by Vivi Andrews
He was terrified. Because she mattered to him. Because he couldn’t control how he felt with her. Because he couldn’t cut all feeling out of his life and be a revenge machine when she was with him.
Which was just fine. Because he mattered to her too.
She wasn’t ready to allow any other emotional words into the conversation, but she cared about him. And she wanted him in a way that was unholy and raw.
“I think you should stay,” she murmured, approaching him cautiously, like she would a wild tiger.
“Why?” His dark eyes were wary and cross.
She wasn’t ready to answer that. The truth felt too raw inside her chest. But Dominec would never believe a lie, so she told him all the truth she could spare. “Because you burn me with your eyes and that is nothing compared to what you can do with your hands and your cock.”
Chapter Forty-One
The filthy words coming out of her perfectly pink mouth broke through any lingering barriers of rational thought. It was a good thing nothing stood between them because he would have destroyed it in his rush to get to her. He lunged for her and she met him just as eagerly. He ate into her mouth—raspberries, she tasted of raspberries—and lifted her against him with an arm around her waist. Her arms folded around his shoulders. Her legs locked around his hips and he carried her to the nearest couch.
His knee sank down on the cushion as he lowered her onto it and a puff of scent rose up to him. The scent of another lion had him lifting his head away from her, shaking his head against the unwelcome intrusion.
“Hey.” She pulled his head back down to hers. “Stay with me, here.”
He shook his head, unable to find the words to explain, the instinctive part of his brain in control.
Her blue-on-blue eyes gazed up at him, oases of calm. “Do you want me?”
She made it sound so simple. As if that was the only question that mattered. As if letting himself care for her would never hurt him, never lead to the evisceration of his still beating heart.
But there was a flaw in that line of thinking. It wasn’t a question of letting himself need her. There was no choice. No alternative. He’d been trying to keep her from getting too close when she was already inside him, making his heart beat for him again.
Irritation flared. Anger at her for making him so vulnerable again. For bringing him so low. How dare she? He hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t wanted any part of it. There was no rational thought left in the sizzling inferno of his brain. Only anger that had nowhere to go. Grace was the cause but he would sooner cut off his own arm than hurt her. He needed to fight. To run. To scream at himself.
The anger twisted around, finding its usual target. He always had been his own worst enemy.
“Dominec?”
His eyes focused again. He had frozen above her on the couch, crouched over her—poised for flight, or to fight anyone who dared touch her.
“You okay?” She threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, the touch soothing and cool. “Your eyes are doing that thing.”
His hands were shifting too—claws moving in and out, though they never pricked her skin. “I need—”
He didn’t know what he needed. He needed to go. He needed to fight. He needed to run until his paws bled red tracks in the snow. But he couldn’t leave her. Unprotected. No. Never that.
“Hey,” she called softly, “look at me.”
He focused again outside the chaos of his own mind, his gaze lingering on her face, the shape of it, and the outer ring of darker blue in her eyes.
“We’re in the heart of the pride,” she murmured, low and soothing. “My phone is right here,” she reached into her hip pocket and pulled it out, setting it on the cushion beside her. “If anything bad is coming, we’ll have warning. Unless it’s a meteor and then we’re fucked anyway.”
He frowned and she rolled her eyes. “Joke. Dominec. I’m lightening the mood. You’re supposed to laugh.”
“I don’t laugh.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Do you mind?”
“That you don’t laugh? Right now I mind more that you called a halt to the sexytimes.” Her fingers played across the back of his neck and he shivered. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?”
She smiled, pulling gently, but determinedly, drawing him inevitably down toward her. “Do…” She tangled her legs around him, making escape impossible. “You…” Her free hand slid beneath his shirt, cool against the heat of his back as she used it to pull him ever lower. “Want…” Her lips were a whisper away from his now, the scent of raspberry lip gloss still clinging to them. “Me?”
The kiss made an answer unnecessary, but after several drugging strokes of her tongue, he lifted his head to reply. “I don’t want you.”
She blinked, a frown starting between her brows.
“It isn’t a matter of want. That word is pathetic and inadequate.”
“Oh?” A flirty smile lit her eyes, though her mouth remained serious.
“You consume me.”
Damn.
The man did have a way with words.
His frown was fierce and he always seemed like he was annoyed by his admissions, irritated by the truth of what he was saying, but the words. She melted.
“Come here.” She pulled him back into the kiss and he did his best to consume her right back. The last bit of his weight that he had been holding away from her settled down on top of her, his hardness fitting perfectly into the cradle of her thighs, pressing her into the cushions. He ground down and she pushed back against him, giving as good as she got as she fell head first into a pool of blind desire.
She didn’t want to stop kissing him even long enough to struggle out of their clothes, so Dominec solved that problem by slicing her shirt into lacy purple remnants. The skin of his back was warm and drawn tightly over his muscles as she stroked higher, shoving his shirt up as she went.
He finally broke the kiss, lurching up to rip his shirt over his head and shove at his pants. She fumbled for the fastening of her jeans as he yanked his down to his knees—revealing that he was once again commando. And ready for business.
Her mouth watered at the long, proud jut of him, and she forgot about her jeans, wrapping her hand around his cock and sitting up to take the tip of it into her mouth. He cursed darkly before palming the back of her head—not to push her deeper, though the thought of it made her drench her panties, but just to hold on as she began to suck.
He tasted delicious. Salty and masculine. The scent of him made her hips squirm on the couch cushions even as she swallowed him deeper. She drew back until only the head remained in her mouth and fluttered her tongue along the underside before increasing the suction until he groaned and used both hands to wrench himself out of her mouth.
He hauled her to her feet, spinning her to face her desk so he was at her back. His hands were frantic on her jeans and she heard the sound of denim tearing as he shoved them down. A hand on the center of her back bent her over and she slapped her palms flat on her desk, twisting her neck to watch him over her shoulder. His black gaze was focused on her ass. His hands stroked over the curve of it, delving lower, between her legs and into her slippery folds. Finding her wet, he ground out another curse, one hand circling her clit as he took himself in hand with the other and guided himself to her entrance. She went up on her toes at the first inch of his cock notching inside her vagina and stayed on them as he worked himself deeper. He released his cock and pressed down on her shoulders, growling, “Lower,” until she dropped down to brace herself on her forearms on the desk, altering the angle in a way that was fucking brilliant.
And then he began to fuck her. There was no other word for it. For all his pretty words, this was primal and unrefined in the most brutally delicious way. He pounded into her. He gripped her hips hard en
ough to leave bruises, yanking her tighter against him and making wild, animalistic noises. Grace had long since given up trying to look back at him. She dropped her head forward over her braced forearms and held on for the ride, blind to everything but the sensation building and tightening inside her with each friction-rich thrust.
“Come,” Dominec growled, his movements growing jerky and uneven. “Come on. Now.”
She was close, so fucking close, but it wasn’t until his body stiffened and she felt the first hot jet inside her that the tight knot inside her finally released into a rush of bliss. He collapsed over her back, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as his orgasm went on and on, her own matching him spasm for spasm.
When at last their bodies released them from pleasure’s grip, Grace sighed the sigh of the replete. She tightened her inner muscles and Dominec’s entire body jerked, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the back of her neck with his groan. So she did it again.
He moaned something obscene and she grinned—but the edge of her desk was making itself felt against her thighs and the idea of being bent over her stapler was starting to lose some of its appeal.
“Do you think we can try the couch now?” she asked, giving one last internal squeeze to remind him how much he liked her, just in case he was considering bolting again.
But Dominec wasn’t running.
He straightened and disengaged from her body, dragging his pants up so he didn’t trip over them as he moved to her small bathroom to clean himself up.
Grace’s jeans and panties had only made it as far down as her knees and her bra was still hanging off one shoulder, but instead of trying to repair her appearance, she stripped out of the rest of her clothes until she was stark naked.
Dominec returned moments later, his pants only half-fastened, carrying a washcloth for her.
Look at that. Chivalry isn’t dead.
He stopped dead, staring at her and she saw the flight impulse flash across his face. I guess it’s time for the fifty-yard dash.
Dominec stood, struck dumb by the sight of her. Nudity wasn’t shameful in the pride—it was a natural part of shifting—but he still wasn’t prepared for Grace’s self-assured comfort in her own skin as she gazed steadily back at him. Nor for the impact her leggy beauty had on him as she stood there in all her glory.
She projected an ease with herself that he wasn’t sure he had ever possessed. Grace knew herself. But Dominec…he was perpetually lost.
A drip from the damp washcloth in his hand hit the floor, reminding him of his purpose. He crossed to her, but instead of handing her the washcloth, he pressed it to the juncture of her legs himself—and the thought that he had just been there, deep inside her, stirred something so visceral in him he had to pull her to him for a long, distracting kiss.
When he lifted his head, her eyes were dazed. He returned the cloth to the bathroom. When he stepped out of the washroom, he nearly froze again. She’d stretched herself out on one of the couches, her arms draped above her head in a way that emphasized the long, lean lines of her body.
He couldn’t look away—but the impulse to run was there. Being with her felt like walking a high wire across a volcano. It was something a smart man would never attempt, but her eyes dared him as she reached up one hand in languorous invitation. “Are you going to join me?”
He approached, cautious, but let her catch his hand and tug him down to sit on the couch. She pushed at his shoulders until he reclined lengthwise and tucked herself between his body and the back of the couch. She guided his arm around her, resting her cheek against his chest so the top of her head tucked under his chin.
Cuddling.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cuddled. Literally couldn’t remember. His memories were too scrambled.
No telling how long this memory would last before it too got lost in the dark mine shafts of his mind.
“Relax,” Grace murmured, stroking a hand over his chest and down his abs. “You’re so tense I feel like I’m cuddling a statue.”
“I’m concentrating,” he explained.
He felt her smile against his chest. “On?”
“Keeping this memory. I don’t want to forget how you feel.”
He felt more than heard her soft gasp. “The things you say, Dominec,” she murmured, almost subvocal it was so faint. Then, louder, “Do you still have trouble with your memory? I thought it was just older memories that were mixed up.”
“Everything is messed up,” he admitted. And he didn’t want to lose this moment like he had lost so many others. If those memories could even be trusted. “Sometimes it feels like everything I think I remember is just an illusion. Fragments of a deranged mind all mashed together. I wonder if any of the things I think I remember about my life before the Organization are real.”
She twisted, like she might try to see his face and he tightened his arm until she settled back against him.
“You asked about the last time I was happy.” Micah, laughing so hard he fell out of his chair. And Dominec couldn’t remember what had made him laugh. No matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t come. “I don’t even know if that is a real memory. I don’t have any pictures of them. No mementos of my life before. How can I be sure it happened?”
“It happened,” Grace said, with absolute conviction. She levered herself up and this time he let her. She leaned across his chest, meeting his gaze with utter certainty. “You loved and you were loved, Dominec. That wasn’t an illusion.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“Yes, I can.”
She had faith in him. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever had faith in him before. Ksenia had wanted to mold him into her perfect husband, but she always spoke to him as if it was a Herculean task she had been saddled with rather than the product of faith. The Organization scientists had wanted things from him—but when he gave them super-human feats, they only patted themselves on the back for their cleverness at having drawn that potential out of him. And since he’d escaped the Organization, everyone had always looked at him like he was broken beyond repair.
Only Grace looked at him like he might be redeemable.
And he realized he liked that she did.
Even if she was wrong.
“You shouldn’t have such faith in me,” he murmured. “I’ll fail you.”
“Stop it,” she insisted. “You haven’t failed me. And you won’t because you don’t know how to give up. The only way you could fail me would be to stop fighting and I know you will never do that. You’re just one man, Dominec.” A little grin worked her lips. “Okay, one man and one tiger, and you move like nothing else on the planet, but you’re mortal. Like all of us. And that’s okay.”
“I got lost in the shift. With the wolves,” he reminded her, remembering the way the tiger had consumed him. That memory hadn’t fallen into one of the mine shafts of his mind. “I was trained by the Organization to control my shifts, to stay human and icy—I was good at it. But you’re changing me.” And he wasn’t sure he liked the change.
“I’m changing too,” she admitted.
“Do you like the change?”
She paused, thinking that one over. “I don’t know. But I think it’s worth it.”
“What’s worth it?”
“You are.”
He didn’t have a response to that, so he pulled her against his chest again, holding her as the snow fell outside.
Chapter Forty-Two
After Thanksgiving, everything changed.
She was officially named Roman’s Second. The letter she had composed with Zoe and Kye went out to every shifter community they knew of in North America and responses began coming back almost immediately. Some told them to fuck off, but most wanted a piece of the Organization as badly as Lone Pine did. Planning the coordinated strike became Grace’s top priority.
; And through it all she had a boyfriend, though it still felt wrong to call Dominec that.
On Thanksgiving, he’d stayed with her until she had to leave for her perimeter shift in the morning, and then he’d surprised her by coming with her—not to distract her as she’d originally argued, but to lend his considerable talents to the task. He still wasn’t part of the official duty roster, but she knew she could schedule one less soldier for the nights when she was on shift because Dominec would be her shadow.
Though she was rarely on perimeter shift these days. Her duties as Second, combined with planning the new attack, left her with virtually no spare time. She wouldn’t even have seen much of Dominec if not for his tendency to stalk her and appear out of shadows right when she found herself wondering if he was free.
She spent her nights with him, sometimes talking about pride business and how plans were developing, but usually not talking at all.
They were almost a normal couple.
They hadn’t exactly had the chance to publicize their relationship—if either of them had been the sort to want to do that—so Grace was completely blindsided by the request that came from her parents on the first Saturday in December, commanding the presence of Grace and her boyfriend at a family dinner the following night.
She was frankly shocked by the invitation—the last thing she’d expected was that they would embrace Dominec as their own—until the penny dropped and she realized they meant Kelly.
She hadn’t done anything to encourage her parents’ belief that she was seeing Kelly—but she hadn’t discouraged it either. She’d liked their approval, however long it had lasted. But the invitation was a flashing neon sign that it was beyond time to clear things up—even if that meant going back to Walking Disappointment status.
Her parents had never really latched onto the idea of telephones—thinking them silly and unnecessary in the close community of the pride—so Grace found herself jogging out to their house in one of her rare free moments. As she approached, she heard the noise of her siblings within and cringed, remembering that on Saturday none of them would be in school. She didn’t particularly want an audience for this conversation, but it didn’t look like she had a lot of options.