Page 7 of Wraith’s Betrayal

"Now I want his sister." The confession hung between us, raw and honest. "Want her so bad I can't think straight. Can't sleep. Can't function. Three days, Raven. Three days and you've wrecked me completely."

My breath caught. "Wraith..."

"I know." He stood abruptly, distance necessary again. "I know it's wrong. Know Blade would kill me. Know you deserve better than some broken soldier who can't offer anything but complications. But knowing doesn't make it stop."

"What if I don't want it to stop?"

He turned to look at me then, really look. "Then we're both fucked."

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He grabbed it, frowning at the screen. "Unknown number?"

My blood chilled. Please not Derek. He couldn't have found me already⁠—

"It's Tara," he said, reading. "Viper's wife. She wants to know if you'd like to get coffee tomorrow at Bea's. Ten AM."

Relief flooded through me. "That sounds nice."

"I'll tell her yes." He typed a response, then set the phone down. "You should try to sleep again."

"So should you."

"Yeah." But he didn't move toward his room.

We stood there, few feet apart but feeling like miles, both fighting the pull that wanted to close the distance.

"Goodnight, Wraith."

"Goodnight, Raven."

This time when I went to my room, I heard him in the living room for a long time after. The TV stayed on, but I doubted he was watching. Probably doing the same thing I was—lying awake, imagining what would happen when our control finally snapped.

Because it would snap. The want between us was too strong, the proximity too close, the need too overwhelming.

Two weeks, Blade had said.

We'd never make it that long.

CHAPTER 3

WRAITH

Two weeks of sweet torture, and I was losing my fucking mind.

Every morning, finding Raven in my kitchen wearing those tiny sleep shorts that barely covered her perfect ass. Every evening, watching her cook dinner in my space like she belonged there. Every night, lying in my bed knowing she was twenty feet away wearing my old Army t-shirt she'd claimed from my laundry.

This morning was worse. I'd walked out of my bedroom to find her asleep on my couch, one leg thrown over the armrest, my shirt riding up to expose the soft curve of her hip. No panty line. Christ. The sight had me gripping the doorframe hard enough to leave marks in the wood.

The shirt had ridden up further, exposing the gentle swell of her stomach, those curves that made my hands ache to touch. The morning light from the window painted her skin gold, highlighting every dip and swell I'd been fantasizing about. She shifted in her sleep, the movement making the shirt slip higher, revealing the underside of her breast, and I had to turn away before I did something unforgivable. Like drop to my knees beside the couch and wake her with my mouth.

I forced myself into the kitchen, starting coffee with movements made choppy by frustration. Two weeks since she'd moved in. Two weeks of Blade dropping by at random times like he could sense when my control was about to snap. Two weeks of cold showers that did nothing to ease the constant state of arousal. Two weeks of jerking off in said shower with her name on my lips, imagining those soft thighs wrapped around me.

"Morning." Her sleep-rough voice made every nerve fire.

I didn't turn around. Couldn't. Not when she sounded like that, all warm and soft from sleep. "Coffee's almost ready."

"You're up early." I heard her moving closer, bare feet on my kitchen floor.

"Couldn't sleep." Truth. I'd spent half the night staring at my ceiling, imagining her in my bed. Under me. Over me. Wrapped around me while I buried myself so deep we'd forget where I ended and she began.