Cale throws the next four knives in quick succession, his movements clean and confident. The sixth knife is in his hand. He raises his arm.
Then he stops.
The seconds tick by, and he’s frozen in place. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. He’s not going to do it. We’re stuck, him and I, close to each other every day, but irreparably apart, restrained, unhappy. I gaze into his eyes, begging him silently to try, but he won’t look at me. He has that black, hollow expression again, and I know that we’re never going to get through this. He can’t forget the past, and he’ll never be able to move forward.
I squeeze my eyes shut in despair, and tears trickle down my face. I hear a short, low growl. A deep intake of breath.
The thunk of a knife hitting the board.
My eyes fly open. There’s a knife right by my head, just an inch from my ear.
Cale closes the distance between us with long strikes, and then he’s standing right in front of me. He lifts his hand to grip the knife by the handle, but instead of pulling it out, he puts his hand flat against the board and leans closer.
“I can’t think when you look at me like that,” he murmurs.
“Me, too.”
He dips his head closer to mine. I’m trapped by his arm, his knives around me. A current runs up my body, licking at all the sensitive places. Everywhere I want him to touch me.
“How do I look at you?” he asks.
I can feel his warm breath on my mouth. His expression is so dark and intense that it’s almost frightening. But he doesn’t scare me. His intensity is what makes me want him. This is the Cale I’ve glimpsed in his most raw moments. When he throws knives at me. When he protects me.
When he needs me.
I barely breathe the words, but he hears every single one. “Like you might die if you don’t kiss me.”
He cups my jaw with his hand and brushes his lips against mine. “I think I might, Ryah. I’ll die.”
My eyes briefly flutter closed at the sensation of his mouth just touching mine. I feel like I’m going to die, too, but it’s not so strange, the sensation of my life being in his hands. The feeling that the world’s ending.
Let it end. I just want him.
“I thought it was me at your mercy,” I point out.
Cale wraps an arm around my lower back and pulls my hips tight against his, an unmistakably sensual gesture. “Oh, no, sparkle. You’ve held all the strings of my heart since the day I met you.”
“I have?”
He tilts his head the other way, his mouth almost-kissing me. In this heightened state, it feels like he’s already pressed the fiercest kiss against my lips.
“Every. Single. One.” And then he does kiss me.
I was wrong. I didn’t know what it was like to be kissed. My whole world is him. I feel nothing but his mouth on mine and his arms around me. As his lips move hungrily over mine, my body melds into his. I open my mouth, inviting him deeper, and his tongue flicks across my lips. His large hands squeeze my waist as he presses me against him.
Keeping the heavenly feel of his body against mine, he breaks the kiss. “You’ve nearly stopped my heart with just a look, more than once. I’m completely at your mercy, Ryah. What are knives, compared to that?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cale
I press my lips to hers again, desperate for more. Desperate for all of her. Her plush, yielding mouth. Her body. I groan in the back of my throat as I gather her to me. My sweet girl. My sparkle. Mine.
The sweetness of the kiss quickly becomes darker, hungrier. She opens her mouth between mine and my tongue slides against hers. Giving herself up to me. I feel heat surge in my cock and press her back against the board, imagining that I’m sinking into her tight, wet heat.
Her fingers find her way beneath my shirt and caress my ribs. Her touch is far sweeter than mine, and I know her well enough to guess that she’s a virgin. She starts to do undo my shirt buttons, but I put my hands over hers, stopping her.
Her blue eyes implore me. “Cale, I want this. Please.”
“Don’t you think it’s too soon?”
“It’s been nearly a whole year. Stop being the ringmaster. Just be Cale.”
Just be Cale. Indulge in what I want. I can’t remember the last time I did that, and now I’m being given everything I want. I think I’ll go mad from bliss. I kiss Ryah again and slide my hand down to cup her pussy, my fingers sliding between her peachy cleft. She whimpers against my mouth, trapped between my body and the board. She’s safe here, in my arms. For the moment I’m free from the constant, background worry. Where is Ryah? Is she safe? Is someone trying to take her away from me?
“All right,” I murmur between kisses. “But not here.”
I can’t give her a big bed or even a proper bedroom, but I can at least give us some privacy. I take her by her hand and draw her out into the night. We’re cloaked in darkness, and everyone has gone to bed. I take her up the stairs and into my wagon. It’s tidy and organized, and I’ve made it into a comfy little home. I light the storm lamp on the wall and turn to look at her.
My breath catches. The red Lycra hugs her beautiful body and the sequins catch the soft golden light. Her blonde hair tumbles around her face as she gazes up at me with trusting eyes. I reach up to rub my thumb over her kiss-swollen mouth.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I take her hand and draw her down onto the bed. It takes up the front wall of the wagon, and it’s comfortably sized for two. I sit up against the wall and pull Ryah up so she’s straddling my lap. For a while I just look at her, stroking the backs of my fingers across her cheeks. Tracing my hands down her shoulders and arms. Smoothing them up her back. Marveling at her. In awe of her.
“There’s an invisible zip at the back,” she prompts me in a whisper.
I know. I’m just taking my time. I reach up to the nape of her neck and caress her there, feeling her warm skin and the silky baby hairs. Her eyes flutter closed and her lips part. I claim them again with my own, drawing the zip down as my tongue parts her lips. When I slip the catsuit from her shoulders, I discover that she doesn’t wear a bra underneath. Her nipples tighten at my touch.
“Jesus, look at you,” I mutter roughly, and take one tiny pink nipple in my mouth. She gasps and shudders against me as I suck and bite down on her yielding flesh. I suck the other nipple, too, clenching my arms around her waist and breathing her in. All mine.
“Cale,” she whispers, threading her fingers through my hair. “I’ve touched myself thinking about you.”
I groan and press kisses to her breasts and throat, imagining those slender fingers of hers working against her clit. A second later I lift her up and lay her on her back, take off her boots and draw the catsuit down over her hips and legs. She’s wearing only a flesh-colored G-string underneath.
I don’t need to merely imagine what she looks like as she touches herself. I can see it with my own eyes. “Show me.”
A pink flush in her cheeks, she dips her hand into her tiny underwear. Fuck that’s hot, seeing her fingers moving beneath the G-string. I hook a forefinger into the fabric and draw it aside, my breath hitching at the sight of her pussy, shiny with wetness. She breathes hard as she rubs her clit, watching me with big, trusting eyes.