Page 45 of Pack to the Wall

I tried not to look at Tyson. That was dangerous territory. Colt had just reminded me what it was to be sexy and desired, and the look in Tyson’s eyes promised more of the same. I may have been a little sore, but something told me that wouldn’t matter. If Tyson and I lost control, our fated nature would make sure my body was ready for him.

“Hold out your left arm,” he said.

I did, and he took it in his large hand, holding it steady as he rolled up my shirtsleeve.

“I’m going to cut you here,” he said, tracing a finger over the inside of my forearm about a third of the way from my elbow to my wrist.

I shivered with the contact, that one touch tingling through my body to sizzle in my core.

“It’s going to hurt,” he continued, his tone brusque, and I knew — even though I wasn’t looking at him — that he wasn’t looking at my face either. We were both far too primed, and we had to get through this without any impromptu sex. “Then I’ll cut my hand and place it over your cut. That will hurt too, since I’ll be applying pressure to make sure our blood mingles. After that, Bronn will bandage us both.”

I nodded.

“I boiled this while you were gone, nice and clean,” he said as he raised a sharp kitchen knife. “On the count of three, count with me. One.”

“One.” My anxiety spiked, twisting into a writhing ball in my stomach at the anticipation of pain. I’d be a mess by the time we got to three.

“Two.”

“Two—ow!”

He quickly slid the knife across my forearm. Pain burned through the limb, drawing a yelp and making me jerk against his grip.

Tyson held tight.

“What happened to three?” I demanded, blinking back tears.

“Better this way.” He actually chuckled a little. Given how I’d felt, he was probably right.

My gaze started to flicker up to his, but I yanked it back to the knife, watching as he cut his palm before clamping his hand over my arm.

We both gave a grunt of pain, and I clenched my teeth.

“How long…?” I forced out.

“Not long,” he replied sounding like he wasn’t bothered at all.

My gaze flicked up again, I couldn’t stop it. Pain filled his eyes and somehow, I knew it wasn’t for what he was feeling, but for whatIwas going through. Then our gazes met and all the pain in his eyes vanished, replaced by desire, a rush of heat flushed his tanned skin.

A corresponding wave of fire swept through me and suddenly every part of me was sensitive and raw. Oddly, I felt hardly any pain, overwhelmed with too many other sensations. Just the brush of my clothes over my skin sent sparks of shivering bliss through me.

Tyson’s eyes grew hungry, feral. He lifted his hand away then grabbed my arm with his other hand and lifted it, dipping his head to lick my wound, lapping the blood away, never taking his eyes off mine. The wet heat of his tongue seemed to soothe my wound while spiking my pleasure and I almost moaned. I pressed my thighs tight, my core aching and churning with need.

“Excuse me,” Bronn said softly, breaking the moment.

My lust faded and the pain returned.

Bronn quickly placed a heavy gauze pad over my cut, then taped it down. He did the same for Tyson, then proceeded to wrap my arm with bandages.

“From what Nico told me, that’s going to burn and itch,” Bronn said. “We’ll keep it wrapped up for a bit.”

I nodded.

“You’ll also feel warm and faint, a bit feverish, but not too bad, mostly just weak and tired.” He looked to Tyson. “You clean up. I’ll take her to bed.”

Tyson growled, nodding.

I looked over at Kira. “Could you come along?” I asked. “I’d like to know everything you know about being fated.”

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