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“I can’t die,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Because you’re here, in this realm?” If the stories were even kind of true, that would make sense. This realm was supposedly like the fountain of youth.
He shook his head. “It’s complicated, but no, my ability to heal has nothing to do with this place. I can still be injured, but before her, I healed quickly.” He squeezed my fingers gently then pulled his hand away so he could show me the scar on his chest. “Anya couldn’t force me to want her the way she wanted me to, so she carved out a piece of my power and kept it as a trophy. Then she left me up in that tree. Three days passed before my men finally found me and cut me down.”
I winced, trying to imagine what came next in his story but seeing it play out in my mind before he said the words.
“It was enough time for my body to heal around the anchor. The only way to get it out was to pull it out the way it had gone in.” I shivered at the confession, and he pulled me closer. “Hey, it’s okay. It was unpleasant, but as you can see, I’m still here.”
“But the scars. If you heal so quickly…”
“Because of the power she stole. Healing takes a good bit longer these days.”
“So, when the sirens attacked?” I asked, flinching at the memory of the tears in his flesh and blood pouring from the wounds.
“That actually wasn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things,” he said quietly, stroking his fingers through my hair. “I’ve often wondered if the injuries from the anchor scarred because some part of me secretly wanted them to, so I would always have a tangible reminder not to make the same mistake again.”
That was bleak, but I couldn’t blame him. If someone I trusted betrayed me like that, I couldn’t imagine ever letting anyone in again. Hell, I had a hard enough time of it as it was, and my issues came from my mom ditching me, not some psycho ex-lover hooking me like a fish with sailing hardware and literally hanging me out to dry.
Then something clicked.
“The name. Hook. That was her, wasn’t it?” I’d never felt so sheepish in my life. There was no way I could have known just how much pain was tied to that name for him, but that didn’t excuse it. I knew it was a point of irritation and I’d kept poking at it. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He pressed a firm kiss to my temple. “I actually kind of like it when you say it.”
I couldn’t help the smile that snuck up on me. “Better than Atlas?
He stilled, the gentle brush of his fingers through my hair pausing as a deep hum rumbled through his chest. “Not quite.”
I pulled back far enough to see his face. “You like it when I say your name.” It wasn’t a question because I could see the truth of it in his eyes. “Want me to say it again?”
He licked his lips. “I’d rather hear you scream it.”
That one quiet statement sent a torrent of lust ripping through me, pebbling my nipples and making my core pulse. I tipped my head up, pressing my lips to his as I hooked my leg over his hips. “Is that a challenge?”
43
NEVER
The groan that echoed through the room gave me hope that we could forget the foolish agreement to focus on sleep and move on to more interesting things, like me stripping every bit of clothing off that delicious body of his.
I couldn’t keep thinking about what was coming, or of the many, many ways everything could go wrong. It would drive me crazy. What I needed was good, old-fashioned distraction.
I pulled myself up so I was straddling him and slipped my hands beneath his shirt. Sliding my palms up to his pecs, I lightly trailed my nails back down over those delicious planes of muscle. His gaze burned into me, and I didn’t know whether to melt or rejoice.
Strong hands gripped my hips, and he moved me effortlessly, grinding his need up into my throbbing heat.
He felt so good, even when we were both covered in clothing. The next second he snaked his arm around, then lifted and turned, dropping me on my feet and holding me steady until I found my balance.
I was suddenly breathless. Electricity raised the hair on my arm and the back of my neck. Energy that seemed to originate from him, from his lips and his fingertips, soaked into my skin through his touch. His hands roamed over me, tracing dual lines of fire up my abdomen as he slowly, gently worked the fabric up my body.
I lifted my arms and the deep sound of approval he made shot straight to my core. Why was his approval such a turn on for me? I didn’t think I had a praise kink, but I craved those sounds from him.
He dropped the shirt to the floor and leaned back, gripping my waist in his large hands. The man made me feel downright dainty. His thumb traced a line of ink up the plane of my stomach, and I sucked in a breath.
“I want to know about these,” he said, loosening his grip with his other hand and letting the tips of his fingers trail lightly up, over my bra to the gnarled tree tattoo peeking over my shoulder.
His voice and his touch were undeniably sexy, but I didn’t want to talk about the meaning of my ink. Some of it was teenage angst. Some of it was meant to bolster me up when I was feeling weak. Some of it, honestly, just felt right at the time. But I wasn’t in the mood to explain it all.
