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“I won’t tell you again.” The threat in his tone gives me goosebumps.
“I’m not leaving. But I promise…” I edge closer. “No more questions tonight. No agendas.” Snatching the shirt he left on the floor, I approach him like a nurse approaches a patient covered in bodily fluids—with compassion and care.
Those conflicting eye colors take on a feral, distrustful glint as I straighten his pants, stretch the waistband over his behemoth cock, and use his discarded shirt to clean his stomach. Then, with a swarm of cicadas in my chest, I kneel on the cushion beside him and wrap my arms around his neck.
He stiffens. Swallows his breath. Falls stunningly still.
A whole two seconds pass, where he resembles something close to an actual human, before he ruins it.
“I don’t need your fucking pity.” Snarling, he shoves me away. “If you’re in such a giving mood, open your goddamn legs.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t make this about sex.”
“That’s all this is about. Now fuck off.”
My feelings would’ve been hurt if I hadn’t seen the video. But I did see it, and I know his meanness comes from a place of pain.
Some of it, anyway. The rest is poor upbringing and terrible manners.
“This isn’t pity.” I hug him again, pressing my mouth to the side of his head to keep him still. “It’s comfort. No strings attached. Take advantage of it because I don’t offer it to everyone.”
Not to people who treat me like shit.
He grips my elbow where it hooks around his neck, fingers squeezing as if to untangle us. But he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he drops his arms to his sides and sits motionless in my hold, his posture rigid and breaths shallow.
I don’t let go.
I don’t ask questions or make small talk or caress him as one might do to comfort a friend.
We’re not friends.
I don’t know what we are.
What, where, how, why—nothing exists in this moment except the solace of a hug.
Hell knows this man needs it. Not sure I would’ve noticed the depth of his pain without touching him like this. He’s so good at keeping it hidden, buried beneath his cruelty. But it’s right here. In the unnatural stiffness of his body. In the wheezing release of his lungs. And ultimately, in his reluctant relief.
Exhale after exhale, muscle by muscle, he gives in, sinking into the loveseat, evening his breaths, and loosening that magnificent jaw. He doesn’t lean into my embrace, but he doesn’t push away, either.
His hands remain at his sides, and I’m happy with that. I don’t need him to return the hug. Doubt he could do it without making it sexual.
But maybe someday.
After we escape.
After he receives a lifetime of psychiatric help.
Maybe then, he could show affection to…someone.
Minutes pass, warm and slow. The wind howls outside. A pipe groans upstairs. And in what must be the only library in off-grid Alaska, within the circle of my arms, the beats of two hearts fall in sync.
Best not to read into that.
It’s just a hug.
At some point, he grows heavy. Like twice his weight. Maybe I’m imagining it.
But no, he feels limp. Dead. So dead, in fact, his bulk pulls me down, tipping us on the loveseat until we lie side-by-side, chest-to-chest, in a position I never planned to be in with this man.
Craning my neck to peer up at his face, I find him seductively, soundly asleep.
Lord have mercy, he looks so different. The furrows that bracket his mouth…gone. The mean curve of his lips…gone. The blunt force of his gaze…gone. Gone. Gone. With the tension and cruelty defrosted, his features give him the illusion of a sweet, harmless man. Gorgeous man. If my heart weren’t already taken, I’d fall in love with him right here and now.
There’s something seriously wrong with me, but I can’t stop staring. Can’t bring myself to slip away. Can’t stop thinking about the divine taste of those hot, hard lips against mine.
Since I’m in no hurry to leave, this is exactly how Kodiak finds me when he opens the door.
His gaze flits between his brother and me, back and forth, back and forth, and with each pass, his eyebrows climb closer together.
Believe me, big guy. I’m as confused as you are about the situation.
At last, he opens his mouth, and I hold a finger to my lips, hushing him.
For a moment, he looks like he’ll argue. He straightens, his mouth twisting with its usual pouty petulance. Then he stalks into the room and grabs a blanket off the chair.
I wriggle, untangle, and slide my way out from beneath solid muscle, holding my breath as Leonid produces some unhappy snores.
The instant I back away, Kodiak moves in to cover his brother in a cocoon of fleece.
While he tucks in the sleeping beast, I swing by one of the bookshelves and snag the first Foxfire text in the series. At the door, I glance back and swallow a gasp.
