Tohr. It was about Tohr.
He was regretting the way things had been lately between them.
"Talk to him," she said softly. "Tell him what's doing. You'll both feel better. "
John nodded and she could sense his resolve sharpening.
God, she wasn't quite sure how it happened--well, the mechanics were pretty damn simple, but what was surprising was the fact that once again, she found herself going over and hugging him, her arms wrapping around his waist from behind. Laying her cheek between his shoulder blades, she was glad when she felt his hands covering hers.
He communicated in so many different ways, didn't he. And sometimes touch was better than words for saying what you meant.
In the silence, she drew him back to the bed and they both sat down.
As she just stared at him, he mouthed, What?
"You sure you want me to go there?" When he nodded, she looked him right in the eye. "I know you left something out. I can sense it. There's a gap between the orphanage and that apartment building. "
Not one facial muscle moved or even twitched on him and he didn't blink, either. But the tells of a male who was good at covering up his reactions were irrelevant. She knew what she knew about him.
"It's okay, I'm not going to ask. And I'm not going to press. "
His faint blush was something she would remember long after she was gone. . . and the thought of leaving him was what brought her fingertips to his lips. As he jerked in surprise, she focused on his mouth.
"I want to give you something of me," she said in a low, deep voice. "It's not about making the score even, though. It's just because I want to. "
After all, it would have been great if she could have taken him to her places and walked him through her life, but his knowing more about her past was just going to make her suicide mission harder for him: however she felt about John, she was going after her captor and she wasn't about to fool herself on the odds of her surviving that showdown.
Lash had tricks.
Bad tricks that he did bad things with.
Memories of the bastard came back to her, horrible ones that made her thighs tremble, ugly ones that nonetheless served to push her into something that she might not really be ready for. But she couldn't go to her grave with Lash having been her last.
Not when she had the one male she'd ever love in front of her.
"I want to be with you," she said hoarsely.
John's shocked blue eyes traced her face like he was looking for signs that he might be reading her wrong. And then a hot, hard lust broke through all his emotions, shattering them and leaving nothing behind but a full- blooded male's urge to mate.
To his credit, he did his best to beat back the instinct and hold on to some semblance of rationality. But all that meant was that she was the one who ended the battle between sense and sensibility--by putting her mouth against his.
Oh. . . God, his lips were soft.
In spite of the thundering she sensed in his blood, he kept himself in check. Even when she slid her tongue inside of him. And that restraint made it easier for her as her mind flickered back and forth between what she was doing now. . .
And what had been done to her mere days ago.
To help focus her, she sought out his chest and ran her palms down the pads of muscle over his heart. Easing him back onto the mattress, she breathed in his scent and smelled the bonding he felt for her. The dark spices were unique to him, and about as far as you could get from the sickening stench of a lesser.
Which helped her separate this experience from her most recent ones.
The kiss started out as an exploration, but it didn't stay that way. John moved closer, rolling his massive body against hers, his heavy leg riding up until the weight of it pushed down on her own. At the same time, his arms wrapped around her, bringing her in tight to him.
He was moving slowly, as was she.
And she was fine until his hand slipped onto her breast.
The contact scrambled her, yanking her out of this room and this bed, taking her away from John and the moment with him and landing her back in hell.