Chapter 16
Jessa stood by his chair, the one he’d built to accommodate his size, and watched him with those steady hazel eyes.
“You should sleep,” he said. “It’s late.”
“It’s not that late.”
“The storm—”
“Tarek.” She said his name softly, but it stopped him mid-sentence. “Come sit down.”
He knew he should refuse. He should retreat to his narrow cot in the storage room and lock the door behind him. He should put as much distance as possible between himself and this woman who made him feel things he’d thought long dead.
Instead, he crossed to the chair and sat.
She moved immediately, fluid and sure. Before he could react—before he could stop her—she settled herself in his lap, her knees bracketing his hips and her hands braced on his shoulders.
“What are you—”
“Talk to me.”
The words were simple. The position was anything but.
Every nerve in his body sparked to life, acutely aware of every point of contact, the way her thighs pressed against his, the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her borrowed clothes, and the way her weight settled against him like she belonged there.
“This is not—”
“Talking.” She cut him off firmly. “That’s all I’m asking for. Last night you ran. The night before that, you ran. I’m not letting you run anymore.”
His hands had found her waist without his permission, feeling the curve of her body and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
“I’m not running.”
“You’re not talking either.”
Fair. More than fair. He’d promised himself as he watched the lightning crack the sky that morning that he would give her something. A piece of himself. A small act of trust.
Start with the truth, his beast urged. As much as you can bear.
“I told you,” he said slowly, “that names have power.”
“You did.”
“That is why I don’t use the name I was born with. The name that—” He stopped. Tried again. “When I left my world, I left everything behind. The title. The position. The expectations. All of it.”
“What position?”
“Does it matter? It’s gone now. I am only what you see before you—an exile. A guardian of nothing. A male who lives alone on a mountain because he has nowhere else to go.”
Her fingers gently traced the line of his jaw.
“Why exile? What did you do?”
I showed mercy when I should have been ruthless. I healed when I should have harmed. I chose what was right over what was required, and they called it treason.
“I committed a great wrong.” The words tasted bitter. “According to those who judged me, at least. This—” He gestured vaguely at the den, the mountain, the storm raging outside. “This is my penance.”
“Penance for what?”
“For being what I am instead of what they wanted me to be.”
Her hands framed his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. In their depths he saw fierce determination with something softer underneath.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Jessa—”
“I don’t believe you committed some great wrong.
I’ve seen you, Tarek. I’ve watched you with Dani.
I see the way you care for her. You build her toys and make her food and cover her with blankets when she kicks them off in her sleep.
I’ve seen the life you’ve built here, the beauty you create, and the gentleness you try so hard to hide.
” Her voice shook with her intensity. “Whatever they accused you of, whatever they punished you for—I don’t believe it deserved this. I don’t believe you deserve this.”
The words landed like a slap and he closed his eyes against the sting, against the desperate hope trying to claw its way through years of carefully constructed walls.
“You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t—”
“Then show me.” She pressed closer, her forehead touching his. “Show me who you really are.”
He kissed her.
Not the desperate, out-of-control kiss in the forest. This was something else entirely—a confession and an offering. He kissed her with everything he had and when she kissed him back with equal fervor, he felt something inside him crack open like a dam breaking.
He tried to pull away as the reflexive retreat that had protected him for so long kicked in, but this time, she didn’t let him.
Her hands fisted in his hair. Her body pressed closer. She made a sound against his mouth that was part demand, part plea, and when he tried again to break the kiss, she bit his lower lip hard enough to make him growl.
“No,” she said firmly.
One word. Absolute.
“You don’t get to run this time.” She was breathing hard, her eyes fierce in the firelight. “You don’t get to kiss me like this and then disappear. I’m not afraid of you, Tarek. I never have been.”
“You should be.”
“Maybe.” Her grip on his hair loosened, her hands moving to cup his face. Her thumbs stroked the line of his jaw, a gentle, grounding touch that made his chest ache. “But I’m not. So stop trying to protect me from yourself.”
He couldn’t answer. All the carefully constructed justifications, all the reasons he needed to keep her at arm’s length, crumbled to dust under the steady weight of her gaze.
“Show me,” she said again. “Please.”
This kiss was slower, deeper. A deliberate exploration.
He poured everything he couldn’t say into it—the longing and the fear and the desperate, dangerous hope.
He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, and when she opened for him, he swept inside, claiming the taste and the texture and the soft sigh that escaped her throat.
His hands were everywhere—on her back, her hips, the curve of her waist—pulling her closer, fitting her more firmly against him. She wriggled in his lap, a movement that sent pure heat rocketing through him, and he realized with a shock that she was wearing nothing beneath the borrowed shirt.
He pulled back, breathing raggedly. “Jessa—”
She answered by taking one of his hands and guiding it beneath the hem of her shirt.
His fingers brushed against the soft skin of her stomach, and she shivered. He slid his hand upward, tracing the delicate line of her ribcage, feeling the frantic beat of her heart beneath her breast. Her skin was impossibly soft. Warm. Alive.
“You’re sure,” he said, the words a gravelly rasp. He had to be sure. He had to give her one last chance to run.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” She nipped at his jaw, a sharp, playful bite that made him growl. “Now are you going to touch me, or are you just going to talk about it?”
A challenge. He’d never been able to resist a challenge.
He cupped her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm, the peak hardening against his touch. She arched into his hand, a silent demand for more, and who was he to deny her?
He shifted her in his lap, settling her more comfortably, and then his mouth was on hers again while his other hand came up to tangle in her hair, holding her in place for the onslaught. This was not a gentle kiss. This was a claiming. A promise of everything to come.
Her hands weren’t idle either. They’d moved from his shoulders to his chest, exploring the hard planes of muscle through the thin fabric of his shirt. Her clever fingers found the hem and slipped beneath, tracing patterns on his skin that made sparks dance along his nerves.
More, his beast snarled. We need more.
He broke the kiss long enough to pull the shirt over her head, baring her to the firelight. For a moment he simply looked. She was all soft curves and pale skin in the flickering glow, her breasts small and perfect, her nipples pebbled from the cool air and the intensity of his gaze.
“Tarek…”
He bent his head and took one of those perfect nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak before gently biting down. She cried out, her back arching, her hands fisting in his hair as she held him to her.
He worshipped her breasts with hands and mouth, learning her responses—the way she gasped when he scraped her sensitive skin with his fangs, the way she moaned when he sucked hard, the way she trembled when he palmed the weight of her in one hand while tormenting the other with his tongue.
She was writhing in his lap now, a desperate, beautiful rhythm that threatened to undo him completely.
He could feel the heat of her through his trousers, could smell the sweet, spicy scent of her arousal, and his hand slid lower.
He cupped her heated flesh, feeling the slick evidence of her desire against his palm.
He slid one finger through her folds, finding that small, swollen bundle of nerves and circling it gently.
She jerked in his arms, a choked cry escaping her lips.
He did it again, applying more pressure, and her head fell back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of her throat.
He couldn’t resist. He latched onto the spot where her pulse beat frantically, sucking hard enough to leave a mark but refusing to break the skin.
Mine.
The word was a silent roar in his head. A primal declaration that terrified him and felt more right than anything had in years.
“Tarek,” she gasped, and the sound of his name on her lips, thick with need, was almost enough to make him lose control.
He carefully worked a finger inside her, her body impossibly tight, and then added another, feeling her muscles clamp down around him. So tight and hot and wet. He stroked her slowly, savoring the feel of her, while his thumb continued its relentless circling of her clit.
Her hips began to move, meeting his thrusts, chasing her pleasure. He could feel it building in the tightening of her muscles, in the frantic rhythm of her breathing, in the desperate sounds she was making.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her skin. “Let go, Jessa. Let me feel it.”
He curled his fingers inside her, finding that secret spot that made her see stars, and she shattered.
Her body went rigid, her back bowing, her hands tightening almost painfully in his hair.
A long, broken cry escaped her lips as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.
He continued stroking her, drawing out her climax, until the tension left her body and she sagged against him, boneless and spent.
She was panting against his neck, her body trembling with aftershocks, and he held her close, rocking her gently as she came back to herself.
“You… oh…” She lifted her head, her eyes dazed and heavy-lidded. “I didn’t know…”
Despite his aching body, satisfaction filled him as he slipped her shirt back over her head and then rose with her in his arms.
“Time for bed,” he said gently, but when he started towards her bedroom she shook her head.
“No.” She gazed up at him, her expression soft despite the intensity of the moment. “I want to be close to you tonight. I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up the same way. Can you give me that?”
Could he? Could he lie beside her all night without taking more?
Yes, his beast said. For her, we can do anything.
“Yes,” he echoed aloud. “I can give you that.”
They lay down together on the narrow bed, barely wide enough for his frame alone. He pulled her against him, her back to his chest, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She fit perfectly, as if she’d been designed to nestle into exactly this space, against exactly this body.
Her hand found his and interlaced their fingers. Her breathing slowed and steadied, matching his.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For staying. For not running. For trusting me with even a little piece of yourself.”
He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in the sweetness of her scent.
“Thank you for not giving up on me.”
She laughed softly. “Never.”
The storm continued outside, rain and thunder and wind battering the mountain. But inside his den, inside this tiny room that had been so empty for so long, there was warmth. There was peace. And there was a woman who believed in him despite everything, curled in his arms like she belonged there.
His beast purred, deep and content. Ours, it rumbled. Finally, ours.
He closed his eyes and let himself believe it.