Page 77 of Celestial Combat

With careful movements, he dragged the ruined leggings down my thighs, slow and deliberate. The material peeled away from my skin – scraping over dried blood, over the bruises, over the cuts – leaving a trail of raw sensation in its wake.

I stepped out of them, one leg at a time, gripping his shoulders for balance as he guided each of me feet free.

Then, the leggings joined my shirt on the floor.

Zane remained where he was, still kneeling before me. Without realizing, his rough hands settled onto my bare hips. His fingers – scarred and rough – pressed into my skin, firm against soft. A contrast that sent a sharp thrill through me.

I sucked in a sharp breath, swaying forward and tightening my grip on his shoulders.

The second he realized what he’d done, he froze.

His gaze traveled slowly up the length of my body, past my waist, my ribs, my still-rising chest.

And then – he met my eyes.

Black on black.

The air turned electric.

The kind of tension that threatened to ignite, to burn everything in its path.

I couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

I felt like I was standing at the edge of something sharp, something inevitable, something we were both too reckless to stop.

Zane tore his hands away from me like I was fire, like the touch of my skin had burned through his control.

He pushed himself up with effortless ease, jaw clenched, broad shoulders tense beneath the dim bathroom light. His entire body was coiled, stiff, like he was holding something back – like if he stayed in this space a second longer, he’d lose whatever battle he was fighting.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized my arms were still holding onto his shoulders. I quickly let go.

I watched, breath shallow, as he turned on his heel, moving with the kind of controlled precision I’d only ever seen from him in a fight. Silent, fluid, deliberate.

He crossed the bathroom in just a few long strides, reaching for the faucet. The water was still running, filling the deep bathtub with steam that curled up in ghostly tendrils. A warmth that pressed against my bare skin, heating the air between us.

With a swift flick of his wrist, the water cut off.

Silence.

Only the quiet drip of water against porcelain.

Zane didn’t turn back around.

I swallowed, feeling the weight of it all settle over me. The weight of his hands on my hips, the slow drag of his knuckles against my skin. The way he had looked at me – like he was walking a knife’s edge, like one wrong move would send us both plummeting into something we weren’t ready for.

I wrapped my arms around myself, fingers pressing into my own skin, trying to ground myself.

We shouldn’t be doing this.

I wasn’t stupid – I knew what attraction felt like. I knew the way my body responded to his, the way his eyes had darkened when I didn’t pull away. I knew the tension, the unspoken question hanging between us.

But it was reckless.

More reckless than anything I’d ever done.

And still, I wanted–

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