“Crash, you have to eat something.” Casey lifted the plastic spoon, trying to make the applesauce more appealing by taking a bite of it herself. It made her stomach rumble and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had something to eat. “Mmm! See? It’s yummy! Here… come on… please?”
She refilled the spoon, approaching his mouth with it, and he glared at her, pressing his lips together and turning his head away like a toddler. Casey rolled her eyes, tossing the cup of applesauce on the table beside the bed, glaring back at him.
“Do you want a tube down your throat? They’ll do it. You can’t starve yourself to death. You can’t wish it away. You can’t go back to sleep.”
He growled, a low, animal-like sound. His voice hadn’t returned yet, his words coming in short, guttural sounds, like someone who had always been deaf but had learned to speak. Crash turned his body away from her, showing her his shoulder and the smooth, muscled expanse of his tanned back. It wasn’t such a bad sight, but she got the message.
“Crash, listen to me.” She touched his shoulder but he jerked it away. God, the man was so damned stubborn! He’d been far easier to handle when he was comatose. She’d tried pleading, cajoling, threatening. She’d tried logic and reason. She’d tried coaxing and babying him. Nothing worked. Nothing. He’d come back to the land of the living, but it had been such a brief, momentary thing. Now he was down some deep, black hole she couldn’t even fathom.
“Chris.” She used his name, his given name, and saw him respond, just a slight movement of his head in her direction. That made her smile and she leaned in closer, her breasts against his back, letting him feel the warm press of them, her mouth touching his ear. “If they put a tube down your throat, how are you going to kiss me?”
He stiffened and she heard his breath catch. She ran a hand through his dark hair, cupping his chin, still turned away from her. He didn’t jerk away. He was listening.
“How are you going to…” She rubbed a finger over his lips, feeling her knees weakening at the thought. “Lick my little pussy until I come all over your face?”
He growled again, that low, guttural sound she felt more than heard, deep in her pelvis, reaching around and grabbing her by the back of the head, yanking her across him and kissing her so savagely she cried out in pain and tasted blood—his, from his split lip—but she didn’t care. She had called down into that dark well and found him, more than just an echo this time.
He needed to find a reason to be here in the world, and if she had to offer herself up as that incentive, she was more than happy to oblige.