Page 23 of Tide Touched

‘My kind can, yes. Me? Not very well.’ I present my hand, palm up, and summon a few sparks instead of a flame.

Carter blinks, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he looks impressed. ‘That’s still cool.’

‘So, you can control water?’ It’s strange, meeting someone who should be my opposite, who doesn’t feel like my opposite. What I wouldn’t give to have his gift instead of mine. ‘I miss the water,’ I mumble to myself.

‘You asked me if we go to the beach,’ Carter recalls. ‘Yes, we do control water.’ He shuffles a little closer to me, closing the distance. ‘You like the beach?’

‘Yeah. I always have.’ I swipe my thumb and forefinger over my forehead, indicating invisible, large text. ‘FREAK,’ I confirm.

‘Who called you that?’ Anger edges his voice.

‘Most people.’

Carter nudges my legs with his shoulder, then shakes his head.

‘So, you’re the alpha’s nephew, which makes you his heir?’

Carter bobs his head. ‘Yup. My parents died when I was little. He raised me. He never married. Never found his mate. So, he’s stuck with me.’

I blink. Carter doesn’t seem like the self-deprecating sort, so the comment catches me off-guard. ‘Does he—I mean, you get along with him?’

Carter’s eyes darken so quickly before he averts his gaze, I could have imagined it. ‘Yeah.’ His voice is hollow, like he’s spoken after coughing. ‘What about your family?’ Sadness fills his voice. ‘Who did you leave behind?’ As though he’s starting to realise I have left people behind that I care about. Well, not my parents or stepmother, but still.

‘Dead,’ I say simply. ‘I miss my best friend. Moira’s like a sister to me.’

Carter meets my gaze. ‘What’s that like?’

I open and close my mouth, then realise he’s serious. ‘It’s like… having an anchor. Someone I can always rely on. The only person I’ve ever been able to rely on.’ I don’t know where the wonder in his eyes comes from. He has his uncle, his girlfriend, this whole estate filled with people looking out for him, but there it is.

Carter reaches out on the bed between us. ‘I promise you’ll see her again. Somehow.’

I admit, I hadn’t expected this softer side of him. As though sensing my thoughts and wanting to shield this, he shuffles forward and leans in for a kiss, his cold lips pressed to mine.

Though his touch is cold, my body heats as his hands wind around my back. My wolf writhes inside me, panting and impatient for him. Already a dampness rubs between my thighs. ‘How is it that I can be so turned on by you, yet I barely know you?’ My voice is low and husky between us.

Carter’s lip curls, darkly amused. ‘I don’t know.’ His lips crash down on mine, claiming my mouth. ‘It’s the same for me,’ he says between breathless kisses. His fingers grasp my hair.

A powerful urge to possess him washes over me. I want to claim him, to own him. I don’t understand this mate bond, but I want an even share of the power. I bite his lip, drawing it into my mouth.

Carter gives a moan then draws back, his face a dark storm cloud. ‘I’ve never bitten you,’ he says, a little indignant. He touches a finger to his lip, drawing a spot of blood away.

Fear and righteous pride course through me, both bitter. ‘No,’ I admit. ‘But I hate the hair-pulling. Consider it vengeance.’

Something soft melts his eyes. He knows he didn’t really hurt me. That we’re playing. Our wolves want this. ‘Is that so?’ Carter presses himself against me, winding my hair around his wrist. He gives a little tug.

My cry—okay, it’s more of a moan—is lost in his mouth. My hands roam over him, digging my nails in. I need more from him. I want to be in control, too. I want to give and take this time.

If he doesn’t touch my clit, I swear I will. My fingers twine into his blond hair, and I pull, satisfaction rolling through me at his little grunt. See how he likes it. This time, he doesn’t draw back. To my annoyance, doesn’t even object, so I tug it again, and his grunt melts into a moan. Oh, for fucks’ sake, he likes it. I smile despite myself.

Carter’s kiss softens. We’re still finding the lines we like to play within, the ones we cross, and the ones we won’t. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he says quietly. ‘I won’t strike you. I’m not a bastard.’

A reassurance that, while I appreciate, seems to have come from nowhere. I try to lean back to meet his gaze, to see those ocean eyes, but he doesn’t give me the chance. He’s kissing me fiercely, undoing my jeans, his hands working quickly and efficiently.

We keep nibbling at each other, and I’m careful not to bite him too hard, his lip already a little sore, no doubt. When I wind my hands through his hair, I grasp rather than pull, and he does the same as we pick each other’s clothes off.

This time is different. It feels more even. More honest.

As I press myself against him, he inhales sharply. As though… as though in pain. I try to look up at him, but he keeps kissing me, hungrily. ‘Carter,’ I breathe, setting a hand on his chest to slow down.

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