Page 23 of Shackled to the World
It was harder to ignore the tremor that went through him at the thought of being allowed to hold her while she slept. He would have to touch Annora, feel the warmth of her skin, feel her body wrapped up in his arms as he held her to keep her from waking.
The rest of the guys cleared out of the house to give them privacy and investigate what the witches were planning, and it scared the ever-loving crap out of him to be alone with her.
What if something went wrong?
What if he hurt her?
Or worse, what if she never woke up again?
He blew out a heavy breath, a spiky bundle of temptation and fear churning inside him like cactus needles.
He’d dreamed about physical contact with her since he first met her, and his cock hardened just at the thought, but it was a dark temptation he didn’t allow himself with anyone—ever.
His touch was toxic.
He couldn’t forget.
He could never forget.
But she was different. A visceral yearning grabbed him every time she was near. The memory of her, the feel of her silken flesh the couple times he allowed himself to give in to temptation for just a few seconds, was imprinted on his mind forever.
And, like an addict, he craved more.
Could he really touch her without harming her?
What was the limit?
And, maybe even more important, could he dare allow himself to hope? If anything happened to her because of him…he would never forgive himself.
As they entered her bedroom, the bed loomed large in his mind. His chest felt tight, his breathing becoming short puffs, and his feet froze to the floor. Annora didn’t show any such hesitation, marching directly toward the mattress and dropping down on the surface. She stretched out stiffly, like she was preparing for the guillotine, then looked at him and quirked a brow.
“C’mere.” She sighed deeply and patted the bed next to her. “I want to get this over with.”
Her anxiety allowed him to push away his own. This wasn’t about him—this was about her and Logan. Camden perched on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his distance as he pulled off his shoes, not allowing himself the smallest brush against her until it was time. “Are you more afraid this won’t work…or that it will?”
“Both.” Her broken smile nearly crushed his resolve, and it was all he could do not to gather her up in his arms. Her face grew solemn. “If I’m right and we reach him…that means everything that’s been happening…”
Her voice cracked, and she glanced away from him.
“It means that what you saw was real.”
She nodded meekly, barely a movement, and his plan to just hold her hand vanished, her pain ripping open his heart. Camden slowly stretched out next to her, gingerly gathering her in his arms. “It also means we have a chance to get him back. We have a way to reach him.”
She twisted until she rested on her side and pressed her face against his shoulder, the whisper of her breath against his neck nearly making him groan his torment out loud, his arousal hitting so hard, he couldn’t even form a coherent thought. He shook his head to rid himself of his fantasies, and it took all his concentration to remember his purpose in her bed.
No sex.
He slipped his palm along her neck, cupping the back of it, and leaned forward to press his lips against her forehead. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as he waited for her to go limp.
Instead, she snuggled against him, and he found himself unconsciously brushing his fingertips along her skin, the tangy smell of lemon and warm jasmine drawing him closer to get another whiff of her intoxicating scent.
He hummed in the back of his throat, and she tipped her head back, their lips only separated by a fraction of an inch. Her dark eyes drew him closer, like he was the one under a spell.
* * *
Annora felt the pull of sleep but resisted for a moment longer, Camden’s fear and need reaching out to her. She leaned up, brushing her lips lightly against his, his tortured groan cut short when she pulled away.
“We’ll practice touching and kissing and pushing our limits later. I promise. Right now we need to stay focused on Logan.” She swallowed hard, terrified what she might find when she closed her eyes, and fought against the need to sleep. “He—”
