Chapter Thirty-One

Idon’t mean to lead Camden on. I truly don’t. The words I intended to fall from my lips were that kissing wouldn’t be a good idea, so it’s disconcerting that what actually came out was a godsdamned invitation. It feels like I have no control over my body or even my words, as if the bond between Camden and me is taking the wheel and leaving my free will in the backseat.

I mean, technically, my body is interested in Camden. Who am I kidding? It’s fucking primed for him as if waiting for him to invade, but my brain is a lot more sensible, and would not give him the go-ahead to touch me unless it served my purposes. Regardless of how hot I think Camden is, or how a couple of times tonight I might’ve even remembered what having his mouth between my legs felt like last night, I know engaging sexually with him right now isn’t the way to go. If I have a shot of surviving here, let alone making a change, I need to focus on solidifying my position in the palace; not on getting down and dirty with Camden.

“Camden,” I start slowly, eyeing him warily, shifting back as he starts leaning towards me with brightening eyes.

He plants a hand on the couch cushion between us and I start to think about how I can knock him off course without creating any blowback. From last night, I remember that Camden very much has an animal’s instincts when it comes to something as primal as sex. If I run, it ignites the chase instinct. If I fight, it ignites the subduing and dominating instinct. The only thing I can do here without setting him off is talk. That’s proving difficult, though, as his presence is turning so blatantly sexual it’s becoming difficult to share a room with him.

“Camden,” I repeat when he drags himself closer to me.

“Cam,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

“Only my father and other distant family members call me Camden. To those who know me, it’s Cam. I want to hear you say it.”

Really? That’s what he’s choosing to focus on? “Okay, Cam—”

Before I can continue, one of his hands clutches the back of my neck, and he pulls my mouth right against his, fitting us together. I can’t help it; my body melts as soon as his lips touch mine, which is exactly what I was afraid of. When it comes to anything sexual with Camden, it feels pointedly like I’m not in control of my body—like the bond between us is driving the show. The worst part is how good it feels to not be in control.

Cam’s lips are silky soft and deliciously full, moving over mine with a firmness and skill that tells me he knows what he’s doing and he’s in charge. I have to admit, it feels damn good to let him have the control. He bands an arm around my waist and uses it to haul me onto his lap, leaving my legs straddling either side of his on the soft cushion and my arms draped around his shoulders. My entire body feels limp, moldable, and pliable—like it’s melted into a puddle of goop Camden can shape however he wants.

Technically, he stuck to his part of the agreement; he didn’t touch me like this until I… well, not asked him, but more like taunted him. So, the person in the wrong here isn’t him. I also don’t feel like it’s me, since I didn’t mean to say what I did—the bond took control and pushed me.

Now that I’m here, though, with his lips devouring mine and his hands roving over my body with reverence, I can’t say I hate it. I can’t even say I entirely don’t want it; it feels really really good. Every time Cam’s tongue strokes over mine my toes curl. His greedy and insanely hot hands take handfuls of flesh wherever they can—my breasts, my hips, my ass. I can feel his desperation for me, which makes me feel so powerful and sexy and desired that not all of me wants it to stop.

In fact, most of me doesn’t. In a warped and twisted way, this is a form of validation for me. I haven’t had anyone, other than Leisel, want or need me—ever. The male beneath me, kissing the breath from my lungs and pawing at me like he can’t get enough obviously is desperate for me, and while I shouldn’t like that, I do. I like being desired on a level so intense it’s almost terrifying. That way, there’s no doubt the desire is real.

For a moment, I contemplate pushing him away and telling him to stop. Talking him out of it, making it clear that whatever’s happening here isn’t a good decision. I think if I made a convincing case, it would avoid triggering his hunt-and-subdue instincts, which means I could escape unscathed. But then again…this feels so good. His lips on mine and his hands on my body cause a sense of exhilaration and excitement so deep-seated it feels like it takes root in my very soul. Warmth is already pooling in my core, and my body is priming itself for Cam. Pleasure sparks along all of my nerve endings, sending a delicious shiver up my spine.

What’s happening now will eventually happen, sooner or later; the only thing I have the power to do is delay the inevitable. At this point, I can see that that won’t get me very far. The only real issue I have with what’s happening here is the potential aftermath—our bond growing even stronger than it already is. I don’t want to give Camden the impression that I’m totally accepting and open for business because I’m not. But maybe I could make him agree that this interlude here is just primal fun, blowing off steam, and nothing more.

I manage to tear my mouth away from his to breathe. “Cam, wait.”

He doesn’t. He kisses a trail across my jaw and down my neck, pausing to suck at my pulse point until I squirm, digging my nails into his shoulders.

He mutters against my flesh, “We had a deal, remember? I didn’t touch you until you asked me to. You invited me to. Don’t ask me to stop now—I don’t know if I can.”

Hearing the sincerity in his words makes me consider another aspect I often choose not to; the fact that Cam is, first and foremost, a wolf. Wolves have instincts, and I bet those instincts are seriously amplified when it comes to something as important in their culture as mates. By asking him not to touch me, I’m asking him to forgo basic instinct. He’s explained this to me, but I haven’t really listened.

Previously, I’ve been stuck in the mindset of me versus him; while I can’t say I’m totally out of that mindset, I can see how hindering it is now. Fighting against him is counterproductive; reasoning with him and finding a way where we both win would probably be my best bet here. If his instincts when I run or fight are to hunt and subdue, that means I need to change my approach to get anywhere.

I thread my fingers through his dark, silky hair, using my grip to pull his face up and initiate a kiss. Camden’s so shocked he doesn’t move, simply going still beneath me with his hands clutching my waist. I’ve never instigated anything other than conflict between us, so this change of pace is enough to temporarily startle him into stillness. I can work with that. As long as the scenario is one where I have at least a little control, I can cope with it and work through it.

“Just slow down,” I murmur against his lips. Maybe the best approach here is the most obvious one, explaining myself. “When you go too fast, I get scared, and then I fight, and then you overpower—that doesn’t do anything for our relationship.”

Camden’s silent for so long after I speak, I get nervous and start shifting my weight slightly from knee to knee. That has the unintended effect of rubbing the apex of my thighs right against Camden’s erection, creating friction that causes a low pulse to start up between my legs and draws a low growl from him.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not going to be able to keep a leash on myself and honor your request,” he rumbles.

I go still. His words mean that, at least, he’s listening to me. Hopefully, he’s leaning towards leashing himself and keeping a lid on his hunger so this doesn’t devolve into unhelpful territory. If there’s a repeat of what happened last night, I know I’ll enjoy it in the moment, but I’ll hate both of us afterward. Maybe there’s a way out of this that doesn’t undo our progress from tonight.

Cam abruptly lets go of my waist, pulls his shirt over his head, and places my palms flat on his hard, muscled, heaving chest. “Touch me.”

Okay, then. If what he needs to keep himself in check is some skin-to-skin contact that doesn’t involve going too far too fast, I can handle that. I spread my fingers on his chest, running my palms over his smooth, hard pecs. If nothing else, his body would make an exquisite subject for painting—he has the most proportional form I’ve ever seen, with the muscles so well defined it’s like he’s a study in anatomy. I run my hands up, over his shoulders, sweeping my thumbs over his biceps and triceps before going back to his chest, and down to his abs. His six-pack is something I could probably do laundry on.

The longer I touch him, the more Cam relaxes beneath me until his hold on me is loose and his eyelids are starting to droop. I realize with no small sense of wonder the power that something as simple as physical touch has over him. This whole time, I’ve been focused on the perils of contact for me, but now I’m realizing an element I hadn’t before; shifters are tactile creatures by nature. Physical contact could almost be classed as a basic need for them. A few brushes of my hands along Camden’s skin can literally melt him beneath me, switching from hunt mode to laze mode.

I don’t think Cam will be able to keep a leash on his sex drive forever—probably not even for much longer—but this might just be a way to buy myself a little more time, which is the best thing I can hope for.

Abruptly, he pulls me back into him, crushing my mouth back to his and boldly sinking his tongue inside. When he pulls back, it’s to growl in my ear, “Go to bed before I lose control of myself and do something you’ll regret in the morning.”