What he wouldn't give to be able to speak to her. He wanted to tell her that he was willing to relearn her language and go without sex or biting for now. He was even considering giving up his revenge.
All this he would do for her, but he needed her to give him new memories to drown out the old....
So many things about this night had reminded Malkom of his past - the water, the scent of the soap, her palm closing over him from behind. Her touch was gentle, completely different from what he'd experienced. Yet even the way she'd steered him had called the master to mind.
Malkom clasped his forehead, grappling to pull his thoughts from the past, realizing that he needed to be in control of what happened between him and his female. He wanted to guide her.
Which was a problem, since he didn't know how.
If only he could have more time with her, a few hours to learn her form, he could get them back to where they'd been just before he'd lost control. And then this night could be what he remembered whenever he thought of sex in the future.
He stalked after her, readying to touch her tender skin.
'Tis not the end.
As she hastened away, she refused to think about that lost look on the demon's face. Refused to think about it - at all.
Some inner torment had just been dredged up. Considering that he'd been a slave, she could imagine the nature of the torment. Especially when taken with his reaction to her unwitting touches.
Carrow truly felt bad for him, but she had to protect herself. Luckily, she was resolved. So why am I glancing back?
She'd only get more of the same if she returned. To be bitten and battered? Just hours ago, her sternum had felt like the landing site of a wrecking ball. And yes, he'd shoved her to protect her, but it was yet another example of how little control he had.
Totally out of control. Like if he were a dog, he'd be the angry-eyed mongrel at the pound, the one that was sure to attack. So why did she have the urge to claim him?
Such a wild, lost male. Another glance back, this time with some lip nibbling. Eyes forward, slore.
Damn it, she was still woefully aroused. It'd been weeks since she'd had an orgasm. As she strode down the mine with no bra on, her aching br**sts bounced, her ni**les hypersensitive. Each step was agony to her still-throbbing sex.
Strangely, her hurting wrist was nearly forgotten -
Without warning, he seized her, tucking her under his arm against his hip, and headed back for the pool.
"Drop me, demon! Now!"
Instead, he carted her right back into the water, setting her on her feet beneath one of the cascades. As she sputtered, he ripped free the T-shirt she wore.
"This is your bright idea?" Surprisingly unafraid of him, she struck his chest with the bottom of one fist. "Way to get back in my good graces, ass**le!"
Without even acknowledging her useless hits, he patiently held up his finger. His eyes were flickering back to the steady blue.
"One moment? Forget it, don't wanna stay." At his unbending look, she said, "Listen, I'm sorry for whatever happened to you, because evidently, damage was done. But I'm not your spank moppet or whipping girl, or anything like that - " She s"uinted at his hand. "Um, where are your claws?" He'd bitten them away. How thoroughly was he planning on touching her?
He bent to drag down her thong.
Carrow's rebellion? Chin raised, she said, "I'm not stepping out of it."
Not a problem for Slaine; he briefly lifted her and removed it, tossing it by her bra.
Then he took one of the cloths, lathering it with the soap, his mien resolute.
"I-I haven't said yes to any - "
He pressed the cloth to her chest, softly rubbing her with easy strokes. Despite herself she was intrigued by this unexpected side of him. Amazingly, she found herself relaxing.
With one hand, he unhurriedly scrubbed. With his other he covered one shoulder, his palm warm over her skin. So lightly, he pressed his thumb against her muscle there, massaging.
When she moaned, he must have taken this as a sign of her surrender, because masculine satisfaction surged through him - fueling her power once more.
The cloth was momentarily forgotten as he used the backs of his fingers to skim her cheek, her jawline, then the length of her neck and lower.
With decisive action, he'd hunted, he'd warred, and he'd protected her. Now he was tentative as he traced the lines of her shoulders, his eyes following his every movement. No man had ever looked at her as he did - like she was the best thing in the world.
He caressed the pads of his fingers over her collarbone so tenderly that she was staggered by his gentleness. Such a killer, such a warrior, yet look at what he was capable of.
He murmured to her in Demonish. She didn't understand the words, but she recognized the tone - wonderment. For the first time in her life, Carrow felt treasured. And, gods, that was a heady feeling. I could get addicted to this.
From her collarbone, he smoothed his forefinger down ... down. Just as he was about to reach her nipple, when she was trembling for that contact, he let out a shuddering breath and circled the peak.
She bit her lip. No, touch me there, demon!
Instead he returned the cloth to her chest, seeming determined to wash her as she'd done him.
But when she arched her back while whispering, "Please, demon," he groaned, dipping the cloth over her br**sts, across her achy ni**les.
She gave a cry, earning another lash of satisfaction from him, power pouring from him to her, enabling her magic again.
As her eyes slid shut, she hazily debated: Heal my wrist, or force the demon to release me?
Beneath the cloth, his sneaky thumb swept over her nipple. "Oh, Malkom, yes."
Her wrist? Good as new.
Determined to wash all of her body, Malkom somehow dragged his hands away from her br**sts.
He would minister to her for as long as she had to him. Even if this meant denying his swollen shaft or ignoring the br**sts that she offered up.
When she arched her back ... and they begged for his attention.
So he ran the cloth from her chest to one of her shoulders, rubbing and massaging down to her fingertips. Her other arm received the same attention. He paused at both of her hands, fascinated by how small and fragile they were, comparing their size to his own hands.
Everything about her body was utterly feminine. Her thighs were shapely, her backside generous, her hips flaring out from a tiny waist. He marveled at every sweep of creamy skin, every womanly swell and dip.
He was exploring her - and for some reason, she was allowing him to fully.
Among all his other discoveries, he'd noticed that she had no hair on her legs or under her arms. Aside from her long mane atop her head, and the intriguing patch betwixt her legs, her body was bare.