Chapter 14
MAISIE
“You’re looking at the buggy like it betrayed you,” Kazan said as he put his truck into park.
“I haven’t driven it yet.”
“You’ve had a busy few days.”
“That’s no excuse. A woman should drive her own buggy before she nearly gets dragged off-world by her terrible ex.”
His mouth twitched. “I’ll remember that for the next one.”
“The next terrible ex?”
“The next buggy.”
I turned my head against the seat and looked at him. He was too big for the cab; one horn nearly brushing the roof. I still wasn’t used to how beautiful he was. I didn’t think I was ever going to be, and that was frankly inconvenient.
“I’m going to drive it everywhere,” I told him. “Into town for one thing. Maybe two if I’m feeling wild.”
“That’s what it’s for.”
“Freedom errands.”
His tail flicked. “Whatever you want.”
That did something to me. It kept doing something to me every time he said it. Whatever you want. Like it was easy. Like wanting wasn’t a thing I needed permission to do.
We went inside.
The cottage was warm, hearth banked low, the big front room full of light. When I turned around, Kazan was standing in the middle of the room like he’d been invited into someone else’s house.
His hands opened. Closed. Opened again. On a man of his size, uncertainty was not subtle.
“Ask me,” I said.
His eyes lifted to mine. “Ask you what?”
“Whatever you’ve been swallowing since the courthouse.” I crossed the room, leaving my boots by the door because apparently I lived here now. “You said a word. Nezara heard it. I heard it. Then everybody got distracted by the legal disaster that was James, which was rude, frankly.”
His lips parted, but I held up a hand.
“No. I’m serious. I’m done being the last person to know things about my own life. James decided what I could handle. My parents decided what was proper. The Agency tried to decide where I belonged. I’m not doing it again. So if there’s something I need to know, tell me.”
Kazan looked at me for a long moment.
Then he moved to the bench by the hearth and sat, slow and careful, bringing his face closer to mine. He took both my hands in one of his.
“On the ramp,” he said.
I went still.
“The day I arrived?”
“Yes.” His thumb moved over my knuckles. “I smelled you before I saw you.”
“That is somehow romantic and very strange.”
“It’s both.” His mouth tilted, but the smile didn’t last. “My kind has a bond. Not everyone finds it. Most never get the chance. But when it happens, it happens fast.”
“How fast?”
“Just one breath and I knew.”
Oh. My pulse kicked.
“I knew before I knew your name.” He didn’t look away. “I knew you were mine.”
“At the spaceport,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You knew the whole time? About this mate thing?” it was a bit hard to wrap my head around.
“I did.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
At least he didn’t try to soften it. Kazan didn’t do that.
I appreciated that. I also wanted to shake him.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’d just run from a man who called ownership love.” His jaw flexed. “James put pretty words on a cage. If I told you there was fate between us two days after you landed, what would you have heard?”
Damn it. Damn him for being right.
His gaze dropped to my hands in his. “I thought if I couldn’t say the word, I could at least make sure you had choices.”
My throat got tight, and I hated it. I’d cried enough this week. I was done. My body did not agree.
“You should’ve told me,” I said, because he should have.
“Yes.”
“But I understand why you didn’t.”
His shoulders eased by the smallest amount.
I stepped between his knees and put my hands on either side of his face. His skin was warm under my palms, rough from the day. His horn brushed my wrist.
“I’m not running,” I said.
His eyes closed.
“I mean it. From the bond. From you. From this house. From whatever word you’ve been choking on. I’m not running.”
His hands came to my waist.
“If you’d told me on the ramp, I’d have freaked out,” I said. “So maybe you were right this once.”
He opened his eyes. They were dark and molten and so focused on me that it stole my breath.
Kazan made a low sound and pulled me closer, his forehead pressing to mine.
“Say it again,” I told him.
His breath brushed my lips. “Mate.”
There it was.
No courtroom or threat. No room full of people who wanted to use us or judge us or save me against my will.
Just Kazan and me. Just that one word, soft enough to break me.
“Again,” I whispered.
“My mate.”
I kissed him. There was no careful left in me. None.
I climbed into his lap, and he caught me like he’d been waiting for permission to breathe. His hands spread across my back, one of them nearly spanning the whole of me, and he kissed me with that terrible restraint he always carried.
Like he wanted to devour me but would rather die than take a bite, I didn’t offer.
I bit his lower lip, and he growled.
Perfect.
“We won,” I said against his mouth.
“Yes.”
“James is gone.”
“Yes.”
“Nobody’s taking me anywhere.”
“No one.”
I pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “Then take me to bed.”
He carried me down the hall, past the little guest room with careful steps, and into his room. Our room. The bed was enormous, covered in dark linen, sunlight spilling across it from the window.
It was all very dramatic.
I would’ve made a joke, but Kazan laid me in the middle of the bed and looked at me like he’d found religion.
I sat up and shoved at his chest.
It was like trying to move a wall with opinions, but he went. He let me push him onto the bed, let me climb over him, let me straddle one huge thigh while I got my hands on the laces of his pants.
My fingers shook.
I got him out of his pants with some effort, because nothing about him was small or convenient, and then he was in my hands.
I had seen him before. Touched him before. Taken him before.
It still made my brain stutter.
He was thick and hard and hot against my palms, too much for both hands to close around. I wrapped my fingers around him anyway and stroked from root to tip, slowly, watching his stomach pull tight.
His head tipped back against the pillows. “Maisie.”
That was all. Just my name, wrecked in his mouth.
Heat slid through me.
“I’ve got you,” I said.
His eyes snapped back to mine.
I smiled.
It was his line. He knew it. I knew it.
I stroked him again, my thumb dragging over the wetness at the head, and he shuddered hard enough that the bedframe complained.
This massive man, this warrior who could throw someone through a wall, lying still under my hands because I asked him to. Because he trusted me. Because he wanted me enough to shake and still wouldn’t move unless I let him.
I leaned down and kissed his stomach, then the ridged muscles lower, and he sucked in a breath.
“Careful,” he said.
I glanced up. “Are you warning me or yourself?”
“Yes.”
That made me laugh. It came out breathless.
I stroked him faster. His hands fisted in the sheets, and I could feel the struggle in him.
“Maisie.” His voice had gone rough. “Stop.”
I did.
He groaned like that was somehow worse and wrapped a careful hand around my wrist. “Not because I don’t want it,” he said. “If you keep touching me like that, this will be over quickly.”
“That’s not the worst review I’ve ever received.”
His laugh broke apart halfway through. “I want to see you.”
He lifted my shirt over my head slowly, giving me all the time in the world to change my mind. I didn’t. The fabric hit the floor. His gaze dropped to my breasts, and his whole body went still.
He looked hungry.
My nipples tightened under the look alone.
I reached for him again, but he caught my hands and pressed them to my own stomach.
“Show me,” he said.
My breath hitched.
His eyes held mine. “I want to know what you like. How you touch yourself. What makes you gasp when no one else is in the room.”
My whole body flushed hot.
I scooted back, heart hammering, and lay against the pillows. He stayed between my legs, enormous and naked and painfully hard, his hands planted on his thighs like he was anchoring himself there.
I pushed my pants down and kicked them away.
His nostrils flared.
That shouldn’t have been hot.
I slid my hand between my thighs. I was already slick, embarrassingly so, and the first touch made my hips jerk.
Kazan made a sound like I’d hit him.
Good.
I did it again.
His eyes followed every movement. No shame in them. No impatience. He watched like my hand on my own body was the most important thing that had ever happened in that room.
I touched myself the way I did when I was alone and trying not to make noise. Except I didn’t try so hard now. My fingers circled my clit, slow at first, then firmer when my body told me what it wanted.
I brought my other hand to my breast and rolled my nipple between my fingers. My back arched. Kazan’s hands flexed on his thighs, fingers pressing into the linen.
“You can touch me,” I said.
His gaze flicked to my face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m very sure. Please stop being noble before I die.”
That did it.
He came over me, careful with his weight, and lowered his mouth to my breast. His tongue flicked over my nipple, and I cried out, fingers still working between my thighs. He groaned against me and sucked harder, one of his hands sliding down to spread my legs wider.
The pressure built fast. Too fast.
I wanted more. I wanted everything.
He lifted his head, eyes dark. Then he did something that made every thought in my head go blank.
He dragged one horn across my collarbone.
The smooth curve was cool against my overheated skin, and I shivered so hard my hand slipped.
“Oh.” I stared at him. “Do that again.”
He did. Slowly. Down the center of my chest. Across the swell of one breast. Over my nipple.
I gasped.
He smiled then. Not sweet. Not exactly. It was too sharp for sweet. “You like that.”
“Apparently.” My voice was not dignified. I didn’t care.
Then the horn dragged lower, over my stomach, my hip, the inside of my thigh. The contrast was maddening. This dangerous part of him, the part that should have been frightening, was used so gently that I wanted to beg.
I might have begged.
I lost track.