She backed up against the wall, her body so stiff, and yet shaking—everywhere, all over.
“D-don’t,” she repeated, not looking at him, keeping her hand over her face.
“Luna,” he said, wanting to help and yet feeling so helpless.
“No,” Another sob broke free, and then another, and she dropped her hand, looking at him, misery in her troubled gaze.
He moved in closer. He didn’t want her to think, to let her mind spiral.
Tears started running down her face and it broke his fucking heart. Suddenly, Karasu, her alter ego armor, had flown away and there was no one left but Luna. Inch by inch he watched her crumple and begin to slide down the wall, her knees weakening. He tightened his grip, with unsurprising consequences.
She sobbed and slapped him, and he gave her that outlet. He could have stopped her, but she needed to get some relief from whatever guilt or shame she was experiencing. The flash of fear and anger, the anguish in her eyes, the tension holding her on the edge of an void—it had something to do with him and to get at Luna’s heart, he would let her kick his ass.
His face stung and tingled like his scalp, but he didn’t give a shit. Not when everything was welling up inside her, gathering momentum to spiral her down into her own private hell.
“You fool. Don’t do this, for your sake.”
“Fuck that, Luna.”
He kept her backed up against the wall, and he didn’t have a regret in the world about using his strength against her, but if he knew Luna, she would still find a way to get free.
Her arm came up into a fist and she hit him on the shoulder, he gave her the freedom to vent like she needed him to.
Life was complex, a true fucking disaster most of the time, and everyone…everyone had their ghosts, demons, crosses to bear, especially him.
She hit him again. “No. You don’t understand.”
He circled her waist with his hands, holding onto her, but she’d stopped struggling to get away from him. She was fighting to save him from her. She was hitting him, but she was the one who was hurting.
“Stop. I have too much ugliness inside me, and you can’t handle it.”
“I will follow you into whatever dark pit you want to take me. Then we’ll get the fuck out of it together.”
She twisted against him, but not to get away, just to twist and squirm and ache with the pain, the desire that was blazing in her eyes, mingling with the anguish.
He did okay in school, aced his quals, but where he shone was on the job. He was a weapon, a warrior, and direct-action operative. The point of the fucking spear. It didn’t matter how complex the problem was, how many countries he had to cross, how many enemies he had to vanquish, he knew how to come out on top. He knew this, where she was in her head, what was driving her, and where she was going to end up, which was the abyss—and he knew how to save her. He knew what she needed, and he knew he was the only guy in the whole world who did—because what she needed was him.
He pressed closer to her and lowered his head to hers, resting his forehead on her brow, and he let her rant at him, let her vent her anger and her pain, let her pound on his chest until she was clutching his shirt in her hands and just holding on.
“Preacher…” she whispered, burying her face in the curve of his neck. “Please, Preach.”
“All day, every day, and whatever you need,” he growled.
He kissed the top of her head, started to unravel all her braids one by one until there was nothing binding her hair, a sleek black waterfall of silk. He pulled her closer. Even at midnight, it was a hundred degrees in this place, but he was offering her his warmth. He was the man for her.
“Boyce…” She gripped him tighter, buried herself deeper, clinging to him. “Boyce, I want…” She loosened her hold on his shirt, and her arms came up and around his neck.
Yup, that worked so fucking well—and so did the tears. She wasn’t sobbing. She was just crying silently, nearly immobile in his arms now. He felt the wetness on his neck, and it broke his heart. She had been through so much. He didn’t know how much, but Luna was so damaged, she most likely thought it was beyond repair. She wanted to save him the pain and heartache. He could have gone for someone simpler, less complicated, but this woman suited him in every way. She turned him inside out.
“Luna,” he spoke her name, grounding her with it, bringing her back to herself, back to him.
She slid her arms farther around his neck, and he kissed her cheek.
“Whatever you think you’ve done to me, I forgive you,” he whispered in her ear and kissed her again, and he felt her soften against him.
Consent was too important for him to make assumptions. He wanted to make love with her, to ease her pain, to remind her there was life, always the flame of it burning deep inside, to give her pleasure and connection. He also wanted to claim her, fuck her until his body gave out, show her that despair could fuck off. They would not be defeated.
He wanted to fuck her so sweet, to make her come apart in his arms, to make her his. He wanted to come so deep inside her, to give him to her, to have her give herself to him. Then they could talk and talk until she was blue in the face, and he would deal with all the crap she had to tell him.