it.
“I do not know your thoughts about me,” he finally said, his voice quiet.
I couldn’t resist checking his reaction—frowning in a worried way, like he was wondering if he’d done something wrong—and at the sight, I had the wild urge to flee the room. But running away was what I’d been doing all along, and look where that had gotten us. I’d been undermining our trust from the beginning, all because I couldn’t admit this one thing to him.
Buying myself a moment to think, I grabbed a strawberry from the bowl beside me and bit the bottom off.
He shifted his weight. “Vayanin? What are your thoughts about me that are bad?”
“Not bad. Just … I …” I looked at the half-eaten strawberry between my fingers, dusted with sugar. “I keep thinking things …”
Things like his amazing body of hard muscle—dips and planes and smooth skin that I wanted to touch. Things like the feel of those powerful arms around me, and how his strength both daunted and thrilled me. Things like the way his husky voice could caress me, and how I always lost my train of thought when he murmured in my ear.
But I couldn’t speak those words. I couldn’t make a sound.
I stared at the strawberry. Dare as I dared.
My gaze lifted. Darted across his face. Settled on his mouth. Raising my hand, I slowly stretched out my arm and pressed the bite of fruit to his lips.
His eyes widened.
“What does this mean?” I whispered.
Lips parting, he took the strawberry with his teeth. He swallowed, watching me with half-lidded eyes.
“If you were a payashē, it means you choose me for your bed.” His hooded gaze gauged my reaction. “But you are not a payashē.”
A shiver started deep in my core and spread outward, trembling down my arms and curling my toes. My hand wasn’t quite steady as I selected another strawberry and bit into it. A drop of sweet juice beaded at the corner of my mouth.
His gaze held mine, intense and questioning. A hint of predator lurked in those faintly glowing red eyes.
“I’m not a payashē,” I agreed softly.
The tremble in my fingers grew more obvious as I extended my hand again, holding the strawberry in the space between us. An offer. Not choosing him, but inviting him.
He shifted forward. His fingers brushed my wrist, then curled around it, steadying my hand. His mouth closed over the strawberry—and my fingers. The fruit disappeared with a flex of his throat, then all I could feel was the heat of his mouth and the slide of his tongue.
My heart flitted weakly, my lungs empty of air.
“I thought,” I mumbled breathlessly, “you didn’t like the taste of humans.”
He slid my fingertips from his mouth. “Your blood, vayanin. I do not like your blood. Your skin …”
He pressed his mouth to my wrist and his tongue flicked across the slight bumps of tendons and veins. His fingers slid up my inner arm, over the soft skin he’d once marveled at and the scars from the day we’d joined in a contract of mutual survival.
Lightly gripping my elbow, he tugged me toward him. Gentle. An invitation instead of a demand.
I shuffled sideways, moving a little closer. Just a little.
His hand slid up to the sleeve of my t-shirt. Thumb brushing the fabric, he paused, then ran his fingers over my shoulder to the side of my neck. As he’d once carefully explored the fine details of my human hand, now his touch ran over my neck—tracing my collarbones, my throat, the soft underside of my chin.
“You are blushing,” he murmured. “What are you thinking?”
Heat burned in my cheeks, but there was heat in my core too. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m thinking …” The truth. I couldn’t lie. Didn’t want to. “I like it when you touch me.”
“Hnn.”
His warm hands curled over the sides of my neck, his thumbs at the edges of my jaw—then his breath teased the base of my throat. I balked in surprise, the sofa against my back.
A brush of his lips in the spot between my collarbones.
I trembled, my heels digging into the floor, but I didn’t move. Didn’t panic. Didn’t shove him away. Didn’t open my eyes.
His hot mouth drifted across my skin, tracing my throat upward. The sudden touch of his sharp teeth sent tingles rushing down my spine, and I forgot to breathe.
“Do you like this?” His voice vibrated against my skin, his mouth pressed to my racing pulse.
“I … I …” An