What The Cat Dragged In Ch. 03

"What the fuck would make you ask something like that?" If he didn't know better, he would swear she could smell it on him.

She looked down at her blanket covered toes and shrugged. "Since you got back from town, every time you look at me you look...." she paused, searching for the right word. "Upset, or worried, or trying to figure something out."

He grunted. "And you assume it's about you?"

"I didn't at first, but every time you look at me it's....different." She took a deep breath. "Besides, it's been two weeks at least since Stan heard from Dawes."

He was just too fucking curious about the whole thing. He muted the TV. "What'd you do to Stan exactly?"

She looked up at him, for the first time in hours. "I have no idea really. Whatever it was has been wonderfully effective in driving him to distraction though." He saw the corners of her lips twitch, and mischief sparkle in her sea-glass eyes.

He chuckled. "Maybe it was that sharp tongue of yours, frail."

He turned a little to face him, and adjusted the blanket so it was over her shoulders as well as her legs. "Maybe." He noticed she was sitting closer than usual, the little smile was still on her lips. "That's been getting me in trouble since I learned to talk though. I think I've always been too much my father's daughter."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

She looked away again, a different kind of smile played at her lips. "Family legend says he was some kind of mercenary before I was born. I don't know if I believe that, but he did have a way of seeing through what people say and do to what they are. My mother used to say I got that from him. Stan hates it because no matter what he did, I wouldn't treat him with the reverence he thought he deserved. Though he is tenacious."

Creed knew where that was going, and he wasn't going to listen to that shit. "You ain't going anyplace."

"He's not going to give up-"

"And I don't give up what's mine until I'm damn good and ready."

She let go of her knees and sat up a little straighter, her eyes wide. "Yours?"

"Mine." He said firmly. He smelled her fear first, then arousal and confusion.

He could see her searching for something, anything to say. She got up and wrapped the blanket around herself. "I need some water, I'm sorry." Her face was hidden in her hair.

He followed, turning her to face him and trapping her in the corner between the sink and the cabinet. He could feel the anger building. If she fucking rejected him he'd-

"What do you mean, 'yours'?" She was looking up at him, trembling. He hadn't been expecting a question.

"What the fuck d'you think it means?" Wilson would have known what to say to her. Some flowery shit about love or whatever it was frails wanted to hear. What could he tell her? That he liked the fact that she went through hell and came out the other side stronger? That he liked her sharp tongue or the fact that she understood his sarcasm? That there were times when she smiled at him that he actually felt fucking human for a minute? 'Mine' should have been enough.

She was holding the blanket around herself as if it were a shield. "I don't know how to be....be anybody's." She turned her head away, hiding her face again. "I'd disappoint you-"

She bit down on her lower lip when he twisted his hand in her hair, forcing her to look up at him. "You think I'm gonna let you disappoint me?" He could hear the little whimpers die at the back of her throat, and he eased the pressure on her hair just little.

She looked like she might be about to say something, but he decided he didn't want to hear it. He growled and caught her lower lip in his teeth, grazing the sensitive flesh with one fang, just hard enough to draw blood. He expected her to fight, but the hesitant hand on his shoulder held him closer. Her arousal spiked, so did her fear, and between all that and the flavor of her blood it was all he could do not to fuck her right there. He sucked on her lip and teased the inside of her mouth with his tongue. "Mine."