Page 4 of Snag (Conduit #2)

He groans, dropping his head back. Gold-rimmed eyes narrow contentedly … like a cat’s.

“You want to know how we create more threads?” I ask. “More anchored connections between us?”

Those golden eyes glint knowingly. “Cuddling?”

I laugh. “Well, I was trying to seduce you, but …”

“Zaya. I’m already seduced. ”

“There are probably a lot more things we should talk about.”

Rought hums in disagreement. “After the kissing.”

“You want me to kiss you?” I tease, my gaze flicking down to his full lips.

“I want to press you against this wall,” he growls, not the least bit playful.

“Between these fucking pictures of our past. Sit you on my fucking shoulders, and bury my face in your perfect cunt, Zaya. I want you to come so hard, you fucking trigger me. I want you begging, then flushed and satisfied. And then I want to do that over and over again until you’re so undone, so content, that you fall asleep in my arms and you dream of nothing.

No worries, no fears. Just all the sleep you need. ”

“Oh … I …”

I’m warm all over now. Hot, achingly wet, between my legs. I want the pleasure he’s promising, yes. But it’s the sleep … I can’t imagine it even being possible to be that settled, that content.

“So, yeah ….” Rought says. “I want you to kiss me.”

I tilt my head thoughtfully, as if I don’t suddenly, rather desperately want to be pressed against the wall with his tongue on my clit. And I don’t normally like that. It’s too intimate. I feel oddly disengaged whenever a lover tries to —

Maybe my body knows?

Maybe my body has always remembered …

Him.

“Zaya …” he growls playfully.

Smiling just a little, I hover my lips over Rought’s. This is another sort of dance, isn’t it? Because he could have just kissed me. He could have kissed me on the front patio yesterday when I was so enthralled with him at first sight.

“I wanted to climb you like this when we were dancing,” I whisper, only a breath away from his lips. “I wanted to work your jeans off and fuck you right there in the middle of the clubhouse.”

Rought groans quietly.

“And …” Despite the playfulness we’re both using to keep us in the now , I feel the need to add, “I don’t … like fucking all that much.”

His gaze practically spears into mine. I open my mouth to ask him if I did like fucking.

Did I like fucking him? Have we fucked? He has a bite mark on his hand, the impressions of my teeth scarred across his skin.

We definitely fucked as teenagers. I can’t imagine exchanging bites in the shifter way of claiming a mate without knowing, truly knowing, each other first.

Rought doesn’t make me articulate any of that.

He slides me slightly down his body so he’s looming over me again, and threads his free hand through my hair.

I cinch my legs around him tighter, his head still caged within my arms. Completely wrapped around each other like this blocks everything else from my sight, focuses me solely on him, on the desire threading through me. Until I feel nothing else.

“I’ve never felt so whole as I do when I’m buried deeply in you,” he says. “So realized. So who I’m supposed to be. As I do when you’re clenched and coming around my cock. So we can tease and cuddle all you want, but when you want to fuck, I’m ready for that too.”

“But …” I say, still a little shaky. “Without … without the threads that should bind us, how do you know … ?”

Rought kisses me then, silencing my doubts. At least for the moment. His lips are firm and steady against mine. I press back into him, gripping him as hard as I can. Holding him to me. But I already know he’s not going anywhere.

I know that. Don’t I?

Connection. That’s what he’s offering. And that is what I want. With him.

Something shifts deeply within me, possibly soul deep. I don’t try to analyze it. I just part my lips under Rought’s and slide my tongue against the seam of his mouth. He opens his mouth with a groan that reverberates through me, echoing from his chest to mine.

“Fuck, Zaya …” His grip tightens on my ass and in my hair.

That groaned ‘fuck’ burns through me like an essence-laced shot of whiskey, all the way down to pool between the apex of my thighs. I press my tongue against his, and —

The intersection point taps me.

Taps me.

On the shoulder.

Then I get a flickering sense, an impression, of a powerful woman with wildly curly light-blond hair touching the fence that separates the property from the main road.

A large vehicle idles at the entrance to the estate, unable to cross through the boundary wards without permission despite the gate being fully open.

Gigi. And Coda.

“Fuck,” I groan.

“Unexpected company?” Rought asks against my lips, as if he too felt the tap.

“Expected.” I sigh. “And … needed.”

Smiling, he brushes his lips against mine once more, then slides me down his body until I find my feet. I force myself to step back, though it physically hurts to do so. My gaze falls on the photo behind him on the wall. On all the photos. I hesitate.

“You want me to grab these?” Rought asks, anticipating me. “You get your guests settled. I’ll put these in your bedroom?”

“That would be … that would be …” I blink away renewed tears. I’m still utterly overwhelmed— and now also ridiculously turned on.

He touches my shoulder lightly, turning away to grab the first photo.

I grab his hand. “Maybe come with me to meet Coda and Gigi, then we’ll grab these together. They … it’s okay if they see them. It doesn’t make any sense to keep this kind of info from Coda, from either of them. But Coda might want to set up in this room.”

Rought’s grin is warm and inviting. Pleased. As if I’ve done something spectacular. For him. He threads his fingers through mine and allows me to tug him out of the room.

I don’t look back at the photos. Hand cradled in Rought’s warm grasp, I latch onto the now . I hold onto it tightly.

As we descend the inside stairs, then head out of the suite, I focus on the energy of the intersection point, willing it to accept Gigi and Coda, to allow them entry.

That is actionable.

That I can do without second-guessing myself, my past, or my future.

A big-rig black truck towing what appears to be a shiny black cargo container speeds along the driveway toward us as if the driver is being chased by dire werewolves. Or is in desperate need of a hot shower and a comfy bed.

I lift my face to the misty rain, closing my eyes against the cloudy day because it’s still bright enough to hurt them.

The chilly late-winter morning actually helps settle me.

Though thankfully, it doesn’t dampen the kernel of gentle energy I can now feel free-floating in my chest. I press my hand against it, as if I can protect it from the elements.

From myself and all my vast — possibly self-destructive — ability to push away anything that tries to touch me more than skin deep.

Rought squeezes my other hand lightly, and I open my eyes to confirm that he’s staring at me, eyes bright with his gryphon and a soft smile on his face.

And I know … I know I’ll never have to stand alone again, except by choice.

How did I not realize how desperately alone I was?

“It goes both ways,” he murmurs, as if he can read my mind. As if he can read me.

No one looks at me that closely. No one is allowed, either by myself or the greater universe, to look at me that closely.

I squeeze Rought’s hand back, though being gentle, intimate, doesn’t come at all naturally to me.

The photographs lining the walls of Mack’s second bedroom flit through my mind. Maybe it was once natural for me to … love? Then someone, something — the universe? — took that away from me. From Rought and me and —

“Breathe,” Rought whispers, raising his free hand to direct whoever is driving the truck.

I inhale steadily.

The truck is close enough now that I can see Gigi driving — her wild mane of light-blond curls and ever-perfect slash of red lipstick is a dead giveaway. Coda isn’t in the passenger seat, meaning the awry tech is no doubt hooked up to all their equipment in the trailer.

“Behind the barn, Zaya?” Rought asks. “I’ll have them back it in.”

I have no idea. Other than crossing around it to get to the estate cemetery, I’m not certain what’s actually behind the back of the barn with its workshop and garage. “Coda might just want to work out of the trailer section. Can we … hook it up to power … there?”

Rought nods. “The wind sweeps up through here, between the buildings. Coda no doubt has satellite dishes. The barn will act like a windbreak. There’s a secondary … or maybe it’s the primary … entrance to Mack’s old suites beyond the kitchen.”

Right. Not having to cross through the garage and workshop would give Coda and Gigi a bit more privacy to come and go from the suite.

Gigi slows, then slides the truck to a stop alongside us, rolling down the driver’s-side window just enough to scowl down at us.

Well, down at me. Rought is tall enough to be closer to eye level.

For someone who was all but thirsting over a mere picture that Coda unearthed when looking into the Outcast Motorcycle Club, Gigi barely gives Rought more than an offish glance now.

Though perhaps the thirsting was more about the idealized dick that might accompany the guy in the picture, not the guy himself .

The combat mage’s normally pale skin is sun kissed. Black mascara and red lipstick are her only makeup.

“This rain is outrageous, Zaya,” Gigi grouses in that French accent that I’m still not certain is natural or adopted. “It’s been like this for the entire drive up the coast!”

Rought stiffens defensively beside me. It’s subtle enough that if I weren’t still holding his hand or suddenly so in tune with him, I might not have noticed. He doesn’t like the combat mage’s tone. It’s a protective, possessive reaction that should piss me off.

Not, as it does, send a warm thrill through me.