Last Guard (Psy-Changeling Trinity #5) by Nalini Singh

“It was the closest chair.”

“I like how you smell.” Eyes heavy-lidded, she slid her arms around him.

He knew something then: she could get whatever she wanted, win every argument, if she spoke to him with that particular affectionate tone in her voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, but my legs are still regaining sensation.” Fewer vestiges of drowsiness in her voice—but she didn’t break contact. “Does it hurt you to have me on your lap?”

“No,” he said roughly. Now that he knew she was fine, he was viscerally aware of the softness and warmth of her curves, and of how pretty she smelled. Gritting his teeth against the urge to sniff at her—he was definitely spending too much time around bears—he told her what had happened.

She sat up, cardinal eyes on his. “Thank you.” A solemn statement.

“Don’t thank me. Not for looking after you. You’re mine to care for, mine to hold.” The possessive words just came out, and he wasn’t fucking sorry. “You know it and I know it. It might’ve begun in childhood, but it’s a bigger, stronger, far more powerful thing now.”

Looking away, she moved her fingers over the stitches of the knitted blanket. “This is fine work.”

“Stop trying to change the subject.”

Sparks literally snapped off her. “You’re being needlessly aggravating.” She got up off him—while bracing one hand against the balcony railing.

Canto shifted forward, ready to catch her.

But she soon let go of the railing and stood balanced on heels thin and sharp. As he watched, she bent and picked up the blanket. His gaze went straight to the curvy roundness of her backside.

His hand itched to shape over it.

Skin hot, he tugged his shirt collar away from his neck. He knew what this was, had seen it between Silver and Valentin, Arwen and Pavel. Physical attraction. Strong physical attraction.

And because he was clearly off his head today, he almost gave in and stroked the tempting curve.

Skin privileges, yelled a more rational part of him, are to be given, not taken!

He fisted his hand and, when she rose to her feet, said, “Come here.”

A suspicious frown. “Why?”

“I want to touch you.” Might as well be blunt since he wasn’t exactly sophisticated in this arena. “I want the softness of you on me, and I want your skin under my palms.” Tugging off his gloves, he threw them aside.

HEAT flushed Payal’s face, her own fingers itching to trace the bristled angle of his jawline, the curves of that gruff, growly mouth. Her defenses had already been shaky at best—after waking to find him holding her with such care, they were all but decimated.

It was madness, a sure mistake, but Payal did it anyway. She returned to his lap, his thighs hard under her and his body all angles.

Shuddering, he cupped the side of her neck, squeezed. “Have you decided then, 3K?”

She felt claimed, owned. It should’ve been disturbing—except that she felt the same possessive drive toward him. “It can never work.” But she pressed her hand flat to the heat of his chest, the fine cotton of his shirt doing little to block that raw masculine heat.

His muscled arm around her back, his eyes locked with hers, Canto said, “Never say that to a Mercant. We’re masters at finding the loopholes.” A rough murmur, his breath brushing against her lips, the two of them were so close.

Her body felt oddly full, as if her skin were too small to contain her; the touch of his lips on her own was even more startling and shocking than the first time.

She jolted back, her lips burning.

His own chest heaved, streaks of color on his cheekbones.

Fascinated, she brushed her fingers over that color. He closed his eyes, and she found herself fascinated again because his eyelashes were long and lush. When she brushed her fingertips lightly over the edges of those lashes, he shuddered, his fingers sinking into her hips.

“Is this new for you, too?” she asked, then felt foolish. He was far further into a post-Silent life … and she’d rather not know if he’d been on this journey with another woman.

Irrational, illogical, jealous.

But it was too late; she couldn’t call back the question.

Opening those eyes full of galaxies, he said, “Yeah,” in a rough voice.

“Oh.”

When he used his renewed hold on the side of her neck to haul her closer, she didn’t resist. Their lips touched once more. Though braced for the impact, she shivered. So close to Canto, his body a wall of muscled heat, she felt a rapacious greed awaken inside her.

She wanted more. She wanted everything.

When he moved his hand to the back of her head, the survivor in her told her to teleport away, that he now had access to an incredibly vulnerable part of her nape. But the echo of 3K said the opposite.

She didn’t pull away.

Canto’s hand was big and warm as he cradled her head, his other hand still gripping her hip. She’d never been so possessed by someone else before, never wanted to be. But this felt good. As if she was being cherished.

Their noses bumped.

They broke off, stared at one another. Then Canto grinned—and things inside her broke.

“Guess we should practice more,” he rumbled, and, reinitiating the kiss, opened his mouth over hers.

The depth of intimacy made her moan, as together they figured out the sensual mechanics of kissing. For the first time in her adult life, she was being terrible at a skill and she didn’t care.