Page 69 of Ghosts of the Dead

He watches me with a hunger I didn’t think possible. “I want to see your face when you come apart for me.”

My fingers tangle in his hair. His kisses turn into flames along the length of my jaw until he reaches the small sensitive space beneath my ear.

One hand slips under the back of my neck and his mouth finds mine again. This time, he moves slower, deeper, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me from the inside out.

“I thought you wanted to watch my face,” I say against his lips.

His mouth slackens and his body shudders. “I do, but I can’t stop kissing you. Touching you.”

His hand slides between us, and his fingers find my clit. His other arm tightens around my waist, holding me so firmly against him that I can feel every beat of his heart. His thumb circles the sensitive bundle of nerves in rhythm with his thrusts, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise.

Every touch is tinged with desperation, with a need so intense it borders on worship.

“I need to feel you everywhere,” he gasps, his mouth trailing down my neck again, teeth grazing my collarbone. “Need to memorize every inch while I have the chance.”

His thrusts turn frantic and his hand slams over my mouth to quiet my increasing moans as the pressure builds inside me. His face remains only a breath away from mine, his brown eyes wide open, watching me every second I come undone.

When I finally shatter, my walls clenching around him, he sinks his teeth into my shoulder to muffle the sound of his own release, his hips stuttering against mine as he empties himself inside me.

For several moments, we stay like that, our bodies joined, our breathing heavy in the quiet night. When his hand falls away from my mouth and he pulls out, his wide, strong arms band around my waist to keep me secure and his head falls against the crook of my neck.

Everything is perfect until it isn’t. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

The walls around my heart slam into place, and my voice comes out in a croak. “I guess I’m easier to walk away from than I thought.”

His hands brush the hair out of my face, and his lips are on my forehead in seconds. “No, fuck, Autumn. It’s only going to make it harder to stay away. Harder if I lose you.”

I press my hands against his chest, push him away, and swipe my shorts off the ground. My legs still tremble from the intensity of my orgasm. “The only way you’re going to lose me is if you want to. Seems like you’ve already made your choice.”

Then I storm away down to the pond.

Behind me, I hear him whisper, “That’s the problem.”

25

JACE

Ishouldn’t have touched her. Not like that. Not like it mattered. Because it did, and it meant too damn much.

That’s what I keep telling myself while I stand in the shadows, watching her like I’m some obsessed fool.

I should’ve stopped. Before the condom, before the first kiss. Hell, before I ever laid hands on her at all. I should’ve let someone else stitch her up. Being near her tears through every ounce of restraint I’ve spent months honing.

My jaw locks. My hands twitch, like they still remember the shape of her ass, the heat of her skin under my palms. Like the memory burned into my fingertips.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. I told her that. Whispered it into the dark even as I kissed her like she was the last thing worth saving in this godforsaken world. Because she is. I can’t save myself, but maybe I could have saved her. Maybe it’s not too late.

Now she’s gone. Well, not really.

She’s fifty feet away, crouched by the pond, scrubbing herself raw, but it might as well be a thousand miles. I’m half convinced she’s trying to wash me away, and she should. She should want to scrub me away from every inchof her skin and forget about me. She’ll be better off that way.

She hasn’t looked at me since she pushed me back with the look of hurt that was all my doing. I used to have better self-control than this, but it all washes away every time I’m near her. That’s why I’ve tried to keep my distance. Then I had to volunteer to stitch her wound, and somewhere along the way I unraveled.

I stare at the rippling water, watching her reflection move. She looks calm now, but I know it’s not real. I know Autumn well enough now to see the cracks in her armor.

There’s something else there among the cracks. Something deeper than frustration, something coiled and hidden beneath her skin. It’s not anger, though that’s in there too, among the hurt.

She’s hiding something.

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