Torture (Siren Book 2) Read Free Page B

connecting the rest of us I just can't see yet. And until I know the nature of those invisible ties, I can't trust his intentions.”
    I should react to that. After all, these people are my world , people I depend on to keep myself safe... hah . I accelerate my breathing, accepting the lightheadedness as a necessary consequence. Unless he picks the next minute to attack me, I'll have plenty of time to recover, if needed.
    “Easy, easy ,” he says, not for the first time, and it makes me wonder if he's spent more time handling horses than people.
    I shoot Allen a frightened look. He's now carefully not looking at us.
    “Milla, it's fine . I've got your back.” Calder smiles at me conspiratorially, but there's no way I can echo it.
    And it's funny... those connections he wants to see, and he's missing the obvious ones. They all are. I suppose survival takes precedence over solving mysteries, but it's still infuriating. Even knowing they view us as an invisible underclass hadn't prepared me to be faced with the proof of it.
    I'd rather be disposing of the burned husk, and building sandwiches for them like I was their mommy than be here, watching them blithely going on, again ignoring the obvious.
    No doubt intending to be comforting, he angles my chin upward until our lips are almost touching. “It's okay , Milla. Breathe with me. One... two... three...”
    I follow his directions, letting him take lead. My breathing evens out, our faces warmed with the heat in each other's breaths. The stubble shading his chin tickles me, a touch as soft as his own. His whispered counts peter off, and all that's left is his mouth against mine, small motions barely discernible. I shut my eyes, and maintain his rhythm, waiting for one of us to pull away.
    My blood roars through me, and the verdict's out on whether it's the fight part of fight-or-flight, or just a reaction to the physical contact. Somehow, because I let him touch me once, my body's decided that he's more than welcome to do it whenever the damn hell he wants. I haven't really been looking for romance, even romance of the fuck-buddy kind, in years , and apparently I've forgotten what physical intimacy actually feels like, void of dry negotiations about who likes what, and what's too personal to share. My instincts shouldn't be that easy for him to fool.
    He's the last person I want to share it with. Just the thought of him witnessing that kind of vulnerability... it turns the excitement to anger. I tense and pull back, my breaths coming faster again.
    “Milla?” The suddenness of my movements startles him out of his reverie, and his eyes snap to me. We hold each other's gaze, and I don't bother hiding any of my conflict. He takes in every bit of it, confusion turning to irritation before my eyes.
    Something gets lost in translation, though. He softens, squeezing my shaking hands in his strong ones, and tugs me right back. “It's okay, Mil—you don't have to feel guilty for being alive. There's nothing wrong with us being alive.”
    I can't tell which of us he's trying to convince.
    Then, he gives up trying to use words, and uses his mouth.
    Now this , I can handle a little more easily. It's still not productive, but at least I have more of a reason to disengage. If I can just make myself, if I can let go of his breath mingling with mine, and his tongue in my mouth. His sensuous assault distracts me with every point of contact: his body against mine, his soft lips, his smooth cheeks, his teasing tongue... The man does know how to kiss.
    I pry myself awau, and scoot a little further from him, to make my intent plain.
    “Sorry—I, I thought you wanted—”
    I stare away from him, keeping my face hidden, and shake my head, shortly.
    “Point taken, then,” he says, and sighs, heavily. “Is it—I should have asked. You have a family, outside here? I guess I just assumed—”
    “No.” Maybe he only asked whether someone took me away from a spouse, a partner, but my answer