He doesn’t deny it. Instead, his hands stop pushing and start pulling, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. “And now you are.”
“I am,” I agree, tightening my grip on his hair just enough to make his eyes flutter closed for a moment. “And I don’t appreciate being manipulated, Owen. Not by you, not by anyone.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have made me feel like I was a convenient toy to fuck with and forget.”
The words send a jolt through me. I tighten my grip on his hair, pulling his head back to expose the long line of his throat. “Is that what you think? That you’re just a convenient fuck?”
“What am I supposed to think?” he challenges, voice strained from the angle of his neck. “You came on my tongue, blew me, and then couldn’t even look at me across a dinner table.”
I lean in, my lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath his ear. “You’re not a convenient fuck,” I murmur, and he shivers against me. “You’remine.”
Owen’s breath catches. “You can’t just claim me like that.”
“Too late. I already have.”
“Then why did you ignore me?”
“I told you. Bryce was watching. I needed time to figure out how to handle this.” My free hand slides down his side, findingthe hem of his shirt, slipping beneath to meet bare skin. “I wasn’t rejecting you. I was protecting you.”
“I don’t need protection,” he argues, but his body arches into my touch.
“Maybe not,” I concede. “But you must stop playing games.”
His eyes darken. “And what if I don’t stop? What if I want to see how far I can push you?”
Without warning, I crash my mouth against his, swallowing his surprised gasp. The kiss is claiming, possessive, a statement of intent. My tongue pushes past his lips, demanding entry that he grants with a muffled moan.
His hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging in even through my shirt. I press him harder against the tree, feeling the rigid length of him straining against his pants. One of his legs hooks around my calf, pulling me closer, seeking friction. I break the kiss to trail my mouth down his neck, teeth scraping against his pulse point.
“Slade,” he gasps. “Someone could see us.”
“Let them,” I mutter against his skin, but I know he’s right. We’re hidden from the main paths, but not invisible. Anyone wandering this way would get quite a show.
I ease back, though I keep him pinned against the tree. His lips are red and swollen from my kiss, his cheeks flushed. The sight of him like this—disheveled, wanting—makes me ache to drag him to our room.
“Owen!” Zara’s voice calls from somewhere nearby. “Where’d you go? I found something!”
Owen’s eyes widen in panic. I move away, allowing him space to compose himself. He runs a hand through his hair, adjusting his clothes with quick, jerky movements.
“I’m coming!” he calls back.
I catch his wrist before he can move past me. “This isn’t over,” I promise. “Tonight, I’m going to make you pay for that little display.”
The flush on his cheeks deepens. “Whatever you say,Doctor.”
The title, delivered with a hint of mockery, only fuels my determination. I release his wrist, watching as he straightens his shirt one last time before stepping out from our hiding spot. He emerges into a small clearing just as Zara rounds a bend in the path.
“There you are!” she exclaims. “I found a compass rose carved into a stump. I think it’s our next clue!”
“Great,” Owen replies, his voice steady. “Lead the way.”
I wait until they disappear from view before emerging from the trees. I adjust myself, willing my erection to subside before I return to Naya.
As I make my way back along the path, I find her where I left her, now sitting cross-legged on a flat rock, eyes closed in what appears to be meditation.
“Find what you were looking for?” she asks without opening her eyes.
“Yes. I think I did.”
