Page 57 of Soulmates
His obvious animosity cuts me deep. “What choice do we have?”
“You could go on back to wherever.” He straightens, staring up at the ceiling. “And I could find the wolf.”
“It’ll go faster if we work together.” Laying the laptop on the bed, I stand. His body is calling to me, even if his words hold me at a distance.
I close in, resting a hand on Trajan’s shoulder. “Let me help you with this,mo shiorghrá.”
His body turns to stone under my touch. I let go, but don’t move away.
“I mourned you,” he said. “For two years, I grieved.” He jerks away from me. “For nothing.”
The bathroom door slams between us. I reclaim my seat on the bed, return to the laptop and the list of possibilities. My heart isn’t in the search, though. My heart is in the shower.
So many emotions pound at me.Sadness. Regret. Love.Leaving Trajan killed part of my soul, and for two years I’d lived with the loss, an amputated limb sending flashes of phantom pain. Now he’s here, breathing the same air, and all I want is to have his hands on me. To hold him. To beg his forgiveness.
My work with the Elites had defined me, at least until I met Trajan. The bond we shared gave me an alternative. For the first time in many, many years, I had something for myself. Something real, something warm, something good.
And then, in the middle of a case involving a missing fae princess, Igot made, as they say in the biz, and for Trajan’s safety, I had to disappear.
I stare at the laptop until my eyes blur. The shower goes on with a squeak. I fist my hands in the musty olive bedspread. That night in the bunker, Trajanwould have drained me dry if it hadn’t been for David. Trajan has feelings for the young wolf, and if I had any common sense, I’d leave them alone. Leave him alone. But it might be too much to ask of my heart to leave him again.
I’m more than a little tempted to join Trajan in the shower. We’d made showering together a habit, before, stolen moments for us. For his own safety, Trajan had to believe I was dead, and now if I can prevent a supernatural war, I’ll have some level of satisfaction. But it’ll be cold comfort for losing the man I love.
He turns off the water, and my breath catches. I know without seeing that he’s shaking the water from his hair, toweling off, then folding the towel in half and draping it around his shoulders. He’ll comb his hair straight back from his face and squeeze gel into the palm of his hand. His hair’s an awkward length and poorly cut, but there’s no point ingetting a trimbecause he always rises with the hair he had when he left his mortal life.
Those small memories work on me, and without conscious thought, I find myself facing the bathroom door, gripping the knob. Silence from the other side. I should leave him alone, but I’m not strong enough to step away.
He flings the door open, knocking me off-balance. I stumble, brace myself with a hand on his chest. His bare chest. Skin warm from the shower. I swallow hard, try to right myself. He catches hold of my wrist. “Why?”
He jerks me forward, and before I can answer, we’re kissing. His lips fuse to mine, his tongue possesses me. From the frisson of his aura to the dusty-sweet smell, he’s exactly as I remember. I get a hand in his wet hair and another around his waist and cling to him like my life will end if I let go.
After his one-word question, we don’t talk. I’ll attempt to answer him later. Right now, I’m too busy kicking out of my sweatpants and pulling the crew neck over my head. He loses histowelat the same time, and then we’re on the bed rolling over and over, skin on skin.
His kisses are fueled by anger. I can taste the fire. I melt into him, so thankful he’s in my arms that tears threaten. He’s rough, bruising me with the force of his grip. He latches onto my neck, and for a moment, I panic. I’ve barely recovered from his last feeding. I can’t lose any more blood. His fangs stay sheathed, though the way he pulls my flesh between his teeth will leave a mark.
My dick is so hard, it hurts, and he’s just as bad, so I reach for both our cocks. Roughly, he grabs my arm and slings me over on my belly. “Like this,” he mutters, and I nearly do start to sob because I’ve wanted to feel him inside me ever since I left.
He spreads my cheeks and spits on my hole. A blunt finger spears me, rubbing in the slick. We’ve probably got lube somewhere, but I don’t want him to stop. I want his anger. I want it to hurt.
Maybe down deep, I hope he’ll purify us both with his righteous fire.
Wishful thinking.
He works a second finger in, his other hand planted between my shoulder blades, shoving me onto the bed. I’m barely ready when he pulls out. The head of his big cock nudges me, and then he shoves himself in.
I’m bearing down, using every trick I know to stay relaxed. It burns like hell, and I love every second. Trajan Gall is in me. Again. After so long. I rise up on my elbows, forehead resting in my hands. I can’t look at him. I can’t let him see my face. I can’t let him see the tears.
He starts to thrust, a slow corkscrew that hits my gland and drives me wild. His hands hold my hips so tight, I’ll have fingertip bruises. It feels so good, so right, I open myself and let him strip me raw.
He’s grunting with every thrust, skin slapping against skin. His hand on my back softens, and he reaches up to thread his fingers through my hair, as much a caress as a means of control. Soon, too soon, he stills, and with a deep groan, he finds his release. He collapses on top of me, pressing me down into the mattress.
My cock is an iron bar trapped against my belly. He sighs and rolls to the side. I’m afraid to move because I don’t want to break the spell. Hate sex works for me, as long as we don’t go back to the frozen distance we had before.
“Come here.” His whisper is raw, broken, and he draws me into his arms. I ease myself closer, so happy to be at his side, I can barely breathe. He strokes my arm with languid fingers. “So this is where we have a ‘come to Jesus,’ right?”
I stifle a laugh. “If you want to.”
“Not really.”
