Stark pulls his shirt off and then, to my utter shock, drops it onto my mess. He barely even grimaces as he does it. He leaves his sleep pants on and gives me an expectant look.
I slide over toward the wall, creating room on the mattress for him. “Are we going to talk about—”
“No,” he cuts me off, folding his huge body next to me in the tight space. “Not now.”
I sigh, looking into his dark eyes. Reaching up, I brush a lock of his hair out of his face and resist the urge to kiss him. “Why are you here, then?”
“Because we both need to sleep, and I wouldn’t be able to rest knowing you’re in here alone, possibly ending up in that shadow realm withhim.”
He slings a heavy arm around my waist, and there’s nothing sexual in it; we wouldn’t fit well in this bed unless we were closely together.
My throat tightens. He’s so angry with me that he doesn’t even want to talk to me, andstill, he’s here. Still, he’s looking out for me.
“Okay,” I say quietly, pressing my forehead against his warm chest, breathing in his deep, amber scent.
And in my mind, I think:You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
And:You make me want to become a person deserving of such devotion.
And:If I’m your right reason, you’re mine as well.
I don’t know if I send the words in his direction, but as I slide into a perfect, dreamless sleep, I’m sure his hand strokes my back.
It’s not quite sunrise when I wake; the light outside the porthole is the grayish blue of very early morning. Except, I realize, it’s gray because it’s raining. At some point in the night, Stark and I shifted positions. He’s fully underneath me now, and I’m sleeping on top of him as if he’s the mattress.
The seas underneath us are a bit choppy from the storm. It must’ve been a wave that startled me awake.
I reach out mental feelers for Anassa, who senses me and sends back without words that she’s safe. She and the other wolves are sheltered on the lower deck, out of the rain.
Another wave crests, rocking the room back and forth.
Rockingmeback and forth on top of Stark.
Which is how I discover he’s very, very hard.
His shaft slides between the apex of my thighs, and even through his sleep pants, I can feel him so completely. A small, needy noise escapes the back of my throat.
This is wrong. I’m not going to dry-hump a sleeping man.
Bracing my weight on my hands, I lift myself gently so I can move off him without disturbing him. But I don’t get far.
One of Stark’s hands comes to my hip, pressing tightly into my bone. The other wraps around my neck and the tattoos he placed there, squeezing gently as he pulls me back on top of him. His eyes are still closed.
Is he… asleep?
“Stark,” I whisper. Nothing.“Stark.”
The boat rocks again, and the hand on my hip grinds me tightly against him.
I moan helplessly.
At this, his eyes finally fly open—sleep-dazed, yet heated already. He guides me across his length again, and I bite back another moan.
“We haven’t talked yet,” I protest half-heartedly. “You’re angry with me.”
“Am I?” His voice is gravelly and low. Stark cants his hips into mine, and I moan again as heat builds at my core. “Is that what you think, Meryn? Connect with me. Let me show you.”
The hand at my throat loosens as he strokes my skin. Closing my eyes, Ireach for the mental connection that lives between us, the one separate from our wolves and their mate bond.
