The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity #2.5)(23)

Jesus. He needed a distraction. But what distraction was there to be had when you were barricaded inside a house? Other than sex?

“Hockey?”

He didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“I need something to dry off with.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he silently cursed. Of course she did.

Still refusing to look at her, he walked quickly across the room and snatched one of the thinner blankets off their bed. Keeping his eyes downcast, he held out the blanket to her.

“You can look at me,” she whispered.

Ah…God. For his sanity’s sake, no, he couldn’t. After clearing his throat, he said no hoarsely.

“Hockey,” she breathed. “I want you to.”

He blamed his mother. He blamed his decision to wait until marriage. He blamed Becki and the botched raid and himself.

As he turned around, he blamed everyone and everything, but mostly he blamed the lack of distraction inside this damn house they were stuck in.

Mira’s dark hair had grown out significantly since he’d first met her. It was past her shoulders now, the wet ends stopped just above her…breasts.

Perfect…full…flawless…handfuls of breast.

His gaze dropped lower and he swallowed hard.

Most of the women in his clan didn’t shave their bodies, very few had taken to the modern Gaje tradition. Hockey didn’t prefer one way or the other, or at least he hadn’t until right now. Becki had been one of the few women in their clan who had shaved off her body hair, but Mira, not having had much of a choice, had let everything grow out.

And he liked it. It was natural and feminine and he liked it.

“Touch me,” Mira whispered, reaching for him. Her small hand encircled his wrist and tugged him forward. Feeling somewhat drunk, he complied, stumbling forward until was only inches away from her and close enough to—

Cursing, he snatched his arm back, and spun away from her.

“I’m married!” he shouted as he crossed the room.

“To a woman who’s probably dead!” Mira shrieked. “I’m not dead, Hockey! I’m right here, I’ve been here for months!”

He stopped walking and closed his eyes. Mira was right. Becki could be dead. God knew he worried about it all the time, but until he knew for certain, until…

He was rock hard and felt like crying. It was an awful, confusing feeling that made him feel like a horrible husband.

“I like you,” Mira pleaded. “I think you’re strong and brave and hot as hell. Hockey, I like you.”

“I took a vow,” he said tightly. “A vow I take very seriously.”

A pregnant silence filled the room and Hockey’s thoughts spun. He could be with her; he could turn around, drag Mira to bed, and give in to what they both wanted. He could give in and blame the world for his sins, blame the madness, the isolation, the constant battle for survival. But then, what happened afterward? What if he did find Becki again? Would he be able to face her, knowing what he had done?

Mira appeared in front of him, breaking him free of his thoughts.

Wrapped in the blanket he’d brought her, she held out her hand. “Here,” she said sullenly.

Avoiding eye contact, Hockey took the small bar of soap and mumbled his thanks. Mira stood there a moment longer before turning away. He waited until he could longer hear the slap of her feet against the wooden floor before chancing a look in her direction.

Finding her curled up on her side of the bed, he breathed out a sigh of relief. Sending up a prayer of thanks for small favors, he started for the container.

The water was soapy and dirty now, and he didn’t have nearly enough room as Mira had. But as far as baths went, when you hadn’t had one in God only knew how long, it was bliss.

When he was done, naked and wet, he headed to the fireplace and let the heat from the flames dry his skin. Gripping the mantel, he lowered his head onto the cool stone and closed his eyes. It felt good, the stark contrast of temperatures, hot on his chest and legs, and cool against his back. Then he turned around to let his back receive the same attention his front had, and found Mira sitting up in bed, watching him.

Hockey knew he was much thinner than usual but he was still heavily sculpted with muscle, and judging by the greedy expression on Mira’s face, she liked what she saw.

She wanted what she saw.

He felt his body responding, hardening, as they stared at each other, and then Mira let the blanket fall from her body. Cupping one of her breasts, she slid her other hand down between her thighs and moaned softly.

He closed his eyes. No. No, no, no…

But all he could envision was Mira’s naked body, and all he could hear was the noises she was making. He found himself imagining how it would feel to sink inside her, how she would taste and smell.

He’d never seen a woman touch herself before, but he’d fantasized about it. He’d even tried to coax Becki into it a few times, but she’d always refused. Knowing her sexual history, her refusal had surprised him but he’d ignored the ugly suspicions.

“Hockey,” Mira whispered, “please come to bed.”

When he made a move to do so, Mira collapsed onto her back, crying out in frustration. It was something about her cry, so full of desperation and longing, that crumbled his resolve, solidifying his decision and spurring him into action.