“Are you sure that you want me to touch so much of you?” I ask.
“Some touches don’t hurt.”
My chest hollows out, and I slide my hands around her back. Carefully, so damned carefully, I bring her a few steps closer. My hand comes up to cradle her injured arm.
Once surrounded, she starts to shake. She falls apart in my arms, shattering into a thousand pieces that are only kept together by the cage of my body.
I kneel down before her. Even from this position, we are nearly the same height, so I pull her into my lap. She nestles against me.
I speak to her mind again.
Breathe.I am here. You are strong.
She folds into me. The difference between our sizes is stark, and a new instinct comes into focus. Protect. Nurture. I brush her hair away from her face and gather it over her neck.
Slowly, the shaking stops, but she clings to my torso.
“I will unwrap each of your mysteries, and I won’t leave. You can't be rid of me. The stones have sung our fate," I say.
Marveling, I cup her face and tilt it toward me so that I can see her eyes once more. Her pupils are still large, swirling with budding hope.
“Kiss me,” she says suddenly.
Shock floods through me.
To touch her is a gift. To hold her pain is sacred, but minutes ago, she was crumbling. Now she just looks vulnerable. Like she needs me to carry her away from reality.
"You want to kiss me like this?"
“I’ve never asked a man to kiss me. Let this be my choice—a real choice. Mark me as yours and erase him,” she begs, hands twisting in my shirt.
I grab her behind the neck and pull her lips to mine.
The embrace is slow and full of low-burning heat that travels up my belly and warms my chest. She is everything in this moment. Her taste is sweet and smoky.
“That… should’ve been our first kiss.” She pants against my lips. She eases against me further, accepting the care that I offer. “Again.”
I don’t wait before claiming her mouth.
Right now, I would take the sweet sting of our bitter story over the loneliness that has clawed holes through me my whole life. I'd have this, imperfect and dark as it is, over the ache that has followed me around since my family withered and died.
Hungry and desperate to seal this between us, I stand and muzzle her throat. I would make her smell like me, not him—never him.
As her mouth opens, she makes a sound that causes my cock to harden. I pull her closer. She whimpers.
“You are sweeter than honey,” I say against her lips.
She doesn't respond. Instead, she feverishly returns to my mouth, just as twisted and desperate as I am. Our tongues brush, and my blood runs hot. I savor every inch of her tongue, and my hands swipe down her spine. They glide over the curve of her buttocks. Wrenching her up, her legs wrap around my hips.
One word reverberates as I let myself savor her perfection.
Mate.
Her hips grind against me, and her head falls back. New delicious sounds pour out of her.
“When you said you never knew the touch of the woman. What did you mean?”
My cheeks flush with shame, and it almost ruins the moment.