by Nadine Mutas
“I’m just curious.” She shrugged, playing it casual. “Family stories are always such fun, what with that one quirky relative everyone seems to have. Sometimes more than one.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
A shiver ran down her spine. His voice, it was so hollow and cold it made her rub her arms for warmth. Her instincts pricked up, sensing a hurt buried deep in him, lurking beneath that cool facade and air of indifference.
“What was your father like?”
“Never knew him. He died before I was born.”
Good grief, he was an orphan? Her chest tightened as if someone had wrapped bands around it, and pulled. “I’m so sorry. That must have been hard, growing up without your parents.”
“I managed.”
That wording. I managed. Not we. Not inclusive of supportive family members, of adults taking care of a child who had to grow up without the love of his parents.
“Who raised you?” she whispered.
He didn’t meet her eyes. “My grandfather, mostly. My aunt and uncle were there, too. And their kids.”
It sounded like it should have been a great support system, a haven of close relatives filling the gap the death of his parents had left. And yet, his tone said different.
“Thorne…” She swallowed, the horror hidden behind what he didn’t say crawling over her skin. “What happened?”
He got to his feet and turned away. “Don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do,” she said softly. She rose, too, and followed him, stopping a pace behind his back. Tentatively, she reached up and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Who was it?”
“Who was what?”
Her voice broke with her next question. “Which one of them hurt you when you were a kid?”
He turned, finally, and her hand came to rest above his heartbeat. What he said next shattered fragile pieces of her soul. “All of them.”
Her other hand covered her mouth, muted her sound of shock. How in the world—? It was inconceivable, the idea of family being anything else than a bedrock of love, support, and care. Her own family members were involved in each other’s lives to a sometimes troublesome degree that could drive a sane person to a rage, but at the heart of it, that involvement was always woven with such affection and concern for the wellbeing of each other. When push came to shove, they would all fight for each other, to the death if necessary, and make sacrifices to keep each family member healthy, happy, and cradled in a net of unwavering support.
To have your own family turn against you, to hurt you, the mere thought twisted something inside her.
She looked at Thorne, and, irrevocably, lost another piece of her heart to him. “I’m so sorr—”
“Don’t pity me.” The roughness of his voice chafed at her.
She shook her head. “I’m not. I’m empathizing.”
“That’s the same.”
“No, it’s not. How would you feel if you saw me being hurt?”
His face grew even harder, something lethal flashing in his eyes. “I’d hunt down and kill whoever hurt you.”
Inwardly, she sighed. Let’s just roll with it. “Okay, sounds legit. And what would you do after you killed whoever hurt me? If you saw me cry? Be in emotional pain?”
He frowned, opened his mouth.
“Wouldn’t you want to comfort me?”
Swallowing, he nodded.
“Because you don’t want me to be in pain. That’s compassion, empathy. Not pity.”
“It’s still different the other way around.”
“What do you mean?”
“If it were you in pain. You deserve compassion. You’re good.”
She held her breath. “And you’re not?”
He shook his head, eyes hard.
His look, it pulled at her heartstrings. “Why? Why do you think that?” Was this it? Would he now tell her he was evil, had done evil things? Who would say that about themselves? Dread settled in her stomach.
“I’m poison,” he said. It was but a rasp, abrading her on the inside.
“Explain that,” she whispered.
His throat muscles worked as he swallowed. “I poison the lives of those close to me. I’m no good. I ruin everything I touch. I even killed my mother.”
Her heart froze. “What?” Please tell me it’s not true. Please tell me—
“She died in childbirth.”
She almost felt bad for the relief that rushed through her. “But that’s not your fault. It’s horrible, yes, but you didn’t do that—”
“She’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me. That’s a fact.”
“You don’t know that for sure. Something else might have happened that—”
“My two cousins died because of me, too.” He was apparently on a roll, obviously wanting to get this out. Each confession tumbled from his mouth as if relieved to be finally free. “I got them killed. We were out playing at night, and there was this witch… Our shadow cloaking wasn’t quite as well-developed, and mine was the worst. I was clumsy and stumbled. I lost control over the shadow, the witch saw me, and I ran. I ran right to my cousins, betraying their hiding spot. The witch killed them both. I managed to escape and hide in a sewer pipe.”
Anjali was shocked speechless, could only stare at his anguish-wrought expression.
“They died. Because of me.” He clenched his hand to a fist, thumped it against his chest. “I bring death to those around me. I even got you almost killed last night. You. When you’re the one good thing in my life. You almost died in that tunnel!”
She sucked in a breath, turned away, pinched the bridge of her nose, and faced him again. “First of all, I didn’t almost die in there. I got bumped on my head. Big deal. Second—” She poked a finger in his chest. “It was my decision to follow you last night, my decision to go traipsing after you into a dark, unknown tunnel, so the responsibility for any harm come to me is my own. Not yours.” She paused to take a deep breath. “And speaking of which, you don’t have to carry responsibility for everything that happens around you. Bad stuff happens, that’s just how it goes. I’m sorry about your cousins’ deaths, and I’m so, so sorry about your mom, but neither of those incidents were your fault. You didn’t kill your mom. And you didn’t kill your cousins.”
“Maybe not directly. But I caused their deaths. It’s something that follows me. I’ve only ever brought death.”
She put both hands on her hips. “Uh-huh. Sure. It’s not like you haven’t saved my life like a hundred times.”
He shook his head, stepping back. “You don’t understand. It’s not just coincidence. If you stick around, you will end up getting hurt because of me. Or worse. And I can’t—”
“Stop.” In an instant, she was in front of him, rose up on her tiptoes, and pulled him into a kiss. “Just stop,” she whispered against his lips then pressed her mouth against his again.
It was not just the only way she could think of to shut him up, no. It was born of a burning desire to make him see, feel, taste that he was good, that he was worthy. How could she not close the distance between them now? Pull him to her and out of that dark place he’d sunk into, let him bathe in warmth, and light, and lo—
No, don’t go there. Focus on—
He curved one hand around her hip, buried the other in her hair, and whirled her around. Her back met the wall, and he was heat and power and an explosion of sex pressed against her, caging her in. He took her mouth in raw passion, making her ache in all the right places.
Breath heavy and fast, she broke away, stared into eyes of glacier blue, eyes that had haunted her memory since she was twelve. “All those fantasies I’ve had about you,” she murmured. “They don’t even come close to the real thing. You’re so much more than I hoped you would be.”
“You’ve had fantasies about me?” His expression remained unaffected, but he tightened his grip on her hair.
Her cheeks burned. “Teenage girl. Hormones. A handsome boy on the wrong side o
f the law. Do the math.”
“I’ve never been good at math,” he said, his tone deadpan. “I need you to tell me.”
Cheeky, cheeky. A smile bloomed in her heart, and she couldn’t stifle her grin. “I used to dream you’d steal me away. That you’d grab me and drag me to your lair, and do all sorts of naughty things to me. You know.” She shrugged. “The usual.”
The intensity of his heated gaze sizzled over her skin.
“Well,” she said with a laugh to defuse the unbearable sexual tension that had snapped so taut between them, it stilled the air. “I guess it was a hormonal mix of too much Phantom of the Opera and Beauty and the Beast, with a touch of Romeo and Juliet.”
He still stared. “You’ve had fantasies about me,” he slowly said, his voice dropping gravelly low.
“Um, well, yeah, that’s what I just said. I know, it’s kinda weird, given that I’d never really known you, but—”
His mouth crashing down on hers effectively shut her up. He kissed her with such unbridled sensual hunger, it sent fire through her veins. Groaning into his mouth, she melted against him. Her one hand tunneled through his hair, her other slipping around to his back. She dug her fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt and pulled.
“Off,” she murmured.
He drew back just far enough to see her face. “Me?”
“No. Gods, no!” She laughed. “Your T-shirt.”
One side of his mouth tipped up. He raised his arms, grabbed the tee behind his neck, and pulled it off in one smooth move. The roll of his muscles underneath his skin was a feast for her eyes. He hadn’t even thrown the T-shirt to the side when she already had her hands on him.
Her lips followed. She leaned in and kissed his pecs, licked along the lines of scars across his shoulders. He shuddered under her caresses. Wherever she touched him, muscles bunched and skin stretched taut, arousing evidence of the effect she had on him. Heady stuff, that kind of power.
Desire pulsed between her legs. Her skin felt too tight, too sensitive, and yet aching for touch. In a bold move that startled herself, she pulled off her long-sleeve top. Breathing fast, she stood before him, her black lace bra the only barrier between her naked breasts and his hungry eyes.
“Touch me,” she whispered. “Please.”
His gaze snapped up from her cleavage, searched her eyes. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I want you.”
Exhaling, he raised his hand, reached out slowly, as if touching a sacred relic. With measured calm, he pulled down one strap of her bra, then the other. They fell down over her arms, the bra now only loosely covering the swell of her breasts.
Anticipation a thrill in her blood, she dared not breathe. Her nipples had already hardened, eagerly awaiting his touch. She’d had sex before—with the one steady boyfriend she’d had—but never had she felt this wired, this impatient to be touched.
He leaned in, reached behind her—without letting his fingers graze her skin—and unfastened her bra. It fell down, leaving her breasts bare to his sight, his caress. Heart pounding a thousand times a minute, skin heated and nerves tingling, she groaned.
“If you don’t touch me soon, I might resort to violence.”
“Shhh.” He smiled, his hand hovering an inch above her breast. “First times need to be savored.”
He lowered his hand, ran the backs of his fingers along the underside of her breast. Sharp jolts of excitement zinged down, straight to her pulsing core. She grabbed hold of the waistband of his jeans, pulled him closer.
“Hands on the wall.” His voice was gentle. The steel in his eyes was all command.
Inhaling a trembling breath, she did as told, pressed her hands against the wall—and let him explore. When the tips of his fingers circled her areola, she bit her lip, dropped her head back and closed her eyes. He took her nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolled it, tugged at it, and all around drove her crazy with his single-minded focus. Good gawds, he made her knees wobble.
Her eyes flew open when the wet heat of his mouth closed over her nipple. She moaned, pressure building inside her, the need to touch him in turn becoming paramount.
“Please, I need—”
He released her nipple. “Am I hurting you?”
“Only by not letting me touch you.”
With a smile, he hauled her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and crawled over her. Midnight black hair fell into his face, his winter sky-blue eyes blazing in the semi-darkness. The way he looked at her, it took her breath away.
“You can touch me all you want,” he murmured, kissing her on the side of her neck.
He didn’t have to tell her twice. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his back, to the front and across his torso, reveling in the feel of the hard planes of his body, the whisper of strength underneath her fingertips.
He kissed his way down her chest—sucking on each nipple in turn, the pulling sensation shooting straight to her core—down her abdomen to the waistband of her jeans, where he popped the button then lowered the zipper. She raised her hips as he pulled off her pants. Her panties came next, exposing her most intimate place to his eyes. He paused and studied the neatly trimmed small patch of dark hair, molten heat in his gaze.
She was usually okay with her body, but now she was about to start feeling self-conscious under his stare when he looked up and said, “You’re so beautiful.”
Such simple, simple words, and yet, they loosened the knot of anxiety that had formed in her chest, let her exhale on a smile. She reached for him. “I need you inside me.”
Thorne marveled at the view before him. Anjali, lying naked on his bed, skin flushed with lust, eyes glinting with desire, her hand outstretched, beckoning him to join her. Her hair fanned out in a cascade of blue-black silk around her head, and her lips were parted, darkened with arousal. For him.
If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake.
“Come to me,” she murmured, her husky voice the perfect blend of heavenly and sinful.
He made short work of shucking his own pants then returned to the bed. Languidly, he let his fingers brush along her inner thigh until he grazed her swollen lips, wet with her desire. She sucked in a breath, her hands grabbing the sheets in a white-knuckled grip.
He paused and checked on her expression, made sure what he was doing gave her pleasure. Her face glowed with need, and she licked her lips, pushed her hips slightly against his touch.
His cock throbbed, pressure tightening his balls, urging for release. Not yet. Not until he’d savored this thoroughly, brought his Anjali more pleasure than she’d think possible. If he was going to do this—and there was no going back now, lines crossed that could never be redrawn—he was going to do it right.
Carefully, watching her every reaction, he circled her clit, applied light pressure then moved down, slid one finger inside her. She moaned, her hips lifting off the mattress.
“I may need some direction on how to do this well,” he murmured against her skin, kissing the side of her breast. He licked a wet circle around her nipple, flicked it with his tongue. “Never done this before.”
“Wha—?” she asked in between panting.
“You’re the first.”
She raised her head, the blaze of desire in her face giving way to open bafflement. “I’m your—You’ve never made love before?”
Made love. Definitely not that. He’d gotten as far as kissing and some manual exploration with two females, but each time he’d had to stop before they’d hit the sheets. It hadn’t felt right. Not when his heart was given to someone else. “It’s always been you, Anjali. Only you.”
She released the breath she’d been holding with a sound close to a whimper. Tangling her hands in his hair, she pulled his face to hers, kissed him. “How can you do this to me?”
He tensed. “Do what?” Had he done her wrong?
She smiled against his lips. “Break my heart and mend it at the same time.”
/>
“I’m sorry.”
Her laugh was a husky caress. “No, silly. Nothing to be sorry for.” She kissed him, a soft meeting of lips, a blessing. “I love it,” she whispered, catching his gaze. “I love what you do to me.”
Anxiety left him in a rush. He smiled, relief letting him breathe easier. “Then I’ll do some more things to you.” His hand found her breast, squeezed it then pinched her nipple. Just a little, just so she moaned and her back arched off the mattress. “Maybe even naughty things,” he added, echoing her earlier words when she’d described her fantasy.
“Yes, please.” She ran her hand down his chest, to his hips, grazed the trimmed hair on his groin. “More stroking. I need your fingers between my legs. What you did before…”
The pleasure rocking through him at her touch all but zapped his mind, almost enough to drown out her words. He caught himself with inhuman effort, and followed her instructions. Stroking her folds, he brushed over her clit only lightly at first, then with more pressure as he inserted two fingers inside her and picked up the pace.
Anjali undulated against him, her sounds of pleasure the sweetest symphony, her abandon driving him wild. He’d never get enough of this, seeing her melt for him, arching into his touch.
“Keep doing that,” she whispered. “Just—oh, gods, yes!”
Huh, so that spot right there drove her into a frenzy. He cataloged it, along with every other reaction of hers, learned the landscape of her pleasure, how much or how little pressure, how slow or fast he needed to go. When she shied away from a move—no matter how minuscule that reaction—he banned it from his repertoire, and he repeated those maneuvers that had her clutching the sheets and utter unintelligible sounds of excitement. Repeated them mercilessly until she shattered under his hands with a cry of unadulterated pleasure, filling him with pure masculine pride.
When she came down from the high of her pleasure, her eyes once more focusing on him, he moved his body fully over hers, both his knees between her legs, spreading her open.
He hesitated, had to make sure. “Yes?”
Her smile, it opened the cracks in his heart, let light pour in. “Yes.”
