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Authors: Stephanie Rowe
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room, then walked back and crouched beside her. "I'm deeply sorry, Anya. I let myself get caught up in giving you pleasure, and it was a mistake. It won't happen again, I promise."
"Stop being like that," she interrupted, feeling starkly exposed. "I just turned myself over to you on every level of my soul. I made myself vulnerable, and I need to hear something from you other than your damned martyrdom. Was that just about giving me pleasure? Did you feel anything ? Did you even get an erection?" She felt so humiliated, lying on the couch, unable to move, while he crouched there, talking like the orgasm had been some sort of failed clinical offering of comfort.
His eyes flashed and he leaned forward. "You demand much from me, Anya."
"I don't really care." She struggled to sit up, brushing off his hand when he tried to steady her. "I need to know where things stand between us. When you kissed me, did it matter to you?Did you even want to make love to me? Did you feel anything? " She felt stupid asking, but she had no choice. She had to matter. She had to keep reminding herself to feel and breathe and love. If she didn't, she would shut down, and she didn't want to go there. She had to fight to be acknowledged, because if she wasn't, then she was nothing.
His jaw flexed. "I have never lost control of myself in my life," he said, his voice clipped. "I lost control of myself when I was kissing you. That has never happened before."
She looked right at him. "And did you like it? I know you don't like the fact you drained me, but at the time, while you were kissing me, did you like it?"
For a long while, he said nothing. Then he nodded once. "Yes."
She smiled, her heart filling with relief. He hadn't been immune during that kiss. "Okay, then." She closed her eyes and snuggled under his coat.
"That's it?"
"It was enough. I need to sleep. You drained me." She could already feel sleep taking her, the oblivion she hadn't succumbed to in weeks, because she hadn't felt safe enough to cease her vigilance. Maybe it hadn't been his kiss that had drained her. Maybe it had simply been that his protection made her feel safe enough to stop fighting. "Keep me safe while I sleep," she mumbled. "I need you."
Again, there was no answer, but then she felt his fingers brush over her hair in a tender, protective gesture.
She was safe...for now.
Chapter 6
S lade sat against the far wall, watching Anya sleep. She looked innocent and vulnerable, almost completely hidden by his coat. He studied every feature on her face, taking advantage of the opportunity to look at her. Her lashes were long and thick, so different from his own. Her skin was fair, again, different from his own darker tones. And her hair, so soft it was unreal. She was pure woman, delicate and vulnerable, despite the strength emanating so intensely through her. He was a cold-blooded killer with no remorse or empathy, but she made him feel. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to help her. He wanted to burn her mother's killers in hell.
He'd taken money to kill Anya. He'd staked his reputation on it. And yet...he knew he could not do it now.
She was right. She'd forced him to see her as a human being, and that had screwed everything up for him. He hadn't intended to admit what he'd do to her mother's killer, but she'd dragged his confession out of him with embarrassing ease. When he'd seen the expression on her face after his admission, everything had changed for him in that moment. What he'd said had mattered to her. He'd seen it. She'd looked at him as if he were her savior, someone good, someone who could shatter the grip that death, fear, and evil had on her life.
No one had ever looked at him like that, but when she had, it had profoundly affected him. He'd lived his life as a shadow, wiping the memories of all who'd sighted him, living his life in complete isolation. But being seen, truly seen , by Anya had been surreal.
He wanted her to wake up, to look at him, and see
"Stop being like that," she interrupted, feeling starkly exposed. "I just turned myself over to you on every level of my soul. I made myself vulnerable, and I need to hear something from you other than your damned martyrdom. Was that just about giving me pleasure? Did you feel anything ? Did you even get an erection?" She felt so humiliated, lying on the couch, unable to move, while he crouched there, talking like the orgasm had been some sort of failed clinical offering of comfort.
His eyes flashed and he leaned forward. "You demand much from me, Anya."
"I don't really care." She struggled to sit up, brushing off his hand when he tried to steady her. "I need to know where things stand between us. When you kissed me, did it matter to you?Did you even want to make love to me? Did you feel anything? " She felt stupid asking, but she had no choice. She had to matter. She had to keep reminding herself to feel and breathe and love. If she didn't, she would shut down, and she didn't want to go there. She had to fight to be acknowledged, because if she wasn't, then she was nothing.
His jaw flexed. "I have never lost control of myself in my life," he said, his voice clipped. "I lost control of myself when I was kissing you. That has never happened before."
She looked right at him. "And did you like it? I know you don't like the fact you drained me, but at the time, while you were kissing me, did you like it?"
For a long while, he said nothing. Then he nodded once. "Yes."
She smiled, her heart filling with relief. He hadn't been immune during that kiss. "Okay, then." She closed her eyes and snuggled under his coat.
"That's it?"
"It was enough. I need to sleep. You drained me." She could already feel sleep taking her, the oblivion she hadn't succumbed to in weeks, because she hadn't felt safe enough to cease her vigilance. Maybe it hadn't been his kiss that had drained her. Maybe it had simply been that his protection made her feel safe enough to stop fighting. "Keep me safe while I sleep," she mumbled. "I need you."
Again, there was no answer, but then she felt his fingers brush over her hair in a tender, protective gesture.
She was safe...for now.
Chapter 6
S lade sat against the far wall, watching Anya sleep. She looked innocent and vulnerable, almost completely hidden by his coat. He studied every feature on her face, taking advantage of the opportunity to look at her. Her lashes were long and thick, so different from his own. Her skin was fair, again, different from his own darker tones. And her hair, so soft it was unreal. She was pure woman, delicate and vulnerable, despite the strength emanating so intensely through her. He was a cold-blooded killer with no remorse or empathy, but she made him feel. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to help her. He wanted to burn her mother's killers in hell.
He'd taken money to kill Anya. He'd staked his reputation on it. And yet...he knew he could not do it now.
She was right. She'd forced him to see her as a human being, and that had screwed everything up for him. He hadn't intended to admit what he'd do to her mother's killer, but she'd dragged his confession out of him with embarrassing ease. When he'd seen the expression on her face after his admission, everything had changed for him in that moment. What he'd said had mattered to her. He'd seen it. She'd looked at him as if he were her savior, someone good, someone who could shatter the grip that death, fear, and evil had on her life.
No one had ever looked at him like that, but when she had, it had profoundly affected him. He'd lived his life as a shadow, wiping the memories of all who'd sighted him, living his life in complete isolation. But being seen, truly seen , by Anya had been surreal.
He wanted her to wake up, to look at him, and see
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