“Reverse psychology. Seems to work for me sometimes. Not in this case, apparently.”
I reel from what he’s revealed. He has feelings for me. But he hasn’t acknowledged it yet, because he hasn’t been able to say it aloud to me.
I lower my gaze, trying not to show him how much this affects me.
When I trace my finger over the outline of the wolf, he answers my unspoken question.
"They’re complex creatures, legendary for their independence, yet nothing without their pack."
"It’s you, isn’t it?" I look up at him.
"It’s a reminder of what I had and lost." He folds his arm behind his neck. His gaze is distant, but there’s no mistaking the thick waves of regret which roll off him.
A tight, sharp ache blooms behind my sternum. I swallow away the ball of emotion in my throat. "You miss your team."
"They signed up, knowing the odds. I knew what the odds of my surviving unhurt from my missions were. I didn’t realize there’s more than just physical hurt which can gut you."
"Is that why you shut away your emotions?"
His eyes sharpen. He seems startled by my words.
Then he slowly nods. "I did it to protect myself. It was the only way to make it through the hurt of losing my platoon. Some days it felt like there was a giant fist around my heart, squeezing it until I’d die." His tone is bleak.
His eyes have sharpened into jagged chips of ice, freezing me in place. I was a fool to think him emotionless. The truth is more nuanced. He feels with such violent depth that he has no choice but to cage it all behind a wall of frost. His stillness isn’t an absence of feeling; it’s the only thing keeping him from splintering apart.
"But you survived," I point out.
"Thanks to you." He rubs his thumb over my cheek. "I turned to the culinary arts because of how passionately you spoke about it. That’s what saved me."
"You’re giving me too much credit. You’re very good at what you do." Likely, because he pours everything unexpressed into his creations.
He looks at me. Really looks at me. "You get me, don’t you?" he asks, surprised.
"Only because I’ve worked closely with you all these months. Not that it was easy, mind you, given how prickly you always were. But yes, I do realize there’s more to you than the persona of the ogre you liked to assume."
He chuckles. "Ogre?"
"Or like a big bad wolf." I nod toward his tattoo.
He flips me over in a quick move.
I squeak. "Hey, what are you doing?’
"Being the big bad wolf." He takes a bite out of the curve of where my throat meets my shoulder.
I scream. "Ouch that, hurts."
"Good." He licks the skin where he buried his teeth.
"Did you mark me?" I stare at him in amazement.
"And if I did?" He looks at me with what seems like surprise at his own actions.
"I love carrying your mark on me." I smile up at him.
His nostrils flare. His eyes gleam. He looks as predatory as the wolf tattoo he wears. "I can’t wait to mark you all over." He begins to trail small bites down my throat, then up the slope of my breast to my nipple. Hesucks on it and my pussy clenches. It’s like there’s a direct line from what his mouth is doing to my body to my core.
"James." I dig my fingers into his hair, enjoying the thick softness of it. I tug, and he makes that growling sound at the back of his throat.
