Page 27 of The Silent Mate

Malik stiffened at my request, his brow furrowing in clear hesitation.

“Do it to me, so that I’ll know what you’d be okay with me doing to you.” My tongue darted out to wet my lips. “We can start slow. I won’t move. I promise. I- I trust you.”

His gaze narrowed, and my heart thundered. One long moment passed, and I readied myself for rejection. Seconds before I lost my courage and dismissed the entire idea, however, he moved.

Malik continued stroking my hairline, though each careful sweep of his thumb became intentional. Then, slowly, his fingers moved to trace the edge of the left side of my face, spanning from my temple to my jawline.

My lashes fluttered closed, pleasure and warmth sparking wherever the rough pads of his fingers touched. I melted back into my pillow when the pad of his thumb hovered just above the left corner of my lips.

He left the right side of my face untouched, and the message behind that choice was clear. He didn’t want me touching his scars. Not yet.

Malik spent long minutes tracing the features on half of my face, and I half-expected him to leave it at that. Goddess knew it would’ve been enough. And yet, when his fingers disappeared from my cheek, I opened my eyes again to find his attention focused entirely on my torso and arms.

He touched my hand first, the pads of his fingers barely grazing my fingertips. He traced each digit with his own, culminating at the center of my palm.

“That tickles,” I teased, watching in fascination as my mate repeated the ministration.

One corner of his lips curled into a half-smile at my words, but it fell away as quickly as it appeared. He was focused, like an eager student studying before a test.

He turned his attention to my wrist, rubbing the fluttering pulse point that revealed just how much his touch affected me. My synapses misfired. My heart rate turned erratic. I buzzed with electricity yet made every effort to remain still. It was the purest form of torture.

Malik’s hand drifted higher up my arm, sliding above the oversized t-shirt that stopped at my elbow. He skimmed up to my shoulder, then his fingers paused.

His gaze flickered back to mine, and I read the silent question in that deep gray.Is this okay?

I nodded and whispered without breath, “Go ahead.”

With heartbreaking tenderness, his huge palm lowered to my chest, settling directly overtop my heart.

Warmth seeped from his body into mine as he kept his hand there, pressed against the upper swell of my breast. It wasn’t a sexual touch, though that didn’t stop my nipples from aching for attention. He didn’t grope. Didn’t explore. We simply existed like that, Malik’s hand over my heart.

He watched my chest rise and fall with each breath, as if hecouldn’t quite believe I was real and alive andhere.As if he couldn’t believe I washis.

Careful not to startle him, I lifted my own palm and laid it on top of his hand. He stiffened at the newfound contact, then relaxed back against the pillow. My eyes drifted shut, but I held him to my breast.

I wouldn’t give him up, even in sleep.

12

ARIA

In my dreams, I gave myself to Malik, over and over again.

In my dreams, his hands didn’t cease their exploration at my heart. They played my naked body like an instrument, coaxing unfamiliar sounds from my lips in a symphony of need. He suckled the tips of my breasts, lavishing me with his tongue. He kissed the slope of my abdomen, each hip bone, then the golden curls covering my sex.

Each caress contributed to the tension building at the base of my spine, winding it tighter and tighter until I was certain I’d explode into a thousand little pieces. He surged inside of me, and my body careened toward that beautiful, tantalizing edge?—

And I woke up. Alone.

The insatiable heat radiating between my legs served as a painful reminder that none of it was real. Arousal wet my inner thighs, yet the bedroom held no trace of Malik.

Blinking away the sunlight that peeked through the window, I placed a hand on his side of the mattress, only to find the sheets cold. He’d left early.

I prayed he’d left early enough that he hadn’t scented the evidence of my sinful dreams…

With a groan, I tossed over on the mattress and buried my head in the pillow. The thick cushion muffled my frustrated scream, all while my thighs clamped tight beneath the sheets. I was half-tempted to stroke myself in search of that blessed relief, something I’d never even considered doing to myself before.

I wasn’t used to this...wanting.

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