Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(78)

He took a breath and then gave it to her. The stark truth. “To say the least, that shocks me. I don’t respect or admire very many women. Or men for that matter. Just listening to their inane chatter sets my teeth on edge. Sitting in that bar for days on end, waiting for you to show, nearly drove me right out of my skull.”


He was arrogant. She might as well know that about him as well. He was rude in public for a reason – being there made him feel like he was going a little crazy. Sometimes, if he was with Wyatt, or one of his teammates, he could find humor in the situation, but mostly, he just wanted to get away from everyone.


Her eyes went a vibrant green, gleaming at him. Her lips curved into a small smile. Sometimes, Trap, for a man who doesn’t think he can talk well to others, you can be quite brilliant.


He dipped his head low to brush a kiss across her perfect bow of a mouth. He really loved her mouth. He was gentle, coaxing a response from her, trying not to devour her when her taste exploded on his tongue, igniting every single cell in his body. There were bruises on her face and throat and more around the stab wound. Exhaustion had settled into the depths of her eyes. He wanted to kiss her because – well – he needed to, but he was a man of extraordinary discipline and restraint.


He lifted his head, his gaze moving over her face. “I love looking at you,” he admitted. “Every single tiny detail of your face and body is etched into my brain for all time. I want to wake up every morning looking at you and go to sleep at night with you right beside me. When I die, Cayenne, I want you holding me and looking at me, right in my eyes, so I take that last sight of you with me.”


He let her go, placing her head gently back on the pillow, so that she faced away from him. He settled around her, his arm once more around her waist, fingers splaying wide over her soft belly. He contented himself with using his thumb to slide over the silk of her skin.


“You really mean the things you say to me, don’t you?” Her voice was just above a whisper, husky and hoarse. There was a wonder in it. Wonder and something else that alerted him instantly.


“Are you crying, Cayenne?” He shifted subtly, thinking to turn her face back to his, but she pushed deeper into the pillow. “Baby, why? And don’t answer out loud. Save your vocal cords.”


There was no sound, but he knew tears trickled down her face. There wasn’t even a change in her breathing. Still. She was crying, he knew it.


You make me feel things I’ve never felt before, Trap, she confessed. Good things. You make me feel as if I really do belong with you. That you really want me with you.


“And that makes you cry?”


In a good way, I think, although it also scares me. I never thought I’d have that.


He used his fingers to sift through the dark cloud of hair, rubbing strands between them. “Neither did I, Cayenne. Not ever. I wanted a woman of my own, a family of my own, but I never believed I’d find one who could put up with my shit.” He sighed. “About this afternoon, baby. I know you were upset…”


You explained that to me, Trap. I get it. I just needed to understand. If we’re really going to try this, we have to be able to talk things out. I really would like it if you would tell me what to expect ahead of time. I felt alone. Cut off from you. It wasn’t a good feeling. I get it now, but I needed to get it then.


She understood and it was over for her. She didn’t need a long, drawn-out apology and he knew she wasn’t going to be throwing it in his face every time he acted cold in public. He had panicked. She wasn’t going to make him admit that. That terror that still was too close for comfort, now tucked away beneath the glacier in his gut.


“I’ll work on my communication skills,” he said, knowing that would take some doing, especially in public. He had zero skills and knew even for the people mattering the most to him – like Wyatt and Draden – he hadn’t overcome the part of him that cut himself off from everything. It was too ingrained. He knew ice had become his defense mechanism from the time he was very young. Ice and detachment. He was good at both.


“And baby, just so you know, we aren’t ‘trying’ this. There is no ‘if.’ This is it for both of us. We are doing this. The only thing we haven’t confirmed is whether or not you can meet my demands in bed, and after last night, I am more than certain you will.”


She made a small sound of distress. “Trap.”


She went back to whisper and he caught the huskiness that told him her throat hurt like hell. Before she could speak he interrupted her. “Use telepathy, Cayenne. Your throat needs rest.”


I don’t know the first thing about sex. Only the things I read. Only what you taught me last night.


“Did you enjoy what I did to you?”


Yes. No hesitation.


“Did you enjoy what you did to me?” Just the thought of it, the hot haven of her mouth, the silken glide of her lips, the tight suction and dancing tongue, sent more blood coursing through his cock so that it swelled all over again from a semihard state to an iron spike.


Very much. Again no hesitation. I thought about it for most of the rest of the night, the way having you in my mouth and watching your face was so exciting. Knowing I could give you that. I dreamt about you. I have nightmares, so it was nice to have something different. When I woke up I felt hot and achy. I knew I needed you and I craved the taste of you. I just don’t know what to do about it. She made her confession in a little rush.