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“You, um, you didn’t answer me,” I say, watching as he moves with frenetic efficiency, bouncing from one task to another and then back again to finish the first. He is chaos in motion. “Do you… Would it be better to finish one thing at a time?”
He changes tasks again, shaking his head. “My brain doesn’t work that way. I spent a lot of my life fighting it, trying to stay focused and do things the conventional way, but that just isn’t me. It doesn’t work for me.”
Still, he hasn’t answered my question. But I stay silent and watch as he sets up a phone, new from the box, installing a SIM card, and downloading apps and emails and inputting phone numbers and I don’t know what else.
His stance is relaxed but alert, his thumbs move at a wild pace, switching between the device he’s setting up and the one he tagged from the bedside table. His brows are lowered, tight with concentration.
I wait patiently, happiness surging through me each time he takes a second to glance up at me. And when he sets both phones down on the counter behind me and smiles at me, my worries practically melt away.
Well, mostly.
Because even though that smile is captivating and draws me in, Teague’s hands are in constant motion. Moving the syringe, sliding the packets around, arranging them and rearranging them again, and before I know what’s happening, I feel the cold swipe of an alcohol swab against the top of my ass.
“Wait, you didn—”
My protest is cut off when his mouth crushes mine, his tongue licking inside with a toe-curling kiss that steals my breath and scrambles my brain. He grabs my hips and tugs me toward him, and I almost miss the pinch of the needle sliding into my flesh.
My gasp turns into a moan as his teeth sink into my lower lip, that bite of pain enough to distract me from chip being imbedded beneath my skin.
“You’re so brave. You did it. So fucking proud of you, hummingbird. And now it’s your turn.” His words at uttered against my lips, his mouth still right there.
Distracting.
Deliberate.
Precise.
He continues to explore my mouth, kiss a path across my jaw and along my neck, only pulling away when he places a fresh syringe in my hand.
Teague straightens to his full height and turns where he’s bracketed between my legs. He makes quick work of his belt and unbuttons his trousers, pushing them low on his left hip. The defined ridge of muscle that wraps around his side, bulges and flexes with the movement and the top curve of his ass is exposed.
He cleans the skin and guides my hand and the syringe into place.
“Ready?”
Wide-eyed, I nod though just barely.
Together, we push on the needle, piercing his skin. “Press on the plunger, Truie. Mark me as yours. Make it so we’ll never lose one another again.”
I lock eyes with him.
“You can do it.” A muscle tics at the sharp corner of his jaw as I do what he’s asking.
When it’s done, he presses his lips to mine and kisses me softly, gently. Almost reverently, as if the act of inserting micro-chips in each other’s backsides is a covenant.
And again, while he distracts me with his talented mouth, he taps his phone to my tracker and the other phone against his. Each elicits a quick beep, one vibrating against my skin.
That done, Teague pulls back, searching my face for, I don’t know, signs of distress maybe? But there are none.
No distress.
No fear.
No panic.
“There. We’re linked. Do you want me to show you how the app works now, or…?”
I don’t know what it is about being tied to Teague in such a creepy, stalker-ish way, but I push the phones from his hands and pull him in tight. Desire flares low in my belly as I breathe him in. His auburn waves are too long, curling by his ears and at the nape of his neck.
