question, “Why?”
There’s an awkward stretch of silence. I think he’s confused. “Why what?”
“Why did you deserve it?”
He shrugs. “I stole some money.”
“Must’ve been more than some.”
Another shrug. “Some millions.”
Holy fucking shit. “Seriously?”
Shrug number three. “Casino heist.”
Wow. “Like Ocean’s Eleven?”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “Something like that.”
“So you’re a thief.”
“What do you do now?”
Reaching up to cup my cheek, he goes silent again.
I can’t help but nuzzle into the comfort of his palm. “Tech…”
“Now I walk the line.”
What’s the prompt for next week, guys?
Make suggestions below. 7 words or less.