Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(75)

There was such raw honesty in his voice, she felt tears burning again and had to struggle not to betray herself. He didn’t have to tell her that, but she could understand. He’d been so damaged, the slices everywhere, and when he was fully erect, it had to hurt. Is it painful?

There was a small silence and she found herself holding her breath. She knew he didn’t want to answer, that he was weighing his words.

Ken sighed and stared up at the sky. He had known there would come a time he would have to explain it all to her—admit that it wasn’t just his face revealing the monster, that Ekabela had brought that monster into every aspect of his life. He damn well wasn’t going to lie to her—not with her stretched out on a table and some son of a bitch photographing the strawberries he’d put on her inner thighs.

You don’t have to tell me.

It isn’t that. I don’t want you running away from me.

There was the impression of laughter. I’m tied up at the moment.

He sent her the impression of a groan. Don’t say tied up. You know what happens to me the minute you say that. The things I could do to you—the way I could make you feel.

The laughter in his mind was like a caress, stroking through his body until he felt it everywhere—until he felt it in his soul. Nothing—no one—ever choked him up, but he found himself doing just that. Yes, there’s pain, but in a good way. There isn’t a lot of sensation as a rule, and when I’m full and ready, the skin stretches so tight pulling that it takes a lot to stimulate me. I’m rough and I have to be. The thing is, Mari . . . He felt like a sick pervert. The last person she needed around her was him.

Just tell me. I’m not exactly a virgin here, Ken.

His hand knotted into a hard fist and he thumped the ground beside him. Yes, you are. You don’t know the first thing about making love. Someone should be making love to you. Gentle, tender, slow, and easy. A man should treasure every moment with you, savor it and make certain you’re screaming with pleasure. He wanted those things for her, desperately wanted them for her, and yet he would never be that man.

The impression of laughter came again. Like you did.

Ken frowned. She wasn’t getting it. Not exactly like I did. I was too rough, Mari. If you’re with me, I would always be rough. I’d want things from you; I’d want you to learn to have the kind of sex I need, and that’s not the best thing for you.

He felt like an idiot trying out each word in his mind before he sent it to her. What the hell could he say? He wanted to make her his sex slave? He did. Ever since he’d touched her skin, he’d wanted to do everything there was to her, bind her to him so no one else would ever do for her. He wouldn’t mind tying her down and having her at his mercy. He could love her for hours.

He shoved his head into the palm of his hand. She was tied to a table, and he was thinking of how he could bring her such pleasure she’d drown in it. Maybe he was as sick as Whitney—or Ekabela.

Don’t be ridiculous. No one is as sick as either of them. And I’d fantasize about what you’d do to me if you had me tied down—or better yet let you tell me yourself—but I’d get all hot and Whitney would know you’re here with me. So no sex on the table and no thinking about tying me up. You can do that another time.

Again her soft laughter swept through him. Tears burned in his eyes and in the back of his throat. Damn her. She was killing him with her acceptance of him. He couldn’t accept himself—how could she? He was going to fall in love with her. It was a long, hard fall and scary as hell. It didn’t make sense and he didn’t want it to happen. What the hell was she going to be getting out of the bargain?

Mari? It wasn’t just sex.

Her heart accelerated. She knew Whitney would be puzzled over that spike, but Ken made her feel alive again in a way she hadn’t in a long time. He gave her hope—and she needed hope right then.

If it wasn’t just sex, what was it? Because I don’t know what to think. None of the men paired with any of the women appear to feel emotional about them, other than possessive. They could care less whether or not we derive any pleasure from them touching us. What happened between us seemed more than something Whitney did, or was I reading more into it than there was?

She waited for his answer, her mouth suddenly dry. She barely felt the doctor’s probing fingers as he poked at her. It seemed he spent more time examining the bruises and red marks on her skin than the gun wound or wrist break, but Ken’s answer was more important than her modesty. She held her breath—waiting.

You know damn well it was much more. I’m not hiding anything from you, as much as I want to. Screw Whitney. He doesn’t have anything to do with us anymore. Ken rubbed his hand over his face and sighed again. Maybe he did at first. Maybe his manipulation allowed you to accept me sexually when you might have been afraid of me.

Mari turned it over in her mind. Was that the truth? She’d wanted him—yes—but there was so much more to her feelings than that. The decision had definitely been hers and it hadn’t been all about sex. So what was it that drew her emotionally to him? How had they connected so fast and so strong? I don’t think so, Ken. I really don’t. You’re right. Whatever is between us isn’t about Whitney.

He ached to hold her in his arms. I’m not a good man—I’m never going to be. You have to know that going into this. I wouldn’t give you up once you belonged to me.