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“I don’t understand.”
“I never show anyone.”
“Then I’ll be the first and the last.”
He kissed her gently, and after a brief moment she melted against him. Her hands tightened on his shoulders as he pushed his tongue into her mouth and her sweet taste filled him. He slid his arms under her and pulled her close, sliding his tongue against hers as she finally began to kiss him back. Passion flared through him, and he groaned as she pressed her hips against his.
He lifted from her mouth and kissed across her cheek, tugging on her earlobe lightly with his teeth. She shivered and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. He kissed down her neck, licking and nibbling her skin. Tugging the collar of her top aside, he pressed his lips to her shoulder, rubbing his teeth against her flesh.
He slid one hand from behind her back to her waist and tugged upward on her top. She stiffened immediately, her welcoming arms turning rigid as she pushed frantically at him. “No, Row, please don’t.”
He snarled and pushed off the couch, his bear clamoring inside him to rip her clothes off and stop her from putting any barriers between them. He stormed to the wall and slapped the light switch, turning the overhead light on. “Look at me,” he demanded.
Kammie sat up, blinking rapidly and shielding her eyes from the bright light. She was wearing a long-sleeved top and lounge pants, completely covered from her neck down. “What?”
He turned slowly and showed her his back. She gasped softly. Part of him wanted to turn around and comfort her, but he knew she needed to see his scars. He never looked at his own back, but he knew the scars intimately, because of the pain that they’d brought; the thick scar that cut across his back from shoulder to hip, the claw marks where a male had tried to pull his ribs out, and would’ve succeeded if Row hadn’t broken those claws off. There were other, smaller scars, born of less life-endangering fights, but they were there. A map of his successes in battles and his defeats. Times when he’d nearly died, and times he’d been victorious.
“I said your scars don’t matter, and they don’t.” He turned his head to look behind him. “Unless mine bother you. Would you have me wear a shirt for the rest of our lives together?”
“Row.” She whispered his name like it was the most significant word in the world. “What happened to you?”
He turned slowly. Her gaze roamed his chest and he touched his most recent scar there. “We call them battles. The kings of neighboring sleuths organize them and pit their best warriors against each other.”
“‘Sleuth’ is what you call your bear group?”
He nodded. “Bears’ claws cause a lot of damage, and our natural ability to heal is very slow. It’s why I scar instead of healing completely.”
She swallowed audibly. “I didn’t know that it was different for bears than wolves.”
“Wolves seem to have gotten the luck of the genetic draw when it comes to healing.”
Her hands clenched, gripping the fabric of her pink pants. He realized what he’d said and shook his head, mentally kicking himself. “I’m sorry, that was a fucking stupid thing to say.”
“No, it’s okay.” She seemed to force herself to relax. He wanted to ask her about her scars. He’d been thinking about getting her naked since she’d put on that male’s shirt, but now he was focused on seeing her scars and then killing whoever had hurt her.
He walked to her slowly, gauging her reaction to ensure he didn’t scare her. She was tense, but she didn’t smell of fear. He dropped to his knees in front of her and laid his hands over hers. They were smaller than his, and her skin was so much softer. The sweet, natural scent of her wrapped around him, and he stifled a groan at how amazing it was.
He looked down and picked out a scar on her forearm. It was narrow but long, stretching across her elbow. He bent and ran his lips across the old wound, wishing he could take the pain from her. He knew the scar had long since stopped hurting, but the emotional hurt still lingered for his mate. She didn’t like getting naked because of her scars, so he’d have to prove that he didn’t care about them.
She inhaled shakily, and her heart rate spiked. He glanced up at her as he kissed the point of the scar. She was fragile right now, he could see that. If he pushed her, she might start shoving those walls between them.
“Would you lay with me, Kammie? I think I had a nightmare because you weren’t with me. I promise nothing will happen between us, but I need you.”
Her eyes glistened suddenly. “You do?”
He cupped her cheek. “Yes.”
She stood slowly and squeezed his hands. He straightened, towering over her by almost a foot. Time stood still while he waited for her to make the first move. She stared up at him for what felt like an eternity. He opened his mouth to tell her that they could stay on the couch if she’d be more comfortable, but she turned and walked toward her room, keeping their hands joined. He followed—hell, he’d follow her anywhere—and when he crossed the threshold into her bedroom, his bear did cartwheels in his head.
She climbed onto the bed, and he joined her, stretching out on his back and keeping himself very still. He wanted to grab her and hold her tight; it was an act of sheer will to keep from doing so.
She knelt next to him and shivered. “You’re my first.” His brows rose and she snorted out a laugh. “I don’t mean my first-first, I mean the first male to ever be in my bedroom.” She wrung her hands. “I just wanted you to know that. I’m not…comfortable sleeping with males.”
“I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”
“That’s the problem.”
“What is?”
