Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(32)

“Gotta stop right there.” He spoke through clenched teeth and forced himself to take a step back from her. At this rate, he wasn’t going to make it to the finale. He sucked in a breath, trying to calm his body.

“I want to be naked too.”

All he could do was watch and make sure his tongue wasn’t hanging out the side of his mouth. Her shorts and panties came off as one. There was no hesitation or shyness to her movements when she pulled the braless tank top over her head. She stretched her arms up, arching her spine and thrusting out her small, but perfect breasts. Her nipples were the exact shade of pink as the blush of her cheeks. Maybe it made him a pussy, but pink was his new favorite color.

Over the past few days, not only had her hair grown at an exceedingly fast rate, but her body had filled out. She was still too thin, but she no longer looked skeletal. Scars marred her skin, some pale with age, some red and fresh. God. After everything she’d been through, for her to be standing here in front of him wearing only a smile, was a miracle. She was a miracle.

“You have so many scars.” Okay, not the most romantic words. He settled his hand over the healed wound on her side, the one that had oozed blood when he’d found her. Now only days later, it was completely healed. Somewhere deep inside, in a place of intuition and instinct, he knew he’d played a part in her recovery.

She smiled, but the smile was a sad one, the kind you expected to see on someone who’d suffered a great loss and was trying to hide it. Her shoulders slumped and her arms moved a bit in front of her body as if she were trying to hide her nakedness from him. Leave it to him to say the asshole thing, even when he wasn’t trying to be an ass.

“Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me. You have scars. So do I. Do you think mine are hideous and deforming?”

Her head snapped up. “No, not at all. They’re beautiful. So beautiful.”

“All those scars on your skin are beautiful to me too. You know why?”

She shook her head, her gaze locked with his like what he was about to say meant more to her than anything in the entire world. Without even trying, she made him feel so damned… Fuck, he didn’t even have a word for it. The best he could come up with was some hybrid of special and important and adored.

“Because they’re evidence of your strength, of your ability to survive. They are badges of courage. And you know—” He placed her hand on his shoulder where the lightning had entered him and the damage was the deepest. Again he felt that rush of electricity through the network of his scars. “—we match. Life has marked us both.”

She rose on her tiptoes and kissed the spot on his shoulder before she hugged him. He didn’t need to hear her thoughts to know he’d said exactly what she’d needed to hear. Instead of hugging her, he swept her up in his arms and laid her on the bed.

He scooted in next to her and leaned down, keeping eye contact as he neared her breast for a taste. No fear in her eyes, only wanting, and then her hand on the back of his head encouraging him. She tasted sweet and warm and of something that had no name but was purely her.

She moaned and arched up, and he caressed her other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. She started moving, gyrating her hips, pumping and thrusting—her actions showing him what she really wanted. Which was exactly what he really needed. He slid his hand down the jut of each rib, then lower, feeling the springy softness of her hair.

Her movements became frantic.

He smiled around her nipple. “Easy, I’ll take care of you.” His hand traveled lower and lower until he found the heat of her. “Open your legs for me.”

No hesitation, she did as he asked. He slipped a finger inside. She was wet and slick and so fucking tight. He knew his dick didn’t have a brain, but he swore the thing was imagining what it would feel like when it pushed into her—or maybe that was just him doing the daydreaming. She grabbed on to his hair and yanked him to her mouth.

He swallowed her moaning, taking her voice into him, letting the sound meld into his bones. Their tongues thrust in a cadence that matched the movements of his finger.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He slid his finger from her. He shifted over her, bracing his forearms on either side of her face, needing to see for himself that she wanted this, wanted him. What he saw was himself reflected in her eyes. Saw how she trusted him, respected him, and felt complete with him.

He was there—right there—poised at her entrance. Ready. He tangled the tips of his fingers in her hair. Her hands were on his sides, sliding around to his back, her touch light, almost ticklish.

“Please.” She arched under him, pushing up closer. That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, he pushed into her. Jesusfuckingchrist. Every nerve ending went on the alert, then exploded with sensations. He was lost in a wild combination of tranquility, euphoria, and awakening. He felt invincible, like nothing could ever hurt him, and he’d never let anything hurt her.

He felt her stiffen, heard the hitch in her breathing and how her heart’s rhythm shifted—not in a good way.

He stilled.

“Xander?” Her voice was small, and fuck if he didn’t hear a bit of fear in there.

Underneath him, her face scrunched up with no resemblance to flushed and relaxed.

“What’s wrong?” Was that his voice? He sounded like a wounded animal.

“It hurts a little.”