I rolled away from him.
“It’s not stupid,” he told me, and his hand swept over my thigh to my hip. Over the blanket, and yet I still felt every trace of his touch through the fabric, through my skin, through my flesh.
His hand slid into my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth moved over mine with devastating patience, and the terrible machinery of my thoughts began to stutter. Slow. Break apart.
He kissed me slowly, carefully, as if he was undoing knots. As if he knew exactly how tightly wound I had become. The warm strength of his shoulders beneath my palms was the most comforting thing in the world.
Fear leaned down over me without breaking the kiss. The weight of him surrounded me. Encompassing. Safe in a way that startled me.
His mouth left mine only long enough to press against my throat.
Every brush of his lips felt deliberate. Intentional. He was savoring the reactions he drew from me.
I tipped my head back against the pillow with a shaky breath as his mouth moved lower, the scrape of his teeth against my skin sending heat curling through me. His hand slid beneath the hem of my tunic at last, his palm warm against my waist.
I shivered.
“There,” he murmured against my throat, sounding pleased with himself. “Your thoughts are quieter already.”
“You’re insufferable,” I whispered, though it came out breathless.
His maddening mouth twitched into a smile. “And yet you asked me.”
The reminder should have made me bristle. He had accused me of not wanting to owe him anything, even my satisfaction. But I didn’t have it in me tonight; my defenses were gone. Instead, heat shot through my body like an arrow.
Fear lifted himself slightly, enough to look down at me. Tousled dark hair fell over his brow. His golden gaze fixed on my face with devastating attention. He paused, and something inside me twisted painfully. Did a part of him still not trust me entirely?
“I’ll owe you.” I reached up before I could think better of it and slid my fingers into his hair, brushing it back from his forehead.
Fear went still beneath my touch. “You say that as if I ever wanted repayment.”
The words hit hard enough that I looked away.
Fear’s hand slid higher beneath my tunic, spanning my ribs now, his thumb brushing slowly over bare skin.
I caught his mouth again before he could speak, kissing him harder this time, and the sound Fear made against my lips was low and rough enough to send a thrill through me. I liked affecting him.
His control slipped slightly as he kissed me back, one hand sliding into my hair, the other pulling me closer beneath him until I could feel the hard planes of his body against mine through far too little fabric.
I arched instinctively when his hand slid up my side, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast through the thin fabric of my tunic, and Fear inhaled sharply against my mouth at my reaction.
Fear’s mouth dragged slowly from mine again, down my jaw, my throat. His lips parted against my skin. My fingers ran through his hair, then cupped the back of his head, pausing him there against my throat.
“I’m always thinking about you. Is it the bond?”
He sucked on my skin, not quite hard enough to bruise, and my hips arched, seeking his. When he answered, his breath ghosted over the damp skin, the mark he had made.
“I don’t know. I’ve never had a mate bond before.”
His mouth continued its exploration, halted by the collar of my tunic. His warm, heavy palm slid up my skin under the fabric, pushing it up. I rolled up to sit so I could get the damned thing off. I wanted more of his mouth on my body.
His eyes widened, taking me in, as I stripped off the tunic. He reached eagerly to help me, and when he pulled the tunic off, his gaze roamed over my body, full of hunger. He tossed it across the room.
I felt warmed by the way he studied me, as if I were as beautiful as any of the Fae or shifters that crossed our path. More. He looked at me as if I were more.
“I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he confessed. “The bond or…”
He cut himself off. His mouth pressed beneath my ear again, slower this time, and I felt the effort of his restraint in the soft brush of his lips and the tense lines of his body.
