Chapter 9 #3
He was surprised to feel the points of his claws poking through the tips of his fingers, as of their own volition, and raised his hands, palms up, fingers pointed at the ceiling.
She lowered her hands from his face, placing them under his hands and pointing the claws at her own body.
She stepped back to make space for them and cupped his palms gently, watching intently as his claws protracted forward, inch by inch, until about four inches of claw had grown, lightly tapping the skin of her chest above her breasts with sharp points before stopping.
She raised her eyes to his and grinned before looking back down.
“What does it feel like?”
He looked down at her hands cradling his, semi-protracted claws grazing the soft skin of her body, and his body ran riot, his blood racing like liquid fire through his body, the pulse in his neck throbbing with the intensity of his need for her.
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, unable to speak, unable to trust his voice to form actual words.
“Does it hurt?”
He shook his head.
“Does it feel good?”
He nodded, dazed, desperately, terribly, irrevocably in love with her. Time and space ceased to exist, and there was nothing but this moment, this pinpoint of a millisecond in the history of time, nothing but the thrilling, terrifying reality of how much he loved Darcy Turner.
“Marry me,” he rasped, half prayer, half growl.
Darcy gasped in surprise, and it raised her chest up, extracting two perfect drops of blood from the middle claw-tips that pierced her tender pink skin. She winced in pain and looked down as he dropped his hands. She looked up and saw the horror in his eyes as he stared at the blood on her chest.
“Jack,” she murmured quickly. “It’s okay.”
She reached down, grasping his wrists, and carefully raised his hands, pressing the heel of his palms against the red droplets, claws flanking her face. Leaning forward and tilting her head, she pressed her lips against his and felt the pressure of his claws retracting back into his hands.
His hands dipped lower to cover her breasts, his thumbs rubbing back and forth over her nipples as his tongue swept into her mouth.
She arched her back toward him, and he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against his body, profoundly grateful for the way she was welcoming him into her life, into her heart.
But when he pulled back from her, he looked down at her chest, hating the two small smears of blood over her breasts, a reminder of the damage he could inflict on her soft, tender body unintentionally.
“I hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking.
“No, Jack.” She shook her head, a single tear catching on her lower lashes before slipping onto her cheek. “It’s nothing.”
Was he crazy? He had no right to ask her to marry him.
“I shouldn’t have—I can’t offer you anything, Darcy. I’m dark. Soulless. A skinwalker, a-a monster. And you…you’re everything bright and hopeful. If I could go back in time…If I could release you—”
“Yes,” she said, interrupting him.
“Yes,” he murmured brokenly.
“No. I don’t want you to release me. You asked me a question. The answer is yes.”
“Yes?” he asked, shocked, disbelieving, the growing warmth in the depths of his body making his legs weak, making his entire body tingle with anticipation.
“Yes.” She giggled, and he felt the hard tips of her nipples rub lightly against his chest as her shoulders shook softly. “Y-Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Tears coursed down her face now, and he wove his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, pulling her face to his, kissing every salty drop before they could reach her lips, then finally capturing her lips with his.
He kissed a trail from her lips to her neck, whispering, “Mon ame, mon ame, mon ame, mon ame, mon ame, mon ame, mon ame, mon ame,” in a litany, in a prayer of thanksgiving, in a pledge to protect her with his last ounce of strength and courage, in a promise to always remember that he held her heart in his hands.
He swept her into his arms and carried her to his bed, her warm, now-dry body stretching languorously across the sheets that had already been tousled and messed as they made love that afternoon.
She reached her arms up to him, and he lowered his body onto hers, savoring the coolness of her skin against the heat of his, the smell of her hair and skin, even the drying blood smeared on her chest that she had so quickly forgiven in a rush to reassure him.
“You belong to me,” he whispered, his hands on her cheeks, his eyes burning with fire and water at once.
“I belong to you,” she answered, shifting her hips and bending her knees, opening herself to him. “Forever.”
He drew back, then inched forward until the tip of his throbbing sex found her entry.
He lowered his lips to hers at the same moment he thrust forward, fully impaling her, his eyes closing at the simultaneous relief he felt as her soft heat surrounded him, the aching that was building to a quick pitch, primed by her tenderness, by her vulnerability and reassurance and acceptance.
Darcy stole the breath from his lungs as she gasped at the sudden sensation of him fully inside of her.
She was ready for him, but he stretched her with his invasion, tiny hidden nerve endings clinging and pulsing, demanding more.
He answered them, withdrawing from her so slowly her fingers curled into fists in the sheets by her sides, then pushed forward again, fully, deliberately, making her moan with the longing he created inside of her.
His lips moved across hers with increasing pressure, stroking her tongue while his pelvis thrust forward again.
“Jack,” she moaned into his mouth. “More.”
He dipped his head to her breast, his lips finding the hard bud of her nipple and closing around it.
She arched her back, and his arms slipped under her, holding her up against him as he licked and suckled, thrusting faster and harder until he raised his head.
Her cries of pleasure mingled with his guttural groans.
The whirling in his belly was dizzying, spiraling into a tight cone that finally exploded as he climaxed, making his body shake with tremors that radiated out, his eyelids fluttering and toes curling as he screamed her name.
Growling as she ripped open the flesh of his back with her fingernails, the shock of pain only adding to his thunderous climax, his claws protracted into the mattress, and he thrust into her quivering body one final time, groaning, “Mon ame,” as every muscle tightened then released as he pumped his seed into her willing flesh.