Page 97 of The Rut in the Road

Ididn’t mind. In fact, part of me rather liked the idea that I’d made him lose control of himself. And, weirdly, although Ididn’t want to think about why too much, I liked that he’d left some sort of more permanent mark on my skin than the flush of arousal. But I knew he wouldn’t see any of it that way.

He would think he hurt me, and would become even more cautious and overprotective. He’d hesitate to touch me, and, when he did, he would be extremely tentative.

I didn’t want him to be tentative or cautious. I didn’t want him to hold back or feel like he couldn’t do or feel what he wanted to because I might end up with a few scratches.

He would argue that he couldn’t be trusted with me, that he shouldn’t touch me, maybe even that he shouldn’t be dating me—especially since he hadn’t wanted to date me to begin with because I wasn’t old enough, despite the fact that I’d been twenty-four, and was now twenty-five.

“Rayn?” he called.

“Yes?” I answered, still not sure what to say or do.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I repeated, more emphatically. Apparently too emphatically, because he came to stand in the bathroom doorway, far more quickly than I could do anything to cover the scratches, or, honestly, even think of how I might do that.

So I was standing there naked, stupidly holding the washcloth I’d used to clean my stomach.

His eyes widened, the pupils narrowed in the light of the bathroom, the gold of his irises thick and particularly inhuman as he stared at my thighs.

“It’s fine,” I blurted. “I don’t mind. Really.”

His eyes tracked up to my face, his cheeks darkening. He reached out a hand, but pulled it back before he touched me.

Damn it.

“Don’t you dare not touch me,” I snapped, then blinked, a little shocked at the vehemence in my own voice.

He looked just as surprised, his mouth falling open.

But I’d started, so I was going to keep going. “I liked it,” I informed him. “So don’t you dare get all overprotective and think you have to keep me from getting a few scratches that aren’t even as bad as a damn paper cut.”

He stared. Swallowed. Opened his mouth, then shut it. Then swallowed again.

I threw the washcloth in the laundry bin I kept in the corner of the bathroom, far more emphatically than I needed to. “In fact, I still like it. I like the fact that I made you do it. And I like the fact that you left marks on me.” I felt my own face heat. “I—it was hot,” I admitted. “Really hot. And I’m definitely going to want you to do it again.”

I expected him to argue with me.

Instead, he stepped forward, grabbed my face in both hands, and kissed me with so much intensity that I half-stumbled back, knocking my hip on the bathroom counter. I grabbed his wrists and held on.

He pulled back, a little breathless. “Sorry,” he breathed.

“Raj—” I’d literally just told him I didn’t want him to apologize for that.

“For knocking you off balance,” he clarified quickly, interrupting what was about to become a rant.

“Oh.” I said, feeling stupid for overreacting.

“I mean,” he continued, cheeks darkening again. “If you hadn’t just yelled at me about it, Iwouldhave apologized for that, too,” he said, dropping his gaze to somewhere around my feet. “But, um.”

“I don’t want you to apologize,” I agreed. “I like that I can make you lose a little bit of control.”

His eyes narrowed. “A little bit?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t want to get disemboweled,” I replied in a tone that I thought was perfectly reasonable.

Raj looked momentarily horrified. “I would never!”

“I know,” I agreed. “But youcould.”