Slowly, curiously, she dragged one finger through the mess on her stomach.Lifted it to her lips.Her tongue darted out to taste, and her eyes never left mine.
The last of my restraint shattered.
She wasn’t disgusted.Wasn’t ashamed.She was tasting me like she wanted to know what I was made of, and the look on her face wasn’t revulsion.
It was wonder.
I grabbed a cloth from the nightstand and wiped her clean with hands that weren’t quite steady.Gentle, when I should have been rough.Thorough, when I should have been dismissive.
When I finished, I couldn’t make myself pull away.
Instead, I gathered her against me.
Her head fit into the curve of my shoulder like it belonged there.Her breath came in soft pants against my neck, warm and damp.I could smell her pleasure, her sweat, the musk of her release mingling with that ever-present apple sweetness.My arms wrapped around her of their own accord, pulling her closer.
For one moment, one terrible and perfect moment, I held her.
Then her hand moved.Her fingers found the ridge of scar tissue across my ribs, the place where a belt buckle had split the skin when I was twelve.She traced it slowly, gently, learning the shape of old damage.
I went rigid.
Her touch drifted higher, finding another scar.And another.The map of my childhood written in raised flesh.She didn’t recoil.Didn’t ask.Just touched me like she was memorizing the hurt, and when she looked up at me, her eyes were soft with something I couldn’t bear.
Pity.Understanding.Tenderness.
I released her so fast she fell back against the pillows with a startled sound.My heart was pounding.My wolf was howling.My cock was still rock hard and aching and I wanted nothing more than to sink into her and never come out.
Instead, I stood from the bed and crossed to the window, putting distance between us.The night pressed against the glass, dark and cold and empty.
“Get dressed,” I said, my voice cold.“Return to your room.”
A long silence.I could hear her breathing.Could smell the confusion in her scent, the hurt.
“Raphael—”
“Now.”
I heard the rustle of fabric.The soft sounds of her gathering her clothes.My reflection in the window showed a man in perfect control.Hair slightly mussed, expression carved from ice.
A lie.All of it, a lie.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said from behind me.“Pushing me away because I got too close.”
I didn’t answer.Couldn’t answer.If I opened my mouth, I didn’t know what would come out.
“It’s not going to work.”
Her footsteps crossed to the door.Paused there.
“Whatever you think you are, whatever you’re afraid of becoming, that’s not what I see when I look at you.”
I turned then.Some masochistic impulse to watch her leave, to see the damage I’d done.
She stood in the doorway, dressed now, her hand on the frame.For one heartbeat, her face was open.Vulnerable.The girl who’d touched my scars with tenderness, who’d tasted me with wonder, who’d looked at me like I was worth saving.
Then her expression changed.
I watched it happen in real time.The softness in her eyes wavered, then died.Her expression hardened.Her chin lifted.And the warmth that had been there moments ago, the understanding that had cracked me open, vanished behind a wall I recognized all too well.
