Chapter 46: So hot

She pouted in mock grievance and drew a slow circle on the hard combat uniform over his chest with one finger. "Mitch yelled at me, Theo scared me, and little Alex even pretended to be wronged."

Ray stared at the face only centimeters away. Their noses were almost touching. The fire in his eyes burned hotter; the last thread of reason stretched to breaking.

"You are the best."

May blinked, then suddenly buried her face in the crook of his neck and drew in a deep breath. "Boss smells the best. Not like them—either pure man-scent or medicine."

His Adam’s apple rolled hard.

Voice sandpaper-rough. "Stop playing around. You’re really drunk."

"I’m not!"

She jerked her head up and seized his wrist. "Boss, I already touched what’s-his-name—Mitch’s head, Theo’s stomach. Let me feel yours too. Who’s bigger?"

Ray’s mind detonated with a single loud boom.

This girl had just ruffled Mitch’s short hair, pinched Theo’s abs, and now wanted to compare sizes with him?

Was this something a normal woman would say out loud?

"Be serious for once!"

He gripped her chin hard, forcing her to meet his eyes. "May, do you even know what you’re saying?"

Her cheeks squished under his fingers. Instead of being afraid, she only giggled. The free hand shot out and locked precisely onto the tactical belt at his waist.

"Boss, just let me touch once."

She dragged the words out, voice full of hooks. "I just want to see if you’re also hard as a rock like them."

Blood roared straight to the crown of his head. He grabbed for her hand. "You’re drunk! Stop talking nonsense!"

But the alcohol had given her surprising strength. She clung to the belt like a stubborn mule and refused to let go.

Riding the wine, she pushed even closer without a single care.

"Boss, don’t be so stingy."

Those watery eyes sparkled with pure mischief. "When I touched Mitch earlier, his face went green. If I touch yours, you’ll definitely be better than him."

The vein at Ray’s temple pulsed hard enough to hurt. A sharp ache stabbed behind his eyes.

Outside, the loud bragging had dropped into low mutters. Someone was clearly pressed against the door listening.

"Let go."

He dropped his voice, the tone turning sharp. "If you don’t let go right now, I’ll throw you outside for the zombies."

"You wouldn’t." May grinned against his ear. "Ray is the most protective. You could never throw me away."

The moment the words left her mouth, her small hand slipped—and slid straight under the combat uniform.

The instant her fingertips touched hot skin, Ray’s entire body jerked violently. Under the rough fabric, the tightly wound muscle felt as hard as an iron plate.

May’s fingers were cool, carrying a faint sheen of sweat, and they wandered without any technique along the side of his waist.

"You’re... so hot."

She mumbled, fingers drifting lower without restraint. "Why is it this hard? Not like Theo’s ’stomach’ at all. His is flat. Yours is..."

The last thread of Ray’s reason snapped clean.

He clamped down on the troublemaking wrist with crushing force, hard enough that it felt like he might break the bone. Yet no matter how tightly he gripped, May refused to let go of that small patch of skin and muscle.

She lifted her head, unfocused eyes staring at his flushed face, and asked with complete seriousness:

"Boss, why is it still...?"

Ray closed his eyes and dragged in a long, heavy breath. He was annoyed, but he also did not mind it.

A soft cough sounded outside the door, followed immediately by Mitch’s muffled curse: "What are you listening for? Get lost!"

"You’re the one who should get lost! You’re the one blocking the crack and not letting me look!"

Alex’s voice came right after.

Several large men started shoving one another right outside the door. The panel rattled under the impacts.

Ray’s eyes snapped open. Blood-red filled their depths.

He looked down at the completely carefree woman still trying to explore lower, and a nameless fire mixed with helpless despair rose in his chest.

He pulled her hard against him. One thick arm locked around her waist like an iron clamp, sealing her entire body flush against his chest.

"Don’t move."

The words vibrated out of his ribcage, forced through clenched teeth in pure compromise. "Move one more time and I’ll really take you."

(The kind of "take" that meant exactly what it sounded like.)

May was held so tightly she could barely breathe, but at least her hands finally stopped wandering.

She pressed her face to the frantic heartbeat under his combat uniform and rubbed against it in satisfaction.

"Boss is so warm."

She murmured the soft complaint, then slipped into unconsciousness without another sound.

Ray stayed rigid in that exact position, not daring to shift a single muscle.

The shoving outside stopped.

"Boss, it’s quiet in there. Did she fall asleep?"

Mitch’s voice drifted through the door panel, laced with sour, probing curiosity.

Ray gave a cold snort and looked down at the woman in his arms.

Outside, most of the noise had faded. The grown men had drunk, yet their mouths never stopped. Curses and boasts leaked through the cracks—Mitch bragging about past zombie-killing feats, Alex tearing him down with pure sarcasm.

Ray leaned against the concrete wall, eyes closed.

He wasn’t sleeping.

He couldn’t.

May was drunk to the point of becoming a limp puddle of mud. After he had pulled her into his arms, she had finally settled. Her breathing was long and even; her small face stayed pressed against the combat uniform, occasional unintelligible dream-mumbles escaping her lips.

His arm stayed locked in place—neither too tight (afraid of hurting her) nor too loose (afraid she would roll off the mat). For twenty full minutes he half-held, half-supported her while his back pressed against the freezing concrete.

He was just about to shift her away; his arm had already started to lift.