High Voltage (Fever #10)(99)
I stood there, doing something utterly alien to me, thinking about everything that could go wrong. Love did that to you. Messed with your brain, made you think about things you’d never think about otherwise.
I shook my head hard, scattering those thoughts. I don’t invite trouble. I invite the next grand adventure, and with Ryodan it was certain to be as incredible as it was unpredictable. And if we could create a convincing illusion of intimacy? It had felt exquisitely real to me with all my senses fiercely engaged. I’d known years ago that part of the reason I chose Dancer was because of how deeply Ryodan rattled me. Dancer had been easy laughter and a normal future. Ryodan was endless challenge and a future that was impossible to imagine. The future was here. I’d never had a normal life. Why would I expect a normal future?
An unexpected exhilaration filled me. I wasn’t losing him, we were just changing, becoming the next thing. We were good at that, he and I. It was our strength. It occurred to me that adaptability was more than survivability; it was the foundation of love. We were all changing, every day, and those relationships that endured were the ones that rode the waves together, grew and allowed each other to evolve. Encouraged it, even when it was frightening. Adaptability in relationships was the polar opposite of a cage. It was necessary commitment wed to necessary freedom.
He dropped backward in a chair and stripped off his shirt, his back rippling sleek and beautiful in the firelight, and said in a low, sexy voice, “Come on, Stardust, brand your man. I’ve been waiting a long fucking time for this.”
Your man. I liked that. Holy hell, did I like that. Ryodan Killian St. James had just called himself my man.
“Unless you’re afraid to commit yourself to a beast like me,” he goaded.
I snorted. “Hardly. I’ll brand your ass.”
He laughed. “Spine. It’s more effective there. But finish it and you can do whatever you want with my ass. Just remember, turnabout’s fair play.”
I arched a brow. “You might regret that.” I was a lust-driven, uninhibited woman.
“With you, no holds barred. Show me what you’ve got, Babe,” he teased.
I’d have teased back but a sudden concern struck me. “What about my blood?” He’d had to mix ours to complete my tattoo. If my blood had changed, would it hurt him?
“Not necessary. I tasted yours years ago.”
Knowing the way his mind worked, he’d taken it just in case he needed it for one of his many linchpin theories.
“Gloves are on the table by the bed,” he tossed over his shoulder.
As I gloved up, I admired his wide shoulders, heavily muscled, tattooed back, tight, powerful ass and legs. He’d unbuttoned his pants, dropping them around his hips. God, he was so beautiful.
At least in illusion, I was going to get to touch every inch of him soon. Let go of all that raging, caged passion I’d been holding back for so long. I couldn’t wait to explore what this bond was going to do for us.
He said softly, “Intimacy on a level you can’t even begin to imagine. You should know going in, I’ll never remove mine. You do this, there’s no turning back. We’ll know each other like humans never can. You’ll be able to feel me constantly. Good, bad, and ugly, it’s all there. Still want to tattoo me, Dani?”
I wouldn’t miss this adventure with him for anything in the world.
The best is yet to come
I WORKED ALL NIGHT ON Ryodan’s tattoo, racing the clock, worried that—given how unpredictable my life is—something might happen to keep me from finishing the brand before I became whatever I was becoming. I doubted a Hunter’s massive talons were capable of the dexterity necessary to painstakingly ink the delicate, many-layered spell into his skin.
We talked nonstop, making each other laugh, sharing stories of outlandish adventures we’d had, subtly one-upping each other and laughing at ourselves for doing it. Ryodan is as self-aware as I am. Okay, maybe a little more. Thing is, we love the game we play, the way we provoke each other, we thrive on it. And that was a trait I couldn’t wait to explore in bed with him. People say opposites attract and that’s true, they do—combustively, and short-term. I think it’s those with like minds and hearts that succeed long-term.
Late that morning, as I inked the final lines of the tattoo, I inhaled sharply. I felt an instant, subtle yet pervasive connection to him that I couldn’t begin to put into words, an omnipresent awareness of him on a cellular level. “Is this what you’ve always felt since you tattooed me?”
“To a degree. Now that we both wear the brand, it’s stronger,” he said, turning around in the chair to face me. “You’re feeling a connection to my essential energy, for lack of a better phrase.”
His “essential energy” was comprised of a staggering amount of raw sexuality and tightly leashed hunger. For everything: more life, more sex, more toys, more adventure. He was one thousand percent exhilarated to be alive. All the time. Like me.
“You’re on the surface. You’ll always feel me now. Think of it as a bridge between us. We can stay on our own sides as we are, or we can move across it, entering each other to various degrees. Respect is paramount. If you resist my presence at any time, I’ll back off. You’re entitled to your secrets. You choose what to let me see. This kind of intimate connection can be beautiful or terrible. Never take, only ask, never force, only offer, respect boundaries.”