Drink of Me. Jacquelyn Frank
be easier for his fingers to slide between her folds in order to seek out the moisture of—
Reule shocked himself with his own thoughts and he jerked his hand out of the water as if he’d been burned. He was stunned to realize he was breathing hard and that his cock was ferociously rigid with arousal. Reule was mortified. What in hell is wrong with me? He’d been sitting there, furious at the prospect that she’d been torn up inside by those miserable Jakal bastards, and here he was thinking about touching her himself! He might be Sánge, but contrary to popular outlander belief, he was no beast!
In the heat of his upset, Reule forgot that there was a huge difference between thinking and acting. For a telepath, it was the hardest and most important lesson to learn. A mind could concoct great fantasies, majestic schemes of both sinister evil and beauteous good. However, actually acting on those fantasies was another thing entirely. It was unfair to hold someone responsible for every stray thought. Reule neglected to forgive himself for basic inclinations of the mind.
Reule also forgot how hard his emotions could strike out at others when they emanated out of his control. He was harshly reminded of it when the woman in his arms awoke with a traumatized gasp and a forceful jerking of her body. It sent him off balance as he tried to hold her slippery body and keep her head above water simultaneously. Her bottom settled in his lap again, giving him some leverage as he verbally and mentally tried to calm her frantic flailing.
“Shh. Be easy, kébé. You’re safe,” he assured her, emanating a feeling of security to her, hoping to replace his hostile emotional disturbance of a minute ago. The rush of sorrow he’d come to associate with her assailed him once again, but he found it was fueled with fear as well this time. “Hush, kébé,” he soothed. “Hush, I will keep you safe.”
Then, all at once, she seemed to hear him. To comprehend. She went abruptly still, reached up, and shoved the wet mass of hair off her face so roughly that he heard strands tear and snap. Then she looked directly at him, allowing him to see her face for the very first time. For a long minute, during which every muscle in his body seemed locked in a mystical paralysis, all Reule could do was stare at her.
It was her eyes that had the greatest impact. They were so unreal, so brilliantly unusual, that he couldn’t quite take them in for a moment. He doubted he’d ever see anything like them ever again in his lifetime, and that was quite a monumental concept considering how long-lived his breed tended to be.
How to begin to even describe them? he wondered.
They were colorless.
No. That was inaccurate. They were far too enthralling to be a null. They were clear as crystal, yet white and silver all at once. They looked exactly like, and sparkled like, diamonds. Faceted, beautifully cut, clear and precious gemstones, with a platinum setting behind them to enhance every movement they caught in the light. She blinked thick, black, curved lashes over them, and that’s when he broke away from her eyes and saw the rest of her face. It was shaped in the delicate curves of a heart; soft bow lips chapped from thirst and neglect were tucked into a permanent but enticing little pout, and she had a slim nose that ended in the slightest uptilt. She had bruises across both cheeks, some old and yellowed, others fresher, but they did nothing to hide the sweet structure of her bones, and her skin promised to be flawless when free of battering. She was youthful, but clearly a woman; unbelievably pretty, but sorely misused. Those diamond eyes looked at him in utter confusion for several heartbeats.
Then, like electricity flooding a dark room, recognition of some kind lit up her features and she smiled so wide her delicate lips split and began to bleed a little. Wet hands lifted out of the water and framed his face and he started in surprise as her palms rubbed over his three-day beard and her fingers curled over his ears.
“Sánge,” she breathed, the single word full of excitement such as he’d never heard before from anyone who knew he was Sánge. Not unless they were also Sánge. It stole his breath even as he tried to convince himself it was a mistake, that she was just in some sort of shock.
“Yes, Sánge,” he agreed, pausing to clear the hoarseness from his throat. “What, and more importantly, who are you, little kébé?” he asked as gently as he could, afraid a rough male as big as he was could be frightening for her in spite of her strangely enthusiastic greeting. After all, there was no telling who had done what to her. To suddenly wake naked in the arms of a stranger…
She didn’t answer his query. She only studied his face with an expression of utter fascination. She reached up to map his visage with her fingers in slow, gentle strokes that sent electric pulses straight to his spine. Reule wouldn’t allow himself another opportunity to disrespect her, so he reached to cover one of her hands with his own, gripping it lightly. He had to steady her with his other arm, so that left her with a hand free, which she promptly threaded deeply into his thick hair. He could’ve grabbed hold and locked both her wrists in a single hand, but he feared upsetting her with such a maneuver. She didn’t know he wouldn’t hurt her, although her behavior indicated otherwise at the moment. He was incredibly curious. The sorrowfulness that had drawn him to her was subdued as she smiled.
She shifted in his lap, sitting up straighter and closer until he felt both of her pointed nipples rubbing through the hair on his chest. The explosion of awareness and sexual heat was like being doused in gasoline and lit with a flame. He sucked in a hard breath as his hand slid unintentionally down the line of her back. She leaned so close that her nose nudged up against his. She touched him with quick, delighted strokes of her fingers all over his face, hair, neck, and throat; she behaved like a child after opening a splendid gift. Her eyes devoured and examined him as though he were a prized confection she coveted for her tongue.
The imagery made him groan as sweat rolled down the back of his neck and his snug pants became brutally uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that she was sitting right on him and couldn’t possibly be ignorant of the state of his body. Any minute she would see him for the pervert he’d never known he was, and the touching fingers and eager smile would disappear forever. The idea of it had a devastating effect on his emotional calm.
“Shh…” This time it was she soothing him, her soft voice and fingertips stroking against his face. “Your mind struggles so, Sánge. Where is your peace?”
Reule jerked back in shock. He looked at her with hard, mistrustful eyes and even had to fight the urge to shove her off his lap. Perhaps he was disturbed and a little off guard, but she’d spoken as if she were intimate with his mind. No one crossed his mental boundaries without his permission.
Just as abruptly, Reule tried to rein in his temper. There was no way she could accomplish it. Perhaps…yes, perhaps he’d unwittingly emanated his emotional upheaval. It wouldn’t be the first time and unfortunately wouldn’t be the last. Still, the way she’d worded the phrase…it was something a telepath or empath might say. Reule reached out and gripped both her shoulders, giving her a little shake as he stared hard into her peculiar eyes.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“No one who will harm you,” she responded, wincing.
A sharp cut of remorse and self-disgust lanced through him, and he abruptly released her from his abusive hands. With a startled cry, she tumbled back over his knees and fell into the water. Reule grabbed past her flailing legs and had his hands around her waist in an instant, dragging her above water and back against his chest. She gasped and sputtered, her hands clutching his shoulders. Her thighs, now on either side of him, clenched his sides in a death grip. She shook in fright, her nails biting into his skin as water streamed down her disgruntled expression, which lay beneath straggles of thick hair once again. He apologetically pushed aside the tangled mess.
“Are you all right? I’m so very sorry,” he apologized.
Apparently, she forgave him. Reule drew that conclusion when she wrapped both her arms in a strangling hug around his neck and plastered her chest against his. There was desperation in the hold, though, and Reule cursed himself. She didn’t need him adding to her fear.
“Easy now. I won’t let it happen again,” he promised her softly, wincing when he felt the thundering