Page 32 of Lost Touch
“Maybe I want you to?” My voice came out all husky, like I’d been running hard or talking too much.
I’d definitely said too much by the look on his face.
“You want me to.”
“You’re doing that repeating thing again,” I snapped, the effect ruined by how wrecked I sounded. Shit, I hadn’t even gotten his cock in my mouth yet. Shouldn’t I sound like that afterward, not before?
Drew leaned in a fraction more, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin.
“You want me to use you,” he rasped. “Ash, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Why not?” My hand still rested on his leg, and I slid it up, tracing the hard muscles of his thigh, creeping closer to my goal. Drew practically vibrated under my hand, and I had that swooping sensation again in the pit of my stomach, that thrill of imminent danger. “I’m not an idiot. Amnesiac, yes. Fucked-up, yes. A possible carjacker. But not stupid.”
“No,” he breathed. “Not stupid. Just incredibly fucking reckless. You’re playing with fire, touching me like that.”
And yet he hadn’t stopped me, hadn’t removed my hand from his leg. Hadn’t gotten up off the couch and shut himself into his office or left the house. Because he couldn’t make himself—he didn’t have the willpower to say no and mean it, or to enforce it. Which he obviously could, physically. He’d need one hand to fight me off. Maybe one finger.
My stomach sank, like someone had dropped a lump of lead into it, that swooping thrill all shriveled. Because for the first time, it occurred to me thatImight be taking advantage ofhim. He still hadn’t said anything to make me think he’d want me under normal circumstances. Yeah, he’d given me that bite mark, and I belonged to him according to his alpha instincts, blah blah blah. But would his instincts be operating like that if he hadn’t been changed by whatever they’d done to him? Would he be pushing me away?
“Am I your type?” Oh, God, that couldn’t have been more pathetic. “I mean, if you—would you be attracted to me if—”
His eyes flared gold. “You know how much I fucking want you,” he growled, leaning in even more. Close enough to kiss me, almost.
And I couldn’t kiss him like this. Couldn’t let him kiss me like this, either. Not only because I couldn’t believe he’d actually want it, but because it made me want to scream, thinking about how it would feel—or not feel—to have his lips on mine without being able to taste, to savor, to take the pleasure in it I knew I’d have if I hadn’t been robbed of everything that made life worth living.
“I know you want me right now.” Because he really hadn’t answered my question at all, and he hadn’t seemed to notice that he hadn’t. Maybe he felt the way I did, sort of like nothing existed before we’d come out of our prison, or like none of it mattered anymore.
“Yeah. I do. I want you too goddamn much. You have to stop this, Ash. I can’t. I’m sorry, I fuckingcan’t.”
He sounded tortured, caught between what he needed and what he thought he shouldn’t have, between his conscience and the demands of his overstrained body, exhausted and run ragged and strung out on adrenaline and guilt.
And that decided it for me.
Drew might hate me after this was over, after we took that road trip and found that shaman, or after the effects of the warlocks’ fuckery wore off naturally with time. Once he got back to himself and realized he’d never really desired me.
But that didn’t matter right now. If he went on like this, with his body running at this level of alpha magic, wearing himself out and never sleeping, he’d get really sick. Or worse.
That thought sent a horrid shiver down my spine.
No, I couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t get worse. He’d get better, because I’dmakehim better. At least until we could find a competent shaman who wouldn’t report to Drew’s scary mom.
“I don’t need you to stop,” I said, and moved my hand another inch, until my fingers brushed the head of his cock through the fabric of his shorts. “I don’t want you to stop. You’ll feel better if I suck your—oh, God,” I gasped, as he groaned and lunged forward, burying his face in my neck, his tongue flicking out to tease my skin.
His teeth closed around my flesh and worried at me, without enough pressure to injure me—I’d started to be able to gauge that a little bit, even without any sensation of pain—but enough to leave a mark.
When I moved my hand up and closed it around his cock, it thickened and stiffened instantly.
“Drew, let me,” I whispered, and pulled away, edging off the couch and down.
He fell back, spreading his legs to let me settle in between and kneel on the floor with my hands on his thighs. I looked up at him, sprawled there all disheveled and flushed and still streaked with forest detritus, like some kind of…well, the T-shirt and the gym shorts ruined the wildness a little bit. Like a camouflaged predator—a wolf in an overgrown frat boy’s clothing. I almost laughed, but then he tugged down his waistband and pulled out his cock, huge and shiny at the tip, with the vein on the underside standing out with how freaking hard he’d gotten. My nervous chuckle died in my chest.
That was going to go in my mouth, and even if I’d had most of my hand stuffed in there earlier, I seriously didn’t think it would fit.
I’d make it fit, dammit.
“You don’t have to,” Drew said, and I could see what it cost him to try to be a better man by the tension in him, the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
What did he need to hear so that he wouldn’t feel guilty? Because I was more convinced than ever that I probably wanted this more than he did, if you only counted how we’d feel without any outside intervention.
