Page 71 of Stroke of Shadows
Sythe couldn’t control his laughter. “My Breed doesn’t define me anymore than being human would.”
“I know.” She relaxed against him, even if her voice was quiet. “We didn’t use protection,” she added, changing the subject entirely.
Sythe’s strokes stilled before he chuckled, kissing her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I can’t get you pregnant.”
She turned her head to look at him with a frown. “You can’t?”
“I take a herb. It stops me impregnating anyone.”
“So, exactly how many women have you not been impregnating?” she laughed, and Sythe couldn’t help but lean forward and catch that sound.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said against her lips. “Because I’m not impregnating you right now.”
Harper’s laughter gentled, just a slight vibration of her chest. “I never thought…” She cleared her throat, the earlier delight dampened beneath a serious tone. “We can’t do this again. If we’re caught…”
A pressure formed in his chest. “I know.”
“It’s too dangerous.” Her voice cracked.
A disgruntled snarl through his mind. Mine.
No, he replied, forcing his beast back. She couldn’t be his, but even his denial felt empty. He just wasn’t ready to acknowledge anything yet.
“This was just a fuck,” he reassured her, not realising it was a lie until the words fell from his lips.
Harper’s nose scrunched up. “How eloquent.”
“We’re just two people who enjoyed each other’s bodies.” He stroked the sponge along her collarbone. “There are no expectations.”
“No expectations,” she repeated quietly.
“Hmmm. So, you going to tell me why you stock enough medical supplies to shame a small hospital?”
She tensed at the question.
“Tell me about the scars,” he asked instead, dropping another kiss to her shoulder. Her front looked as if she’d never been touched, not even a single mole or blemish. Her back, on the other hand, held a history of marks, cuts and bruises.
She turned her head to the side. “Tell me why you favour your left hand, when you’re righthanded.”
Sythe wrapped both arms around her despite the painful ache at the water touching his skin. “Want to compare secrets, Starlight?”
Harper wiggled against him, every movement going straight to his cock. “Starlight, what is that?”
Sythe stifled a groan, hoping his answer would distract her from what was happening beneath the water. “Your eyes,” he said, his cock insatiable, apparently. “They glitter like stars.”
She turned in his lap, lips open as if an invitation. “My scars are hard to explain to someone who doesn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“I was told I was a gift from the Gods. The first girl to be born in several generations.” Harper looked away. “Every member of the family must serve a different role, and as I was the lone female, they made me the vessel for their pain. A way to bear their sins on my skin in the name of the church and the Gods.”
A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. “You let them hurt you?”
She began to pull away, but he only tightened his arms. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“Then help me understand. Why would you go through that?”
“Why do you think I have a choice?” She tried to twist again, and only then did he let her move to the other side of the bath. “I choose to believe that what I do is for the Gods’ forgiveness. That marking my skin means something. That I mean something.”