Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(35)

Before I can stop myself, I reach out and run my fingers along several inches of puckered, silvery-white edges.

Farren spins around, and I pull my hand back swiftly. “I…I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He steps toward me, narrowing the space between us in seconds. He lifts my left hand and snakes it around his side. Placing my fingers right back on the scar, he says softly, “You never have to apologize for touching me, Essa.”

Once again, I trail my fingers along the puckered skin of the scar, whispering, “What happened?”

“Knife fight.”

“You lost?”

“If I’d lost, I would be dead.”

“Is the other guy…?”

“Dead?” Farren finishes my unfinished question. I nod, and he responds, “Yes, I killed him.”

When my hand falls away from his back and I fail to respond, he asks, “Does that bother you?”

I shake my head. “No.”

It’s the truth, it doesn’t bother me. Farren was obviously fighting for his life. And I’m glad he came out the winner. Again, though, I am reminded of how different our lives are. Farren is a warrior. He’s seen and done things I can’t even begin to fathom. But I like his worldliness. Just like I know he likes my innocence. We balance each other in that way, like two sides to a coin.

When I glance up at him, Farren is watching me. “What are you thinking?” he asks.

“Nothing, really.”

His arms slide around me, while my own hands find purchase on his bare shoulders.

“Nothing, really, huh?” he says, smiling a small smile. He lowers his lips to mine and says, “Why do I not believe you?”

I want to tell him what I’m thinking—like how much I’m starting to like him, really like him. I want to tell him that I believe we could be right for one another and how we should give this thing a chance. But how do I say these things? What if it’s too much?

I don’t say a word regarding my thoughts. Instead, I press my lips to his, and murmur against his mouth, “Should I go back to my room?”

His lips move with mine. He kisses me softly, tenderly.

“Do you want to go back?” he questions when he breaks our kiss.

I shake my head as he walks me backward to the bed. “Okay, then,” he remarks, smirking. “Glad that’s settled.”

“Are we going to do more than kiss?” I bravely inquire.

He raises an eyebrow and stops just when the edge of the bed is pressing against the back of my knees. “Do you want to do more than kiss?’

“Yes,” I reply.

And that’s the point where I watch him give in. I’m done fighting this, his expression says. Farren is then all over me…hands, lips…caressing, kissing. Lowering me gently to the bed, he covers me with his hard body.

I squirm beneath him, purposely creating friction between his bare chest and my almost-bared breasts. “More, more, more,” I chant between kisses.

But I don’t get more yet. He stops, flattening his palms on the bed so he can prop himself up over me. With his arms caged around me, his emerald eyes find me. His intensity demands I don’t dare stray from his gaze.

“I plan to take things slowly with you,” he says quietly as he lifts the hem of my T-shirt just an inch.

“Okay.” I nod.

Studying me, his knuckles graze my abdomen, and he asks, “Has anyone ever given you an orgasm, Essa?”

“Um…”

Flattening his warm palm on my skin, he says seductively, “Besides you giving one to yourself, of course.”

I breathe out a raspy, “Besides myself, no.”

His fingers—so gentle, yet so firm—trail up under my tee. When he reaches my breasts, he circles my nipples lightly. Slowly, he cups the weight of one breast, then the other. “Would you like someone to give you one?” he inquires. His breathing quickens along with mine. “Do you want me to make you come, Essa?”

“God, yes,” I whisper.

My heart pounds with anticipation, and my body quivers with lust. Farren lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me again, sweetly and gently. “Relax,” he whispers.

He plies at my nipples, making them erect and ultrasensitive to his touch. “Don’t stop,” I breathe out.

“I don’t plan to,” he assures me.

And upon hearing that, I am grasping at the hem of my tee, lifting and maneuvering to slip out of the lime-green cotton. The only thing on my mind is getting my clothes off as quickly as possible.





Haste, though, is not what Farren has in mind. He stills my hands with my shirt halfway off. I whimper in protest, and he covers my body with his.

Softly, against my lips, he says, “Slow down a little, Essa. There’s no rush. I want you to enjoy everything I’m going to do to you tonight.”

His mouth is so warm on mine—so good—and I want to know what’s coming. “And just what are you planning to do to me?” I ask.

He pulls back so he can look down at me. His emerald eyes sear my already-scorched soul. Doesn’t he know I am putty in his hands? I suppose he does and that’s why he’s keeping things under control.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he tells me with a smug grin.