Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(31)

She put one hand over his heart, the other over hers and closed her eyes. “I can’t hear it, but I feel it.”

Fuck. This woman was something special. Rather than the thought scaring the shit out of him, he recognized the deep possibilities between them. She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him and holding him like he mattered more to her than anything on the earth. He soaked up her affection, letting it fill in all the dry cracks in his soul. Her cool hands slipped underneath his shirt, touching the skin of his back, running up to his shoulders and down in long, slow agonizing strokes that had his dick wishing those hands were lower. A lot lower.

She lifted his shirt and pushed it higher and higher on his back until it bunched underneath his shoulders. He sat back on his knees, straddling her hips, and tore the material over his head.

What was he doing? He shouldn’t be doing this with her right now. Not after everything she’d been through. As if she sensed his hesitation, she sat up, never even glancing at his scars, and pressed her bare cheek over his heart, then kissed him there. His heart sucked against his rib cage, straining toward her touch.

“Baby, I want this.” He grabbed her hand and settled it over his crotch. His dick—already hard—went to steel. He sucked in a breath and willed himself to not move or he might go off, just from her hand. On the outside of his jeans. What was up with that?

She squeezed him, the pressure a painful pleasure. He fought to keep himself from coming in his tighty-whities. “Christ, woman. I can’t stand much more.” He closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists to keep from ripping her clothes off. “Tell me how far you want to take this. I want to make it right for you.”

As her hand moved away from him, regret flayed him open, and the loss nearly broke him. His closed eyes burned, and he almost wanted to cry like a goddamned baby. He wanted her that fucking bad. But he’d honor her wishes. He would.

“Xander, I want it all. I’ve wanted you for so long. Longer than you could possibly imagine.” Then he felt her hands on the button of his jeans, tugging and struggling. His eyes snapped open. She worked the button through the hole and wrangled with his zipper.

He stilled her movements, then waited until her gaze flicked up to him. “Promise me something.” There was only one thing he was afraid of when it came to Isleen and sex. Her past. She didn’t want to talk about it, and he wasn’t going to press her. He couldn’t handle it. Thinking that Queen might’ve hurt her—in that way—was enough to shoot his anger to the spontaneous combustion level.

“Anything.” The word came out breathy and full of yearning.

“If something doesn’t feel right to you, if you don’t like something, you tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He nipped the end of her nose, then got out of bed and began wrestling his jeans off.

“Can I see all your scars?” She spoke the words to his back.

He froze, pants halfway down his legs.

Right after the lightning strike, he’d been shocked by his own appearance. The thing that helped him most was hearing everyone’s thoughts about the scars. The things he conjured in his own mind were always worse than what people actually thought. With her, he didn’t have that advantage. He had no idea how repulsed she’d be when she saw the whole damned thing.

He heard her moving on the bed, shifting closer to him, then standing up behind him. Hell, he couldn’t see her, but he could feel her at his back. Her hands lightly touched his hips, and he jerked as if she’d slapped him.

“I told you before… Your scars are beautiful.” Her words were a cool caress across his spine.

She dipped her hands into his underwear, sliding them down until they met his pants and he lifted his feet out of them. It felt so weird—and oddly wonderful—to have her undress him.

He forced himself to face her. He stood bare-ass naked in front of her, his Mr. Happy waving at her. “Yeah, I know.” He heard the resignation in his voice. “It’s one big scar.” He expected her to be staring at the deformity marring half his body, but her gaze was locked on his dick. The little fucker liked her looking and somehow got even harder.

She lifted her eyes to him and then reached for his face. It was crazy, but he almost flinched away from her. She touched the tippy-top edge of deformed skin on his forehead. A punch of energy surged through the network of scars, both painful and pleasurable. Shivers rolled over his shoulders.

“Is it sensitive? Hurt when I touch it?” Her eyes met his.

“No. It feels…odd and good. Way good.”

“I’m glad. I’ve wanted to do this since the very first dream of you.” With the tip of her finger, she traced the irregular flesh down his face and neck.

At his chest, she replaced her finger with her mouth. Each collision of lips to flesh was a percussion of feeling reverberating through him. Her touch was heaven and hellfire. Cooling and burning. Agony and ecstasy. He’d never felt anything like it. He wanted to feel it forever. He shook, his entire body trembling. He was acting like a damned virgin at his first prom.

She followed the pattern of scarring down, oh sweet Jesus, down to his hip, to the tangled branch of puckered skin that disappeared only when it reached his dick. Her beautiful thick hair whispered over him, and it was too much. A bead of pre-come oozed out, sliding down his shaft, and Christ, even that was an exotic pleasure. A tortured groan slipped up from deep in his throat. Her gaze flicked up to him, and it was all he could do to not grab her head and shove his dick in her mouth. He wouldn’t do that to her. Not now. Not yet. Not until he knew that’s what she wanted.