There’s a raised ridge of scar tissue there. Small, curved. A pink crescent shape that looks new.
He growls, louder than I’ve ever heard before, his huge hand slamming against the tile wall as his muscles go taut.
“What the…?” Bodhi tries to turn, but I rest my hands on his shoulder.
“Stay.”
And he adorably complies, still breathing heavily when I trace it again.
The car. The first night. I’d been so furious and scared that I kicked and screamed and bit down on anything I could reach.
“I hurt you.” The words come out barely above a whisper. Guilt twists in my stomach as I trace the scar again. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I’d actually broken the skin…”
His hand shoots back, fingers finding the spot where mine rest, and a full-body shudder runs through him. He seems to swell before my eyes, his entire body vibrating now with his deep rumble.
“Bodhi?” I take a step back, suddenly uncertain. “Are you okay? I never meant to do that.”
“Do that again.” His voice is rough. Strange. Almost unrecognizable.
“What?”
“Touch it again.”
I hesitate, confused by the intensity of his reaction, but I do as he asks and reach out to trace the ridge with my fingertip.
The sound he makes isn’t human.
It’s low and raw, and torn from somewhere deep in his chest. Before I can process it, he’s spinning around, his forearms resting on either side of my head, caging me in.
“Bodhi.” I press my palms flat against his chest, not pushing, just grounding. “What’s…”
Head bowed, brows low, he inhales deeply, then dips further, nuzzling that spot behind my ear that makes butterflies explode in my belly.
“Again.” The word is barely a growl. “Touch it again, Emma.”
My hand is shaking as I reach around him and brush my fingers across it, feather-light, tingles dancing down my fingers, and watch as his whole body shudders.
“What is this?” I whisper.
“I don’t. I can’t.” The words are guttural, forced out between clenched teeth.
He breaks off with a snarl, and suddenly, his hands are on my thighs, lifting me, pinning me against the wet tile.
My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and I feel him there, hard again, pressing against my entrance.
“I need you.” His forehead drops to mine, his breath ragged against my lips. “Emma, I need…”
“Yes.” I don’t even let him finish. I’m already pulling him closer, my heels digging into the small of his back. “Yes, take what you need.”
He drives into me in one stroke. “MINE.”
I cry out, the sound echoing off the tile, and he swallows it with his mouth.
This is nothing like before. In bed, he was intense but measured, always watching my reactions and checking that I was okay.
This is something else entirely. This is wild and desperate and completely unleashed.
He pounds into me against the wall, the water streaming over us, his hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise.
