Kinked (Elder Races #6)(81)

For a moment she considered pulling away and leaving. As she’d said, they had a choice now about what happened to them, about whether or not they moved forward to see what joining together as possible mates might bring to them.

But she had never backed away from anything just because it frightened her, and the totality of who he was drew her like a siren’s song. He had an extraordinary capacity for both violence and tenderness, and a sensuality so keen it sliced deep into her center.

It couldn’t have been balanced of her to tell him that she would live for him, even if she couldn’t see how right now. She noted the thought as it passed through her mind, and she gave a mental shrug. Balanced was not who she was. She threw everything she had at life, and this was no exception.

She stood and put her arms around his neck, and he clenched her tightly against him. As they came together, they fit, skin to skin and soul to soul.

Then he loosened his hold to reach for a jar by the side of the tub. Pouring a fragrant liquid into his palm, he rubbed his hands together and began to work the soap through her hair. When his fingers rubbed at her scalp, the sensation ran all through her body. Still tired, stressed and half-healed, she felt as if he had unzipped her. The muscles of her inner thighs started to shake, and she had to force herself to stay upright.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to take much of this,” she said unsteadily. Somewhere deep inside, something prideful glared at her. She ignored it, concentrating all of her attention on the exquisite sensation of his large hands moving along her skin.

“That’s not true,” he murmured. “You can take as much as I can give. You can take anything I dish out. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and you can take this too.”

He coaxed her forward until she rested her head on his shoulder. Then he washed her, his callused hands gentle as he stroked her aching back and shoulders, right at the place where, in her harpy form, her wings joined her body. She went boneless, floating against him as she trusted him to hold her up, and he did.

“It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. Somehow she would make sure of it.

“I trust you too.” He kissed her temple. “If you tell me it’s going to be all right, then it will be.”

He wasn’t any more balanced than she was, because no Wyr in their right mind would mate with someone who was in danger of suicidal behavior or getting themselves killed. Yet here he was, without a single hesitation.

She lifted her head and framed his face in her hands as she told him, “You’re crazy.”

He shook his head slightly. “No,” he told her deeply, conviction in his steady gaze. “I’m just turning sane. Or maybe I’m coming fully into myself, and that feels like it has been a long time in coming.”

“Duck down,” she said, growing as hungry to touch him as he was touching her.

He obliged her by submerging in the water, then straightening again. The strong bones of his face stood out with his wet hair lying sleek against his head. She took some of the fragrant soap in her hands and began to wash him. Every line of his hard body felt like a revelation, and the intensity of his reaction was blinding.

His body shuddered, and he sucked in air as if he were running hard, running desperately with all of his might to reach some essential destination. Soapsuds slid down his neck and chest, and her fingers followed them, lingering over the bulge and hollow created by his muscles. There was a little oil in the liquid, and it made his skin even more silken. She felt like she was painting him with an invisible message.

Run here. Find me. Love me.

Stay.

He responded as if he had read every word, pushing her forward and coming with her on a wave. As the water closed over their heads, he hugged her against his body as his hardened lips found hers. They turned, floating together as they kissed and kissed, piercing each other ravenously with their tongues, because while they would fight with all their strength for tomorrow, tomorrow might not be there, and now was all they had.

And it felt like flying. It felt like home.

It felt like everything she might have confessed to herself that she wanted, on dark nights when there was no one else around to hear.

She murmured wordlessly, and the water swallowed the sound as she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on to him with all of her strength. Gripping her just as tightly, he rolled to his feet and stood.

Water cascaded off of them as he strode up the steps, carrying her. When she loosened her legs and made as if to stand on her own, he yanked her back up. “Don’t you dare let go of me,” he muttered. Without the water to buffer them, he felt as if he was burning up, and the full, hard length of his c**k pressed against the underside of her ass.

Complying, she tightened her legs and embraced the contradiction that lived inside of her. While she would almost never want a man to carry her, a primitive part in her reveled in the fact that he was so strong that he could, effortlessly.

He strode for the massive bed, never once looking away from her face. How strange, that this man would look at her with such need and desire when once all he could do was look at her with hate. He felt and did everything so passionately, she knew that he would make more mistakes down the road. They both would.

But just like his dark blond hair, he was gold treasure in shadows. He was worth every bit of the effort it would take for her to learn how to forgive him, worth every bit and more.