Which… shit on a stick… made him kiss her again.
How long it went on, Wick didn’t know. A minute? Ten? He lost track somewhere after the second kiss. Not surprising. Half the time he couldn’t remember his own name around her, but with her hands in his hair and her taste in his mouth? Sad to say, but sensible didn’t stand a chance.
Mustering every ounce of willpower he owned, Wick turned his face away. She grumbled in protest. He cleared his throat. “Jamison, we need to talk.”
“Don’t,” she whispered, touching her fingertip to his bottom lip. “Forget about sending me away. I’m not going anywhere.”
Wick blinked as surprise blindsided him. He hadn’t expected that, but as he met her gaze, he saw the acceptance. Along with a shitload of determination. He frowned, trying to make sense of her reaction. No way should she be…
Jesus. He didn’t understand. “It would be better if you left.”
“For whom?” Both brows arched, she gave him a no-nonsense look. “You or me?”
“You.”
“Not true. I’m exactly where I need to be… right here with you.”
“Vanzäla,” he said, despair creeping into his tone. Shifting against her, he brushed a renegade lock of hair away from her temple and shook his head. “I’m trying to do right by you… give you an easy out. A way to—”
“I don’t want one. And if you’re honest with yourself, neither do you.”
“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you need.”
With a curse, Wick planted his hand on the mat and pushed away from her. He needed some space. A lot of it. No way could he hold the line while touching her. But as he left the cradle of her thighs, she refused to let him go. Giving him a shove, she sat him down, and throwing a leg over, straddled him. Wick twitched. Small hands pressed to his chest, she nestled in, setting her exquisite ass in his lap and… Jesus help him. So much for holding out. He couldn’t help himself. He palmed her waist, reveling in the softness of her skin, temptation urging him to toss aside hesitation and claim her for his own.
He went the honest route instead. “Jesus, Jamison. I’m not built for this shit. I don’t know how to be your mate. I’ll fuck it up. I’ll hurt you without meaning to and ruin everything.”
“Bullshit,” she said, her bad language surprising him. Again. Par for the course, he guessed. At least, for the current conversation, ’cause… wow. Everything she said seemed to shock the hell out of him today. “I don’t accept that. You wanna know why?”
“Tell me,” he murmured, unwilling to shut her down.
A bad decision? Probably. But hope was a bastard with an axe to grind—amping him up, making his heart pound, whispering softly until he dared to believe that maybe… just maybe… Jamison might want him as her mate. A long shot? No contest. It was a Hail Mary pass in a losing game, but regardless of the outcome, he wanted to hear what she had to say.
Leaning in, she set her mouth to the corner of his. A quick brush of her lips. A faster retreat. Hardly a kiss at all, but… shit. It proved effective, grabbing his attention like nothing else could. “Nothing is perfect, Wick. The best things in life don’t come easy. They take commitment and hard work, and you know what else?”
Focus raptor sharp, he stared at her. “What else?”
“Everybody screws up… everybody.” A furrow between her brows, she trailed her fingers over his collarbone and scanned his face. The worry in her eyes almost did him in. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to free her, provide her with opportunity instead of hemming her in. But as she chewed on her bottom lip, Wick lost his way. Right. Wrong. He couldn’t tell one from the other anymore. “I’m a prime example, the poster girl for doing it all wrong. So I want you to listen to me… hear me when I tell you… I’m not looking for perfect. Easy doesn’t interest me, but you do. All I want is to be with you. Just you. No one else.”
Struggling to believe, Wick swallowed hard. “You barely know me.”
“I know you better than you think.” Taking his hand from her waist, she turned his wrist out, revealing the scar on his forearm. He tensed, fisting his hand, trying to pull away, not wanting her to see it. Or ask what it meant. Her grip firmed, holding him still while she traced the brand with her fingertips. “I know where you’ve been. I’ve seen your past.”
“Impossible.” No way. Jesus help him. She couldn’t possibly know.
“God’s honest truth.” Eyes steady on his, her fingertips danced across his puckered skin. Sorrow clogged his throat, making his eyes sting, resurrecting the past while he burned with shame. Cupping his jaw, Jamison shook her head. “Stop it. You have nothing to be ashamed about. What happened to you was done without your consent, neither was it your choice. If I could go back and kill the bastard again for hurting you, I would. Ten times over.”
Fuck him. He couldn’t breathe. Didn’t know how to respond, never mind feel. He never intended to tell her, but somehow, some way, she’d unearthed the truth. “How… I don’t understand.”
“Energy-fuse,” she said. “I feel you… hear you… like a heartbeat. You shared your past without knowing it… through the bond we share… and guess what? I’m still here. It doesn’t scare me and neither do you.”
Her admission laid him bare, cracked him open, leaving him without protection. From the hope. From the need. From the certain knowledge that despite his past, she claimed him for her future. And as the floodgates opened, his throat closed, leaving him unable to do anything other than whisper her name.
“Please, Wick. Don’t shut me out. Don’t send me away. I want you for my own.” Tears in her eyes, she pressed her palm to his chest, right over his heart. “You belong to me, and I love you. Nothing else matters.”
Undone by her, Wick folded beneath the onslaught. He couldn’t resist her. Or deny his need. He’d tried to be honorable. Had made an attempt to do what he believed was right. But Jamison disagreed, and honestly? He wanted her too badly. Was too weak to turn away from all she offered. So he accepted instead. Bowed to fate along with her wishes. “You deserve so much better than me.”
“Then earn it,” she whispered, holding him close, her cheek against his. “Be with me. Accept me. Love me, Wick. That’s all I ask. All I’ll ever need.”
“I do love you.”
“Then it’s settled. I stay.”
Gratitude hit him like a body shot, punching through to his heart. “You stay. But I want something in return.”
“What’s that?”
“Marry me, vanzäla… in the way of my kind.” Hands flat against her back, he kissed her collarbone and raised his head. “Stand in the sacred circle with me, say the vows and—”
“Yes.” Sky-blue eyes alight with pleasure, she smiled. “Just tell me when.”
“Now.”
She blinked. “Really? What about the rotunda, the ceremony, all the fancy froufrou stuff?”
“Nothing but bells and whistles.”
Her mouth curved. “No need for any of that.”
He grinned back, and tightening his hold on her, pushed to his feet and swung her into his arms. She settled like a gift, warm and willing against him as he stepped off the edge of the exercise mat. Chilly floors brushing his bare soles, he walked to the middle of the basketball court. As he put her down at its center, anticipation thrummed through him. Soon. In just minutes, she would belong to him.