Ecstasy Untamed (Feral Warriors #6)(61)

He stroked her back, murmured against her hair. "Not the last, never the last. Maybe it should have been you. Maybe you were the one the animal spirit wanted."

She pulled back, looking at him with disbelief. "You don't believe that."

No, he didn't, but he hated her own certainty. This strong, independent, giving woman who'd spent decades helping street kids, pretending to be little more than a street kid herself in order to win their trust.

Pretending . . .

He shook his head, brushing his cheek against her hair as understanding hit him. Not pretending.

He'd seen glimpses of the lack of self-worth that lay beneath that sunny exterior of hers. The deep vein of hurt. She'd hinted that her enclave had left her behind when she was a kid. He had a bad feeling she'd become a street kid herself that day. A throwaway.

And in some ways, he suspected, she still saw herself as one.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She looked away as another fat tear rolled down her cheek.

He brushed away the tear with his thumb. "You were afraid of what I'd do, weren't you? Not that I'd hurt you. As close as I was to losing it, there was no real fear in your eyes. You were afraid I'd reject you."

The sobs caught her all over again and she turned and pressed her face to his shoulder and he knew he was right.

"Shh, sweetheart. I'll never turn away from you. Never. We'll get through this, and we'll do it together, you and I."

How, he couldn't begin to guess. The decks were so badly stacked against them, their entire lives had turned into one big goat f**k. But she was in his arms. And she'd finally opened up to him, completely this time.

He gathered her tight against him, breathing her in, loving her. He'd won the first battle, the most important. Faith was his.

Now he just had to find a way to keep them both alive.

Chapter Thirteen

Faith snuggled against Hawke's warm, hard chest, her arms tight around his neck as she pressed her cheek to his lightly stubbled jaw. As he held her on his lap by the window in his bedchamber, her chest swelled with gratitude and tenderness, almost too much to bear. From the moment she'd arrived at Feral House, he'd been her anchor, her true north, the one who would stand beside her no matter what. She knew that as clearly as she knew the sun would set and rise again tomorrow. How had she lived over a century without him?

Why had she found him now, so late? Too late.

But she had him now, didn't she? She had him tonight. With the release of tension a good cry had afforded her, her body had gone soft against his. The turmoil in her mind easing, she began to notice other things. The woodsy smell of his neck. The softness of his hair where it curled slightly at the ends. The iron strength of the arms that held her with such gentleness. And the thick ridge against her hip.

Her body heated as if the warmth in her heart overflowed, running through her veins and catching fire. With a tender kiss to his cheek, she pulled back to where she could see his face. He peered at her, his dark eyes aching and warm as a summer day. His hand rose, his thumb stroking her cheek.

She leaned forward, kissing him again, earning a kiss in return, but a restrained kiss, as if he were waiting. Or letting her take the lead. Pulling back, she met his gaze. "Make love to me."

His thumb stilled. His chest froze as if he'd stopped breathing. "You're not ready."

"I wasn't ready for you to find my feral marks."

Understanding dawned, and just like that, the predatory creature who'd nearly devoured her was back. "So you put me through cold-shower hell just to keep your secret?" The growl in his voice was belied by the relief shining in his eyes.

She grimaced. "Pretty much."

His expression grew more serious. "You've still been through hell. Even more than I realized. Are you sure . . . ?"

Faith slid her hands behind his neck, twining her fingers. "My whole life has been . . . I don't know. Not a mistake, but . . . not exactly as I might have planned. Only one thing has ever been truly right. More than I'd ever hoped for. You." She pulled her hands forward to stroke his cheeks. "I don't know what the future is going to bring, Hawke. For either of us. But we have this. We have now. And I want you. And I think you want me, too."

"You have no idea."

She reached down, sliding her hand over the thick, hard ridge in his pants, pleased when he sucked in a tight breath, when his eyes turned liquid with promise. "I have some idea," she murmured, then grinned at him cheekily.

He threw back his head and laughed, then swept her up, strode to the bed, and tossed her into the middle of the mattress, following her down.

As his body covered hers, his gaze pinned her, burrowing inside her, intense and passionate. "You're mine." The words were a growl. A vow that he sealed with a searing kiss, his mouth fusing with hers, at once gentle and rough, barely civilized. His hands tilted her head, his tongue swept into her mouth, a claiming that sang with victory inside her soul.

His kiss drugged. Her hands roamed over his bare shoulders, her breath turning more and more shallow with each stroke of his heated flesh.

His own hands moved, one cupping her head and the other sliding down her back to the hem of the T-shirt, then under and back up again, his palm caressing her back, making her skin flush even as she shivered with his touch. While his tongue stroked hers, and her lips, and the insides of her mouth, his hand moved lower, his fingers sliding into the waistband of her panties and lower still to grasp her rump.