I took her right fist and uncurled her fingers until her hand lay flat in mine, and I placed my other hand over hers. “There are things I haven’t told you. Things I can’t tell you while your marks stand between us. But soon none of that will matter. What matters is that I am not going to leave you and your sister here. I would swear to that right now, if there was a Binder here. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you. To stay with you. If you want me.” I stared into her eyes, trying to see past the anger she wore like a mask to cover fear and vulnerability. I tried to see past all of that, to the part she never showed anyone else.

“Do you want me, Kori?”

Kori

I couldn’t make sense of the tangle of emotions balled up inside me. I was frustrated, and scared, and angry, and somewhere in there, I felt a tiny kernel of hope, struggling to survive in such harsh conditions. But every last thread in the jumble of conflicting emotions led back to Ian, through one twisted route or another.

He was hiding something, yes. He’d practically admitted that. But he’d shielded me in the wine cellar and refused to leave me in the alley. He’d talked me down from panic and he’d said I was a lion that could not be tamed. He knew what I’d had to do for Jake, and what Jake had done to me in return. And he wanted me anyway.

And I wanted him like I’d never wanted anything else in my life. So I pulled him down with one hand and kissed him.

Ian groaned against my lips. He tugged me closer, then his mouth opened beneath mine, pulling me in. My hands wandered on their own, slowly exploring the hard planes of his back until I realized his towel was loosening, and my fingers were damp with water from his shower, and we were pressed so tightly together I could hardly breathe. But his hands hadn’t moved. One cradled my jaw, trailing beneath my ear. The other sat at my waist. Above my clothes. There, but demanding nothing.

Did that mean he didn’t want to touch me?

No. I could feel how badly he wanted to touch me. But he had patience. Self-control. It almost felt like…manners.

“You okay?” he asked, when I pulled away and looked up at him.

In answer to a question I never wanted to hear again, I tugged him through the living room, hall and into the bedroom, where I let go and started to unbutton my shirt.

Ian’s brows rose, but his gaze never left mine. “Are you sure?”

I nodded and pushed another button through its hole.

He watched me for another second, then he was there again, kissing me, and my hands fell away from my shirt so his could take over.

My pulse rushed too fast and the room spun, a blur of dark wood and rich fabrics, shadowed on the edges by the fear I pushed aside with every breath I took. I threw myself into that kiss, letting the taste and the feel of him chase everything else away.

When the buttons were undone, his hands slid beneath the cotton and gently pushed the material down my arms. He kissed my shoulder and unhooked my bra, and I let it slide to the floor. Then I reached for the towel at his hips and pulled it loose.

His towel fell off and he moaned, his lips pressed to the unbroken side of my neck. His arms slid around me, guiding me as he walked us backward, and I felt the mattress against the backs of my thighs.

I sat, then lay back, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Darkness closed in on the edges of my vision, and with it came flashes of memory I couldn’t push back. Dead shadows trapping me. A weight on my chest. A cruel hand twisting, and pinching, and bruising, and invading.

Ian lay beside me, naked, reaching for me, and my throat tried to close.

“I can’t,” I whispered, and his hands fell away. I pulled the rumpled blanket over me, confused, and humiliated, and drowning in frustration. Pissed off by my own fear.

He propped himself up on one elbow and I made myself look at him. “It’s okay. There’s no rush,” he said, brushing hair from my cheek.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t fucking okay, and it never would be until I could push past the fear and anger devouring me from the inside out. Until I could touch and be touched and just live in the moment, without reliving other hands. Without feeling like the world was spiraling in on me, constricting around me, compressing me until I couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t breathe.

Why now? Why did I have to meet him now, when I couldn’t tell from one minute to the next whether I wanted to touch or hit, kiss or bite?

This wasn’t okay. And it wasn’t going to be okay until I could do whatever the fuck I wanted with whoever the hell I wanted. Until I could take control back, not just of my body, but of my mind. If I gave up now—if I let fear chase me from what I wanted—the next time would only be harder.

Ian stroked my hair, spreading it over the rumpled comforter. Touching me without touching me. And suddenly I wanted to cry. He was so patient.

I looked up at him, and he was still watching me. Not smiling. Just watching.

“Make it dark,” I whispered, and he frowned for a second. Then he sat up and reached for the bedside lamp.

“No.” I laid one hand on his arm, and he turned back to me. “Make it dark. True dark.” The kind I knew. The kind I loved. The kind I could escape into whenever I needed to.

The kind Ian carried in his soul and could gather at will.

He smiled, and the darkness rose around us, faster than ever before. Cool and calm. Quiet. Soothing. Like it had been there all along. Waiting.

I couldn’t see a thing, but I’d never been more sure of where I was.

I reached for him and my hand found his stomach. I trailed my fingers up the hard lines of his chest and over his collarbone, then around to the back of his neck. I pulled him down, and his mouth found mine. He couldn’t see me, but he could feel me, and that was more than enough.