“Why did you come here?” he asked. “Why would you think to come here?”
“Don’t go there in your head. This was anything but sentimental. You were spotted. By my feathered friend, no less.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “The question is, why are you here? Still here. And at the site of the first of many mistakes on my part.”
“If you mean to force another emotion out of me, that’s not the way to do it.”
Her eyes widened. She dropped her arms and moved toward him. “So you admit it. You felt something back at the river?”
He didn’t answer.
Which, in truth, was probably an answer in and of itself.
“But how is that possible?” she said, coming to stand before him, her belly nearly brushing the waistband of his jeans. “I saw Cruen take all of your emotions. Did he leave something behind?”
Impossible. Fuck, it had better be impossible. He knew what he was doing, had been meticulous in his actions on the floor of that dungeon. He’d made sure every thread of emotion was gone from his mind and superglued elsewhere. He held her gaze. “What happened by the river was nothing. A moment’s irritation for your bear shifter.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Perhaps you don’t want it to be so. Perhaps you’re looking for something that isn’t there, will never be there.”
Her face contorted into a mask of disbelief and then after a moment she broke out laughing. “Oh, Syn. What do you think I want? What do you think I’m looking for? For you to care about me?” She placed her hand on her belly. “About us? Fall in love with us? Be bonded to us?”
Her words sank deep into his gut, and they seemed to want to remain there. “That would be the logical desire for a female in swell, yes.”
Her laughter died, and the light he’d always seen glowing within her incredible pale blue eyes went out. There was nothing but emptiness. Not unlike his own, he imagined.
It bothered him.
In fact, he had an irresistible urge to take her in his arms, kiss her, tease her—anything to bring that light back. It didn’t have to be happiness or curiosity. Anger and hatred would do just as well.
“Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to hope for such a thing?” she said after a moment. “Believe that you’re a worthy male, emotions intact or not?” She stepped forward, got in his face, the curve of her belly now pressed against him. Her eyes locked with his. Dispassionate to detached. “I think there’s something happening inside you. Some kind of reaction to the baby.”
The cool night air rushed into the cave, moved over Syn’s naked chest. He wanted to deny it, her suggestion, but even as he attempted to summon the words, his hands itched to reach out and touch her swollen belly.
“What are you feeling right now?” she whispered.
His eyes met hers. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
He couldn’t stop himself. The urge was the greatest he’d ever felt. Yes. Felt. In seconds, before he could say a word or defend himself, his hands were on either side of her stomach. For a few long seconds, he held her, felt the firmness of the world that surrounded the growing life inside her. Was that how he’d begun? How she’d begun? It was bloody amazing to—-
His fingers froze, his body too, and his skin started to heat up again. His mouth going dry with shock, his gaze dropped as under his hands he felt movement, a stirring. Then, almost in slow motion, he felt something small and hard press into his left palm. Petra must’ve felt it too, as she groaned and shifted her position.
Inside him, his chest, his lungs, air seemed to hold, then expand, making him feel as though he couldn’t catch his breath. His mind warned him this was dangerous, warned him to pull away and never touch this female again. But he couldn’t. He just bloody well couldn’t. His hands, fingers, skin, muscles . . . they all refused to move. It was as if his body was beyond his mind’s control.
He looked up, caught her staring at him.
“I feel,” he uttered.
Her nostrils flared. “Should I say I’m sorry?”
He slowly shook his head. “No.”
“Then what should I say, Synjon?”
“Bloody hell, veana.” He grabbed her, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her hard on the mouth.
For one moment, she seemed to struggle internally, about pushing him away or giving in to what they couldn’t seem to deny themselves. But before they took their next breath, the latter won. Her arms went around his neck and she kissed him back, followed him as he changed the angle, moaned with him when he parted her lips and stroked her tongue with his own.
His hands raked up her back and plunged into her hair. It felt like silk. Yes. He could feel it. Just as he could feel the warm, wet heat of her mouth, and the smooth skin of her neck, the curve of her belly, and the slight back-and-forth movement of her hips as she simulated what her body wanted from his.
Could he touch her here? Have her here? On the cold, wet floor of this cave?
Fuck. This cave.
His hand swept around her side and palmed her breast through her tank and bra. He groaned with the feeling. She was so heavy, so warm, her nipple rising against his palm, begging to be touched, gently twisted, insistently suckled.
She whimpered, pressed herself closer into his hand. “Oh, yes. Gods, that feels good.”
The cave filled with a new scent. Her scent. And he wanted to lap at the walls, taste her arousal in every drop of condensation.
He ripped his mouth from hers and dipped down into the curve of her neck. He suckled her vein, then kissed her hard and hungry. There were so many places on her body he wished to drink from. If she would allow it, he’d start from the bottom and work his way up.
Just to make the point that he wanted what pressed so eagerly against him, his hand left her breast and journeyed down to cup her sex.
He nearly lost his mind.
Hot, wet, and pulsing.
In one swift and impulsive move, he lowered his head and suckled her breast through the fabric of her tank, while slipping his hand inside the waistband of her jeans. He found her smooth pussy drenched in arousal and eased two fingers inside her.
She cried out. Froze for a full five seconds. Then, like a female possessed, started bucking against his hand. Back and forth her hips swayed as she moaned and groaned, as the walls of her sex squeezed around his fingers and released more blazing-hot cream.
What was he doing? What the bloody fuck was he doing? His cock was so rock hard inside his jeans, he thought it might burst. But he refused to release it, give in to what it craved. He couldn’t take that from her again. Not now. Not yet. Here, in this cave, with the moon bathing her in its light, Synjon had only one thought, one goal. He wanted Petra to feel, release. He wanted her to come. Against his palm, his fingers. Against him. He wanted it like he wanted his next blood meal. As if he wouldn’t survive without it.
This wasn’t emotion.
This was pure physical desire.
As he teased and nipped at her breast with his teeth, he found her swollen clit and circled the bud with his thumb. She was so hot, her breathing so labored as she writhed and whimpered against him.
“Come for me, love,” he uttered against her soaking-wet tank. “I can’t wait to feel your tight, hot pussy shake and quiver around my fingers.”
She moaned.