Page 11

ARIA

I t felt like an elastic band connected my body—my soul —to Malik.

I sensed it when he left today, pulling tighter and tighter the more distance he put between us.

At the time, I thought my ribcage might break apart and my chest cavity might shatter if we failed to reunite.

Likewise, I felt it when he decided to come home.

That invisible chord connecting our bodies slackened, easing the pain and longing deep at the center of my being.

And I felt it now, thrumming like it held a mind of its own and delighted in his nearness as he followed me into the bedroom.

I’d explored the cottage in the hours of Malik’s absence, relying on the rooms and items to learn more about the male.

I hadn’t learned much, except that he was obscenely tidy, boasted an impressive library of books, and clearly didn’t spend much time in his kitchen.

No photos of friends or family decorated the walls or shelves in any room, though his living room wall held a single painting of a flock of gulls soaring above a rocky beach.

I wondered if he chose it for the beach or the birds, as if the answer might afford me some glimpse into his soul.

That was when I came up with the idea of our little ‘passing notes’ game. I needed to know more about Malik but wanted to do it on his terms. Though my hand ached from writing so much, it went even better than expected.

It went so well that, now, Malik willingly trailed after me into his bedroom.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he dropped my hand and closed the door, the soft click of the wooden frame sounding behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and, though my heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings in my chest, offered him a smile.

“Your house is beautiful,” I murmured, rubbing at my exposed arms. Suddenly, goosebumps peppered my skin. “I hope you don’t mind that I explored it while you were gone...”

Malik didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown either. He shook his head, hovering just inside of the doors he’d just shut.

My towering mate regarded me like I was some vexing, wild creature that he didn’t quite know what to do with, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from chuckling at the irony of it.

This male, who was quite possibly the strongest werewolf I’d ever seen, looked upon me with apprehension in his gaze.

“Do you want to get ready for bed first?” I ventured, gesturing toward the bathroom. I figured he should get to use it first. He owned the house, after all.

Even so, Malik jerked his head no . His broad shoulders leaned back against the door, pressing into the wood to put even more space between our bodies. My presence in his bedroom seemed to put him on edge .

Realizing he probably wouldn’t move until I gave him some space, I cleared my throat and conjured my gentlest smile. “Okay, I’ll go first.”

I disappeared into the bathroom and made quick work of brushing my teeth with one of the unopened toothbrushes I found in a drawer, then washed my face and shimmied out of my jeans. Malik’s sagging t-shirt followed before I shed the panties and bra I’d been wearing for the last two days.

Stepping back, I studied my naked reflection in the mirror. Some wicked, needy part of me considered what might happen if I returned to the bedroom like this, in my barest yet most powerful form. Would the thin thread of Malik’s control snap? Would he turn away in disgust?

I blinked and shook my head, ridding myself of those thoughts. I’d promised not to touch him. I wouldn’t risk his tentative trust with such antics, no matter how much every base, primal instinct begged to be claimed by him. I could be patient. I had to be.

But I also needed fresh clothing.

Taking a deep breath, I padded toward the door and cracked it open just enough to peek my head through, careful to keep my naked body hidden. “Uh, Malik?”

He looked up from where he now sat at the edge of the bed, head bowed low and knees resting on his elbows. Like a bruised and battered warrior who’d returned from a lifetime of war.

My top teeth dragged on my bottom lip. “I don’t have any pajamas. Do you have a t-shirt I can wear?”

Malik’s good eye trailed from my face to my exposed neck and bare shoulder, and I saw the moment he realized I was naked behind the door. The black of his eye expanded until only a sliver of gray remained.

Slowly, he stood, every long muscle stretching until he reached his full height. With the grace of a predator, he stalked to the closet and returned a moment later with a bundle of white fabric in one hand.

As he drew closer, I noticed the way a muscle in his jaw quivered when he extended the t-shirt for me. I took it, and electricity pulsed where my fingers grazed his, shooting straight to my core. Familiar heat flared between my legs.

A blush flamed my cheeks, and I clamped my legs together to keep the scent of my arousal from reaching him before I shut the door. Moon Goddess! We’d barely even touched!

Rather than immediately dress, I clamped my eyes shut and took deep, measured breaths until my heart rate declined. I felt betrayed by my body, which clearly had a mind of its own.

Finally, I slid the huge white tee over my head and slipped my arms in the sleeves.

The hem reached the middle of my thighs, so I deemed it safe enough to wear to bed, even without panties or a bra.

After slathering a healthy amount of lotion onto my legs and arms in an effort to conceal the remnants of my sex-crazed scent, I crept out of the bathroom once more.

Malik sat on the bed again. This time, however, he didn’t have to look up to meet my gaze. I wondered if he’d been staring, unable to look away from the moment I shut the door in his face.

Mustering my courage, I approached the bed.

His nostrils flared, chest expanding. Then, with rigid control, he rose from the mattress and took my place in the bathroom, leaving a wide berth between us as he passed.

I slipped beneath the covers, blood pounding between my ears and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

We’d slept side by side last night, of course, but this felt different.

I hadn’t fallen asleep with him beside me.

In fact, I had no idea he’d come to bed until I woke up in his arms the next morning .

The shower turned on inside the bathroom, and I focused on my breathing. On the soft caress of silken sheets against my bare legs. On the delicious scent of tobacco and mint that coated every inch of my pillow. Anything to keep myself from imagining his naked body, just a few paces and a wall away.

I didn’t know how much time had passed by the time the water stopped running and Malik finished inside the bathroom. Every modicum of my being focused on his steady movements on the other side of the door. On his heady scent and the strong beat of his heart.

When he emerged, he hesitated, lingering by the door. He wore a pair of sweatpants that hung low, accentuating the cuts of muscle on his hips. Dark hair sprouted below his navel, disappearing beneath the waistline to join the substantial bulge at his inseam.

I sat upright in bed and kept the silken sheets covering my hips.

“Malik?” I prompted, my voice a hopeful whisper.

His throat bobbed, the mass of scar tissue rising and falling along with the knob of his ruined voice box. At last, he took a step toward me. Then another. And another.

As if he was a frightened animal in the woods, I made certain not to move and scare him away. Eventually, he slipped beneath the covers, and his warmth radiated toward me from across the bed.

A small, triumphant smile curled on my lips as I slowly leaned back against my pillow again. Silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, settled over the bedroom. Only our shallow breathing filled the space around us.

“Thank you,” I murmured, forcing myself to keep my eyes on the ceiling above. “For coming to bed with me.”

He shifted beside me, the mattress sinking beneath his heavy weight. I held my breath as he moved closer, and it swept out of my lungs the moment his fingers brushed a rogue strand of hair away from my brow.

I allowed my eyes to find his in the dark.

He was close. Far closer than I’d realized. Only a sliver of space separated our bodies, and I longed to bridge that gap. Longed to stroke his disheveled hair and offer him a fraction of the pleasure that he gave me.

“Malik,” I choked out his name, and I swore I heard his ragged intake of breath at the sound of it on my lips. “I’d like to try something. Only if you want to, of course…”

His hand didn’t retreat from where he now stroked my hair, which I took as a good sign. I continued. “Will you show me where and how I can touch you?”

Malik stiffened at my request, his brow furrowing in clear hesitation.

“Do it to me, so that I’ll know what you’d be okay with me doing to you.” My tongue darted out to wet my lips. “We can start slow. I won’t move. I promise. I- I trust you.”

His gaze narrowed, and my heart thundered. One long moment passed, and I readied myself for rejection. Seconds before I lost my courage and dismissed the entire idea, however, he moved.

Malik continued stroking my hairline, though each careful sweep of his thumb became intentional. Then, slowly, his fingers moved to trace the edge of the left side of my face, spanning from my temple to my jawline.

My lashes fluttered closed, pleasure and warmth sparking wherever the rough pads of his fingers touched. I melted back into my pillow when the pad of his thumb hovered just above the left corner of my lips.

He left the right side of my face untouched, and the message behind that choice was clear. He didn’t want me touching his scars. Not yet .

Malik spent long minutes tracing the features on half of my face, and I half-expected him to leave it at that. Goddess knew it would’ve been enough. And yet, when his fingers disappeared from my cheek, I opened my eyes again to find his attention focused entirely on my torso and arms.

He touched my hand first, the pads of his fingers barely grazing my fingertips. He traced each digit with his own, culminating at the center of my palm.

“That tickles,” I teased, watching in fascination as my mate repeated the ministration.

One corner of his lips curled into a half-smile at my words, but it fell away as quickly as it appeared. He was focused, like an eager student studying before a test.

He turned his attention to my wrist, rubbing the fluttering pulse point that revealed just how much his touch affected me. My synapses misfired. My heart rate turned erratic. I buzzed with electricity yet made every effort to remain still. It was the purest form of torture.

Malik’s hand drifted higher up my arm, sliding above the oversized t-shirt that stopped at my elbow. He skimmed up to my shoulder, then his fingers paused.

His gaze flickered back to mine, and I read the silent question in that deep gray. Is this okay?

I nodded and whispered without breath, “Go ahead.”

With heartbreaking tenderness, his huge palm lowered to my chest, settling directly overtop my heart.

Warmth seeped from his body into mine as he kept his hand there, pressed against the upper swell of my breast. It wasn’t a sexual touch, though that didn’t stop my nipples from aching for attention. He didn’t grope. Didn’t explore. We simply existed like that, Malik’s hand over my heart.

He watched my chest rise and fall with each breath, as if he couldn’t quite believe I was real and alive and here. As if he couldn’t believe I was his.

Careful not to startle him, I lifted my own palm and laid it on top of his hand. He stiffened at the newfound contact, then relaxed back against the pillow. My eyes drifted shut, but I held him to my breast.

I wouldn’t give him up, even in sleep.