Page 45 of Tethered to the World
Her eyes flashed up toward his again, noted his hands firmly locked behind his head, his biceps flexing distractingly. He was giving her all the power, and she couldn’t resist the temptation. She placed her hands on his stomach, fascinated by the ridges of muscles that bunched beneath her touch.
Wanting to experience everything, she shifted, and her knees hit the chair just right, folding them together. Her hands slid up his torso, leaving her face just inches away from his, her chest plastered against his once again. He moved fast, his hands settling around her waist, then he slowly slid them up her back, and she arched into his hands, enjoying the feeling of him exploring her body.
When he cupped the back of her neck, darker memories stirred, and she stiffened, her lust instantly cooling.
He immediately sensed the shift, and lifted his hands and placed them on the arms of the chair, gripping the leather firmly. “You have permission to do whatever you want with me. Familiarize yourself with my body. When we start training tomorrow, we will be touching everywhere. Any hesitation in a fight can get you killed. You need to get use to touching…practice on me.”
She loved watching the way his lips formed the demand.
He expected to be obeyed.
Her hands immediately came to rest on his shoulders, almost of their own volition. She waited for the panic, the need to lash out and escape, but he made no move to retaliate, just gazed at her with endless calm.
The latch to the front door clicked. Just as she recoiled, his hands gripped her hips, and he stood in a single move, quickly shoving her behind him, and she stumbled to get her feet under her so she wouldn’t tumble to the floor.
* * *
Xander cursed that he’d allowed himself to be distracted by a slip of a girl, the pounding lust turning to pure aggression as he braced to launch himself at anyone who dared think they could take her from him.
His skin rippled with the need to shift and protect what was his…Annora.
He wasn’t sure if she was their pack grá, but a desperate hope burned in his gut at the possibility. He thought he was beyond redemption, beyond saving, until she exploded into his life.
He was a fuck ’em and leave ’em type of guy, purposely choosing women who knew the score, who didn’t stir his emotions. Women he used when he had an itch that needed to be scratched and nothing more.
He didn’t mind his solitary, lonely existence.
None of it mattered…until her.
His father beat into him at an early age that emotions were a weakness, and he’d never allowed himself to get close to any female, never allowed himself to want more, but that changed when she nailed him in the balls the first time he ever saw her. Since then his beast had been fascinated with everything about her.
She was broken and damaged, her dark brown eyes haunted, which only added to her beauty. He’d only meant to comfort her, but it took just one touch for him to want more. He wanted to make her whole, show her the world wasn’t all evil. He wanted to cherish her, give her something she’d been denied her whole life…the knowledge that she mattered.
She wasn’t a killer like him. The spark of life still flickered inside her. She was a fighter, a survivor.
It took one to recognize one.
He refused to let the bitterness and jealousy that consumed his father rule him. His job had become his life, but he realized now he wanted more than violence and death.
He wanted her.
As footsteps pounded in his ears, he glanced at the delicate girl who had endured horrors the others would never understand, and he would do whatever was necessary to make sure she survived.
* * *
Logan walked around the corner, then halted abruptly at whatever he saw on Xander’s face. It took a full minute before Xander collected himself, turned on his heel and vanished without another word.
Annora stared after him in concern, but Logan shook his head. “Give him a few minutes to cool down.”
Annora tore her eyes away from his retreating back, then looked up at Logan, noticing for the first time his soaked shirt, the edges of the material blackened and singed, and she stormed toward him. “What the hell happened to you?”
He self-consciously fiddled with the hem of his shirt, then held up his hand to keep her at bay. “You don’t want to get any closer.”
But it was already too late. She brought up her arm to cover the lower half of her face, stopping dead about ten feet away from him. The sour scent of piss and singed fur overwhelmed her. “What the hell is that?”
Her eyes began to water.
His chin dropped in resignation. “Slightly charred deer musk.”
