by Nalini Singh
The distance was her fault.
Her reactions were too strong, too manic when it came to him—and it had only gotten worse after that incident in the gym. After a lifetime deprived of pleasure, she wanted to be a glutton, just gorge on Canto. She’d withdrawn because she needed to find a middle path between unrestrained and frenzied sensual gluttony and cold control.
But she thought she might’ve made a mistake in taking that backward step—Canto had been increasingly gruff with her. “Are you angry?” She had to ask, had to know; he was the most important person in her life. She couldn’t bear it if he was angry with her.
He scowled up at her, the galaxies missing. “Only that I can’t help you with whatever’s happening. I want to fight all your battles, take all the battle damage.”
She scowled back at him. “Yet I’m not allowed to help take your pain?” It had been a beautiful surprise to find out that their bond permitted her to share the load.
He growled at her, growled. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
“No.” Because that was her line in the sand; there were a lot of ways in which she would bend for Canto, but not when it led to pain and hurt for him.
A glare was her reward . . . but he also reached up to take her hand and press a kiss to the back. Things melted inside her. This was something else she’d learned—fighting with Canto didn’t have to mean rejection or hurt. He’d always be there, no matter how much they disagreed. Never had she had that kind of certainty, that kind of a stable place on which to stand.
Bending, she kissed him on one bristled cheek. “I think you’re wonderful, Canto.” It came out solemn, not playful like she’d seen in the human/changeling shows she’d started to watch on the comm screen.
His smile was slow, a brush of dark red on his cheekbones. “Well, okay.” It came out gruff, but then he “kissed” her using their bond, the psychic touch tender.
Her toes curled inside her shoes. Those shoes were soft sneakers and went well with the dark blue jeans and simple white vee-necked knitted top that she’d bought purposefully loose. “Shall we go?”
Canto nodded, his chest clenched and hot with the impact of the words Payal had spoken. So serious and intense. So Payal. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and cuddle her close, but today he had another priority. He’d spent hours searching for a suitable place that was close enough not to tire her, but also remote enough that they were unlikely to see anyone else.
He didn’t give a flying fuck about being exposed to her family, but it’d distract her from the healing she’d begun to do since she’d had the freedom to stop watching constantly for a knife in the back.
It’d be a long journey, but she’d begun.
The world blinked out, then blinked back into place a heartbeat later.
In front of them was the old stone wall he’d used as a marker. Scratched within it were love hearts with initials, other messages old and new. But that wasn’t what he’d brought her here to see. “Turn around.”
He did it with her, saw the moment she realized.
Her breath caught, her body going motionless. Then she stepped forward, her eyes lifted to the spray of soft blooms even now dropping petals on her in a delicate pink rain. This greenhouse was one of the largest in Russia, and it was planted not with fruits or vegetables, but with flowers.
Including an avenue of cherry blossom trees currently in riotous bloom.
The greenhouse was the brainchild of a human gardener who’d put all his money into it—but was now reaping the rewards, as people came from far and wide to walk in beauty. It sold out every winter, as residents sought out a glimpse of the colors of spring and summer, but—thanks to its range of exotic flora—wasn’t exactly quiet in the warmer months.
Arwen had come here with Pavel; he was the one who’d given Canto the photo of the wall, to add to their files as a teleport reference.
Today, Canto and Payal had it to themselves. He’d arranged it in advance, paid the hefty fee without hesitation. He’d have paid double if asked. Because the wonder on Payal’s face as she walked under the blooms . . .
“It’s even more lovely than I imagined.” Her voice was a breath, her hands held out to catch the falling petals.
Canto stayed with her as she walked on. She stopped every few steps to pick up a petal or touch a leaf or just stand under a falling shower of pink.
Entranced by her, Canto didn’t bother to pick off the petals that clung to his hair and clothing.
But when she looked at him after tipping back her head to bathe in the blossoms, he saw a single tear rolling down her cheek. “Hey.” He immediately curled his arm around her hips. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
Moving into him, she curled herself into his lap, allowed him to put his arms around her. “We can go home,” he said, devastated at the idea of having hurt her.
“No.” An immediate negative, a kiss pressed to his jaw. “I’m just . . . overwhelmed. You remembered.”
Nuzzling the top of her head with his chin, he said, “Don’t you know by now? I remember everything you’ve ever said to me.” He wanted to give her the world, give her his heart, give her whatever she wanted.
The only thing that stopped him was the need to give her freedom.
He wouldn’t hold Payal to him by force or with emotional demands. Her wings were opening wider with each day that passed. She had to choose whether to stay with him or fly.
Soft kisses on his jaw that led to his lips. Shuddering, he held her tight as she explored his lips, tasted him. His heart punched against his rib cage, his breathing going erratic. “Payal,” he rasped.
Sliding her hand over his cheek, she broke the kiss to say, “I don’t want to slow down.”
He saw the glitter in her eyes, knew her shields were fracturing. “What about—”
* * *
• • •
“I am this broken, fragmented patchwork person,” Payal said, sitting up and facing the beautiful man who’d once held her bloody hand. “I’ll always be some version of this.” Nothing would ever “fix” her, and she didn’t want to be fixed.
She just wanted to be Payal without the screams and the chaos, wanted to be a woman in control of her mind. “Today, here, in this dream from the past”—she held out her hand to catch the falling petals—“I remembered how fast life can change, how quickly blood can flow.”
Canto’s face twisted, shadows in his eyes. “Baby, I never intended—”
Payal pressed her fingers to his lips, the petals she held falling onto the faded blue of his chambray shirt. “No, it’s not a bad thing. I got scared, Canto. Not today, before.” A whisper. “Terrified by the power of what I feel for you.” It was in every cell of her body, until it had become a defining feature of the person who was Payal Rao—there would never be any going back from this.
“I thought I was doing a good thing in stepping back, assessing, but that’s how I control the world. A good skill . . . but there is no controlling this, controlling us.” She pressed her forehead to his. “No matter how much I assess, how much I regulate, I will always be a little crazy when it comes to you.”
Canto, this man who was always on her side, gripped her jaw. “It’s fine to be afraid. This is one hell of a change.”
Her eyes burned. “I know. But I don’t want to stop living while I figure out the best way to be me.” She traced the edges of his eyelashes with a careful fingertip; it was a strange thing, but he allowed it because Canto allowed her everything. “The Substrate is in trouble like we’ve never before known—what if it falls? What if? I don’t want to fall with it knowing I was too scared to grab onto joy, grab onto you.”
* * *
• • •
CANTO ran his hand to her nape, squeezed. “It’d destroy me to hurt you.” His voice fractured with the force of his emotions.
Hug
e, starless eyes looking into his. “Don’t you understand, Canto?” Fingers brushing his lips. “That’s why I can risk this. Because it’s you.”
She broke him. Into a million pieces.
Surrendering to the need that had built and built inside him, he pressed a hungry kiss to her lips. When she responded as passionately, her hands fisting in his hair and her mouth opening over his, he knew he couldn’t allow his protectiveness to ruin this. He had to honor her choice. What about the greenhouse?
Pulling back from the kiss, her breath ragged and a feverish glitter in her eyes, Payal glanced around. “Can we come back later today?”
“Yes.” He’d paid for the whole day, and it wasn’t so far that the teleports would wipe her out.
“Then let’s go home.” The world blinked out.
She’d brought them back into the living area of his home, but—not wanting to jostle Payal with the motion of the wheels—he quickly used hover mode to move them both into the bedroom and shut the door. Just in case a bear decided to pay a visit. They’d get the hint.
Shifting back a little, Payal reached for the bottom of her top and stripped it off. All she wore underneath was a white bra with lace edging. It glowed against the honey brown hue of her skin.
His mouth dried up. Gloved hands clasping the dip of her waist, he bent to kiss the tops of her breasts, the curves plump and very, very bad for his concentration. Shivering, she held his head to her, her body warm and silky and oh so soft. He licked and tasted and stroked even as his erection swelled with dark heat.
“I should’ve done research on this,” she muttered before kissing him again.
It’s all right, he told her telepathically since their mouths were busy. A friend decided I needed an education and gave me a few tips.
The bears found it fascinating that many Psy had never indulged in sexual skin privileges. After the first time Canto visited Denhome—and found himself the target of flirtation from bear women who’d decided he was a “snack,” as described by Pavel’s twin Yakov—Valentin had taken him aside and given him the “talk.”
Not the biology of it. Of course Canto knew that. Valentin had told him things far beyond the biological act.
“Most important,” the bear alpha had boomed, slapping Canto on the shoulder, “listen to your woman. Shy or loud, she’ll find a way to tell you what she needs.”
Back then, Canto had muttered that he’d never need the information, he was quite content being alone. He’d never been so happy to be wrong. “We’re going to mess this up the first time around,” he told Payal as he pulled off his gloves, loath to have any barrier between them. “Apparently, ‘fumbling’ is a given the first time around, so the recommendation was to practice. A lot.”
“We won’t mess up.” Payal’s voice was firm. “I’m a Tk. I know how to move.”
He fucking loved her blunt confidence.
When she began to unbutton his shirt, he pulled it off over the top of his head instead and threw it aside. She ran her hands over his shoulders with a little moan, as if she found him as beautiful as he found her. Her touch was electric fire in his veins, the sounds she made as he pulled down the cup of her bra to expose her nipple a kiss to the most sensitive, most vulnerable part of him.
He sucked on the rich brown of her nipple.
Payal’s body jerked and then she was holding him to her, telling him without words that she liked it, that he could continue.
Molding and squeezing her other breast with his hand because he wanted to touch her everywhere all at once, he suddenly froze. “Shit, I forgot about my calluses.” Gloves or not, his palms were never going to be anything but hardened—and Payal’s skin was like velvet.
“What?” An uncomprehending look.
He held up a hand. “My skin is rough.”
“Oh, I like the texture of your hands and your warmth and how you touch me.” She caressed her fingers over his palm. “It all feels really, really good.”
Simple. Direct. Payal.
Thanking his lucky stars, he got back to his delicious adoration of her breasts. Cupping one, he rolled her nipple with his tongue. When she whimpered as if it was too much, he kissed the tip, then switched breasts.
“Canto.” A breathy sigh.
He tugged at the clasp of her bra. “How the hell does this thing come off?”
The bra was suddenly gone, her gorgeous breasts bare for his delectation.
“Did you just teleport it off?” Groaning, he closed his hands over both mounds.
Lips plump and kiss-wet, she cupped his face in her hands and devoured him. Senses on fire, he kissed her back with little finesse and no damn control while her breasts were crushed against his chest. She was so soft and so curvy and so damn lush that he wanted to eat her up.
Even the small voice of panic that yelled he was losing control, losing himself, couldn’t stop him.
Accessing the hover controls with one hand, his mouth locked with hers, he moved them closer to the bed. When they broke apart to gasp in air, he lifted her up and dropped her lightly on the mattress, his upper body plenty strong enough to handle her small frame that way. She watched him with hungry eyes as he lifted himself up onto the mattress.
It wasn’t until he was pressed lengthwise along her that he realized she could’ve teleported him. She hadn’t. Because this was his 3K. She understood what he could and couldn’t bear, understood his scars as he understood hers.
A shudder rocked through him as he buried his face against her neck.
“Canto, my Canto.” She kissed his neck, his shoulder, stroked her hands down his back, melting him from the inside out.
Lifting his head as the thread of panic retreated under the tenderness of her loving, he took her lips again. She rocked her lower body up against him.
Pressing up on his hands, he looked down at her. Her hair was all tumbled, her face flushed, and her nipples wet from his caresses. Small red marks lingered from where his stubble had brushed against her, but she didn’t seem to mind the roughness. He pressed down, moved to kiss the softness of her stomach.
She arched up . . . and the bed lifted off the floor.
Chapter 38
Strong telekinetics may cause physical destruction during emotional and sexual intimacy, especially in the first instances. Control is possible, but the nature of it depends on the individual. Listed below are strategies used by other Tks who have contributed to this document.
—The Manual (private document)
CANTO LOOKED UP to see that Payal’s eyes were closed, her breathing erratic. He grinned. If he was going to get naked with a telekinetic, he had to be ready for a few interesting side effects.
Ignoring the fact that their bed was levitating, he used his arms to move down the bed, then braced himself on one hand and used his other to undo the top of her pants. And . . . they were gone. Teleported away.
Laughing at her impatience, he kissed the top of her navel.
He also noticed that she hadn’t done the same to his jeans. His 3K. Remembering what he needed even when desire was screwing with her control.
Because it’s you.
Her words came back to him, and he found himself saying, “Teleport off my jeans, baby.” He could accept that small loss of control when it came to this intimate act.
Because it was her.
She met his eyes, her own hazy . . . and then she moved her hands to the top button of his jeans. Groaning, he let her take the manual route, let her unbutton and unzip him. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and the little gasp-moan she made when she set sight on him almost made him break then and there.
The only thing that helped him maintain control was the knowledge that pleasure was a foreign concept to Payal.
Canto wasn’t going to be another taker in her life.
When she finally teleported away his
jeans to leave him naked, he watched her breath catch, her skin flush as she ran her hands over him from shoulder to the part of his thighs she could reach.
He couldn’t feel that section of his thighs, but it didn’t matter—the visual impact was visceral. Pressing down on both arms, he kissed her lips, then made his way to her throat. She arched up against him, her nails digging into his shoulders.
Canto made a note in his Manual of Loving Payal: Throat extremely sensitive.
Her breasts were even more so and he couldn’t resist adoring them, his own body held in a fierce kind of check that might’ve been impossible had he not spent so many years learning to contain his anger and frustration and pain as he lay at the mercy of physicians.
He put that willpower to use today to pleasure his 3K. The musk of her was thick in the air by the time he reached the dip of her waist and pressed a kiss there.
She pulled at his shoulders. “Canto.” It was a plea.
His back perspiration-damp, Canto made his way up her body. Bracing himself with one arm beside her head, he ran his free hand down to the juncture between her thighs. No cotton hindered his touch. Payal had teleported off her panties.
“Payal.” He held on to his fractured willpower with gritted teeth.
A single touch and she jerked so hard she almost bucked him off. Their bed banged onto the floor with enough force to jar his teeth, then rose up again while other loose items in the room began flying around them in a silent tornado.
Her surrender made his brain haze so badly he thought he felt the earth shake.
He stroked deeper, found her silken and wet and tight.
Sweat beaded on his temples. His hand trembled.
And Payal spread her thighs before gripping his erection to pull him to her. He saw stars. Flipping off her, he brought himself to a seated position against the solid support of the headboard. Payal moved with him, straddled him, her expression dazed.
