Hunter's Alpha (gxg) ✓

42. My Name

"That's impossible," Jude says, once we are back at my apartment.

My fingers tighten on silk. Miraculously, the shopping bag filled with lingerie managed to stay secured around my wrist throughout the entire time.

I don't know if she's ready to talk about this.

I don't know if I'm ready to talk about this.

"How do you know how to do this, by the way?" I ask. Changing the subject.

Temporary—this solution is only temporary.

My shirt is undone, my ribs exposed, and Jude sews the wound with calm, still hands. I know her major has nothing to do with science—creative writing generally doesn't—so curiosity tugs at me.

"Oh," Jude says, and she laughs. "You mean, caring for a gunshot wound?"

"Yes, caring for a gunshot wound."

"Well, as a writer, I've had to look up certain . . . unmentionables. My characters always seem to be getting themselves into little situations, so sewing gunshot wounds kind of comes with the territory."

I bark out a laugh. "Are you telling me you know how to care for a bullet wound because you read about it?"

"Well, I'm doing a good job of it, aren't I?"

I bite my tongue. I'd probably have bled out by now if she wasn't here.

But knowledge of her writing makes me think of things I shouldn't.

I lean in closer to her, propping my arm up on the counter. Is Pierce wondering why Jude isn't at home? I don't care.

"So tell me, Jude," I say, winking. "What do your characters do?"

"What do they do?" she says, flustered. "They live."

"Have you ever written . . . a sexy scene?"

Her face turns red. Jude blushes more often than she would like to admit.

"It's none of your business," she retorts.

"Oh? It's none of my business? Even after everything we've done?" For emphasis, I drag a single fingertip down the length of her thigh. At my touch, she stiffens.

"Fine," she admits. "My characters have had a sexy scene or two."

"So you write about the dirty things we do together?" My finger circles the inside of her thigh.

A shiver runs through her. "Contrary to what your ego thinks, my characters are fictional."

"But fiction has a little bit of reality, doesn't it? Tell me, Jude. Do I inspire you?"

This time, doesn't protest as my finger finds the heat buried between her legs. I let out a rough laugh. "You're always so wet for me," I whisper.

"Let me finish sewing your wound!" she snaps finally.

"I'd be glad to," I breathe, dark and silky.

"How did you make that sound so dirty?"

With a breathy edge to my words, I whisper, "Like this."