Black Thorns (Thorns Duet #2) by Rina Kent

Naomi mumbles something in her sleep before her eyes flutter open. They’re unfocused at first, dark with confusion. She blinks twice and her lips part.

Probably lost for words again.

We remain like that for a moment, with my hand in her hair and her eyes locked on mine.

It feels intimate in a fucking normal kind of way.

Like we’ve been waking up to each other’s faces for the past seven years.

“You didn’t leave,” I say slowly, carefully.

“You’re sick.” She reaches a hand out, then pauses. “I’m just going to check your temperature.”

She puts her palm against my forehead and my breathing deepens at the contact. She quickly retrieves it. “I think your fever’s gone.”

Her voice is light—joyous, even. And I don’t know why I want to catch it and trap it somewhere.

Naomi slowly sits up on her haunches by my side, making me release her. “You need to eat something and take another dose of your medicine.” She grabs a container of food off the nightstand. “The oatmeal I made earlier is still warm.”

After opening the container, she picks up a spoon and a bottle of pills. “Here.”

I don’t take them but sit up against the headboard, watching her swift, precise movements. She’s one of those people who does everything fast, as if she’s in a race against time. I haven’t noticed that about her before.

“You said a second dose. I don’t remember taking the first one.”

Her ears heat. “I helped you.”

“Helped me how?”

“I poured the contents of the capsule on a spoon of oatmeal and…”

“And what?”

“And just helped you swallow it.”

“By sticking your tongue at the back of my throat?”

“I didn’t need to go that far…and I wasn’t trying to kiss you. I just had to make you eat and swallow your medicine.”

“I don’t believe you.” I’m taunting her, but I can’t help it. She’s flustered, her unsteady fingers opening and closing the container over and over. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it.

“I don’t know how to make you believe it.”

“Do it again.”

Her wide eyes meet mine. “W-what?”

“Repeat what you did and I’ll be the judge.”

“That’s just ridiculous.”

“We won’t know unless you go with it.”

She remains still for a long moment, then releases a defeated sigh. Naomi opens the capsule into the container, mixes the medicine with the food, then takes a spoonful.

Her eyes meet mine as she places the oatmeal on her tongue, slightly sticking it out, then leans in and grabs my chin with her thumb and forefinger.

My lips part as my dick jumps to life.

She slowly thrusts her tongue inside my mouth, surprisingly not spilling much of the oatmeal, and carefully rubs it against my tongue.

In the midst of food, I taste her and her tentative strokes. She sweeps it to the back of my tongue and her lips brush against mine. I swallow the oatmeal and she stills before she attempts to pull back.

I grab her by the back of her neck and feast on her tongue, sucking on it open-mouthed before I lick her lips and hit the roof of her mouth. I kiss her savagely and out of control so that the only sounds she releases are strangled, surprised moans.

I kiss her like I’ve never kissed before. Like this kiss will be the last I have. My nails sink into the back of her neck and I slam the front of her body against mine.

Naomi squeals, her hand gripping my bicep for balance, but she opens up to me. Her tongue meets mine stroke for each damn stroke as we both tumble into madness.

I pull back, reluctantly releasing her.

Naomi’s panting harshly, her cheeks painted red. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Kiss me.”

“I was only getting the oatmeal.” I lick my lips and her eyes follow the movement before she shakes her head and shoves the container in my lap and the spoon in my fingers.

“You can do the rest yourself.” She stands and her dress rides up her pale thighs.

I tighten my hold on the container to keep from grabbing her and repeating what we just did.

Or maybe taking it a step further.

“Leaving?” I sound unaffected when I’m barely holding on to my calm.

She grabs the duvet and covers my legs with it. “Stop kicking me out. I’ll leave in the morning.”

“Won’t your husband ask about you?”

“I already called him.”

“What’s your excuse this time? All-nighter at the office again?”

She lifts her chin. “I’m staying with a friend.”

“We’re friends now?”

“We…were.”

“Really?”

“We used to tell each other things we didn’t tell the rest of the world. That’s what friends do.”

“Then why don’t you tell me things now?”

I expect her to brush me off, but she sits on the bed, on the far edge so she’s out of my reach. “What do you want to know? Aside from everything that happened seven years ago, because I won’t talk about that.”

“So I’m free to ask anything aside from what I want to know the most? When did you become so cruel?”