Then his lips brush over my bare shoulder and I let a single tear roll down my cheek unchecked.
No matter what else happens between us, I’ll remember this small gift of kindness he’s given me for the rest of my life. This will go down as the moment I let myself admit how much I want North Draven. How much I crave his domineering and assertive nature, how much I need him, even if he does act on my behalf without ever asking me what it is that I want.
That even while I was determined to hate him, he’s worked his way under my skin and I don’t want to dig him out.
“Turn around on your good leg. I’ll get you out of here.”
I do as he asks and let him scoop me up into his chest. There’s another towel wrapped around his waist, but without the styling he usually puts into his hair, I can see the same tight, dark curls as his brother falling over his forehead. His eyes were always striking, the deep blue depths of them against his tanned skin, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at me tonight that has my breath catching in my throat dangerously.
Am I about to fall in love with a Draven, over a shower of all things?
He sets me down on the bathroom countertop and carefully dries me off without another word, his hands reverent and gentle over the miles of soft skin on display. I watch as he catalogs every last one of my injuries, every bruise and broken patch of skin that Felix hasn’t bothered to heal up yet, thanks to the more devastating thigh injury. If I wasn’t so sure about him right now, I’d assume the murder in his eyes was a warning to me.
It’s not.
It’s a plan he’s putting together to go after any Gifted who might have touched me and is still breathing. There’s plenty from my first time in the camps, but only Davies made it out this time around.
I don’t want to think about that man anymore. I force my eyes to follow the droplets of water cascading down his chest instead, the way that there’s the smallest of dimples on his cheek that I’ve never been close enough to notice before, and the strong muscles of his throat that flex as he works so diligently to getting me dry. He’s fucking gorgeous, always has been, only now I’m letting myself take note of it.
The problem with looking at all of those details is that it wakes my bond up and, my God, does it want him to push me back and fuck me until my legs don’t work. The exhaustion that was filling me up moments ago in the shower burns away, and my pussy throbs between my legs. I have to swallow a whimper that creeps up the back of my throat, and my body feels as though it’s on fire.
North’s nostrils flare and he drops the towel, bracing his hands on either side of my thighs as he leans into me, careful not to touch me, but taking up every inch of my personal space nonetheless.
“You can stop the Bond, can’t you?”
It takes my brain a second to process his words, the lust and sex thickening the air around us taking over me completely, and when I finally make sense of him, I swallow roughly all over again.
He doesn’t mention how he knows that I’ve done it before, because bringing up his brother’s actions right now probably isn’t for the best. I lick my lips, watching in awe as his eyes get stuck on the action and his pupils blow out and swallow his irises, almost looking like the void eyes we share.
It’s a heady feeling, to have this power over him, and when I arch my back a little, stretching out on the bathroom counter, his teeth grind together as he holds himself back.
I could get addicted to this feeling.
“I can. It… hurts, but I can do it.”
When I meet his eyes, he pins me there with a smoldering look, trapping my gaze so that I can’t bear to look away. “Tell me how it hurts. Which parts and how bad?”
Fuck. Me. “After. It hurts when I come and I stop my bond from coming out to… claim you as my Bonded. I feel like I’m burning up from the inside out. It lasts a few minutes, and it’s bad but not unbearable.”
A scowl tugs his brows together and he pushes back from me, leaning until I’m sure he’s about to step away from me and leave me to get dressed. I curse myself under my breath, but then one of his hands comes up to run a thumb over my bottom lip, pushing against the plump curve of it as he watches the movement obsessively.
His words catch me by surprise. “So if I edge you for the next couple of hours, you can enjoy it and only feel the pain at the end? Not ideal, but I’ll take it.”
Edging? Jesus. Do I want that? The rough feel of his palms over my body, his lips on my soft skin, hours of pleasure that never truly reaches its peak?