I TOWELED OFF MY HAIR while standing naked beside the bed watching Max, curled up fast asleep. A strand of hair fell across her nose and when she exhaled, the fine hairs lifted then fell back. I reached forward to push them aside then stopped myself.
What the fuck was I doing? Jesus. I had no business touching her like that. No business liking this chick and yet . . . I did. At first, I thought it was lust and it was; I wanted to fuck her, still did, but after watching her . . . seeing how she held back the smile as she ran her fingertips through the wildflowers every morning. How she blew on her coffee every single time before that first sip. The way her brows drew together when she was practicing with her blades. It was the only time I saw that hidden determination in her. She hid it from Xamien with the way she bowed her head and quietly spoke to him, but there was always tension in her shoulders. And once when he walked away from her, I saw the flicker of sadness in her eyes as she stared after him. And that I didn’t like. I knew there was nothing going on between them, but I still didn’t like the fact she felt something for the powerful and noble-as-hell Taldeburu.
What I loved was fucking with her, seeing her hackles rise and the heat in her cheeks. It was the only way I could get a reaction from her and I craved it. Needed it. And fuck if I didn’t want to kiss every inch of her until she purred in my arms.
But I don’t soothe.
I fuck.
Fucking wasn’t emotional. It was a basic need. But for some screwed-up reason, the idea of fucking her was all-consuming.
I stepped back from the bed and my foot landed on the comforter. My eyes hit the pillow next to it. Like hell I was sleeping on the fuckin’ floor. This chick really had a few lessons to learn in how this all was going down.
But Max had boundary issues. I didn’t do well with that. I liked to peel the layers back, make them bleed then if I needed to I could use what I had to against them to get what I wanted.
I was good at breaking boundaries, rules and whatever else. Living my way of life there was no time for personal bullshit. Mine was locked down so tight, not even a Scar Reflector could reach my secrets.
The way Max subtly flinched when I touched her—boundary issue.
Wanting her own room—boundary issue.
Comforter and pillow on the floor—boundary issue.
Fuck that.
I broke that boundary with the kiss. She’d been stiff under my lips at first and I guessed she’d had fuck-all experience or if she did, it was with some piss poor kisser who couldn’t take what he wanted. I made no mistake about showing a woman what it was like to be taken. Shit¸ they wanted that and if they didn’t, then they weren’t a chick I cared to sink my cock into.
I’d purposely undressed before going into the bathroom. If she’d seen my smirk or my hard-on from thinking about her watching me—because I sure as hell knew she was from the sound of her racing heartbeat—she’d have run for the door. I almost wished she had because then I’d have had to catch her. My cock stirred at the thought of holding her struggling body up against me.
I had no doubt she’d fight me the first time. It would be a battle of wills, but she’d be wet as hell and throbbing for me. I’d feel the leashed desire pulsing through her veins, needing to be set free. And I was going to be the one to unsnap it while I drove inside her.
I ran my hand through my damp hair, and then kicked the pillow. Fuck. I needed to get laid. I hadn’t been with a chick for months.
Months. Yeah, fuckin’ six months.
I was always clear to any chick I sunk my cock into—take and leave. My motto. I’d give her the best sex she’d ever had then leave. I didn’t see it as selfish, the opposite in fact. I gave her the best pleasure she’d ever had then left before she ever got to know me—I was doing her a favor by leaving. Sometimes, I came back for seconds, months later, but staying too long in one woman’s bed led to attachments. Attachments led to caring and caring had no business in my life. It would get me killed and anyone else close to me.
I’d chosen this life and nothing could get in the way. Not even my little obsession. I’d have to end it soon and the only way was to sink between her thighs. Once I had her, all this bullshit I was feeling would go away. It was the chase. It was not being able to have something and wanting it more.
I snagged the pillow off the floor and tossed it on the bed, and then went and pulled the curtains closed. I strode back to the bed and glanced at Max again—A fuckin’ angel with an attitude.
An angel stuck in Hell. Sunshine blocked by dense clouds. Yeah, those marks on her body had one hell of a story. Normally, I’d shrug it off, not my business, but I wanted to make it my business. I wanted to kill the bastard who did that to her. No, I wanted to do more than kill him. I wanted to crucify him, make him suffer, make him beg for mercy, for his life while I laughed. Only then would I kill him.
Torture. Fuck. I didn’t do torture, but suddenly I wanted to see another person suffer before they died.
I slipped under the sheets and lay on my back, elbows bent and hands beneath my head. I tried to block out the sounds of her heartbeat, her breathing, but I’d listened to them from a distance for months and now they were so close, it was as if they were inside me.
And if I had to kill her, I couldn’t deny the fact that the pieces of her that had settled deep inside me would detonate.