Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(38)
“Men and women often have multiple sex partners, but not when they make a commitment to each other.” He searched for the right words. “You belong to me, and I belong to you. That’s the commitment. The promise we give each other. That means, I don’t f*ck other women and you sure as hell don’t f*ck other men.” He couldn’t keep the growl out of his voice. He had animal DNA and he was an alpha. The idea of another man putting his cock in her was more than he could take.
She nodded her head but she was frowning almost in confusion. It was a point he didn’t want there to be any confusion over. None.
“Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Cayenne? Because had you let Pascal kiss you, touch your body or f*ck you, there would have been hell to pay. I have control, but just like you have triggers that can be dangerous, I do as well. I would have killed him.”
She sighed and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “I guess I have a lot of things to learn. I don’t know if I’ll ever get everything straight. I have to get out of here before your friend on the roof decides I’ve done something to you.”
“He knows you’re just visiting with me. We can talk telepathically to one another, and we do often to keep our skill level up.”
“Like you do with me.”
“Not exactly. It’s much more intimate with you.” Trap couldn’t tell her what the difference was. She would have to feel it. He poured himself into her mind in the same way she did his, filling her with him. He wanted to be there with her, surrounding her and caring for her.
“Are you a white knight?”
Her voice was accusatory, almost as if she was getting angry with him. She started to shift her weight. The movement was subtle, so subtle he nearly didn’t feel it even though her body was soft and pliant against his. She felt boneless, all silk. He didn’t allow that deception either. He tightened his arms, using his strength to hold her when she would have slipped away.
“Don’t,” he cautioned. It was a command, nothing less.
Cayenne went still, her gaze drifting over his face, this time wary. Lost. Confused. Fearful. A touch of something else. She didn’t struggle, but she was poised to flee.
“What do you mean by white knight?” he asked softly.
“I don’t need rescuing.”
He stared up at her face. A slow smile curved his mouth and touched his eyes. “Baby.” He whispered the endearment softly. “If there’s anyone on this f*cking earth that needs to be rescued, it’s you.” He kept his arms steel bands around her, preventing movement. “That’s lucky for me.”
She shook her head, and for a moment her eyes went wet again. Tiny drops of shimmering opaque tears caught in her long eyelashes. His hand slid into her hair, fisted there and pulled her head down to his. His mouth claimed her tears, brushing her eyes and lashes, down the sweet curve of her face to her mouth.
“I need rescuing too, Cayenne. I’ve been alone too damn long and I want my own woman. I want a home. One that’s yours, mine. You’re going to make that monstrosity a home for me.”
He allowed her to raise her head, nuzzling her face as she lifted it, with his nose. Silken strands of her dark hair caught on his shadowed jaw. He liked that. He liked any tie between them, no matter how small.
“I don’t know how, Trap. I go through this house and I recognize what it is. All the warmth. The laughter. The beautiful things. They weren’t made with money, they were made with hands. I don’t know how to do any of that.”
She sounded sorrowful. So sad it tore at his heart. She looked crushed. He pushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“You aren’t supposed to know how, Cayenne. We’re going to learn that together. We’re going to live life our way, not how others live their lives. We’ll find our way.”
“I’ve never cooked anything in my life. What if you want to eat and you’re sick or something and can’t cook?”
He laughed softly at the sheer desperation in her voice. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Honey, we’re not even in the same house and you’re already trying to find things to keep us apart. Don’t make shit up. There will be plenty of things about me that will piss you off. We can have a cook if you want one, but since I intend to f*ck you every chance I get, anywhere we are in that house, it might get a little embarrassing. I’ve imagined you spread out in front of me like a feast on that dining room table. I chose the table just for that reason.”
Soft color crept up her neck and into her face. Her lashes fluttered, and she pressed her lips together and rubbed them back and forth. “You’re very sexual, aren’t you?”
“That bother you?” His gut tightened. He didn’t mind that she was inexperienced – in fact just the opposite, he f*cking loved that she was just his. But he was sexual. He needed sex. He came off a marathon research project and he was exhilarated, as high as a kite, and always his cock was as hard as a rock and even after hours of sex, he often wasn’t in the least sated.
She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s like. What if I don’t like having sex?”