In reality, he wrapped gauze around her wrists, smoothing it with just the pads of his fingers so he didn’t touch her skin and risk hurting her more. He peeled off strips of tape to secure the gauze and popped a couple of analgesics from a blister pack to help her with the pain.
“Quinn could heal these,” he offered at one point, but Riley shook her head.
“She’s probably sleeping and looked like she needed it. I’ll ask her tomorrow.”
Her voice had gone husky, low, and it dragged through Sam, driving his need higher. His pulse throbbed in his neck, his ears, his groin. He had to have her. Had to.
His hands shook as he collected wrappers and bits of trash and dropped them into the tiny can next to the desk. Heavy breathing rasped, and he was appalled to realize it was his.
“Sam,” Riley whispered, and God help him, he turned to face her again instead of getting up and locking himself in the bathroom like he should have.
“What?” he managed to say, but it was thick and guttural instead of the impersonal tone he was going for. Riley tilted her head back and met his gaze, her eyes dark with need.
No, dammit, they were dark with pain. He’d irritated raw skin. He was the one with need blazing in his expression, judging by the way Riley… Oh, God.
She leaned forward, mouth open and glistening, tongue sweeping quickly over her top lip. Long lashes came down over those burning hazel eyes. Her hands tugged his knees, and the chair rolled an inch closer. The last rationally operating cell in Sam’s brain said, “Dude, she wants you.”
So he took her.
He slid his hands under her hair to cradle her skull and kissed the hell out of her. No gentle lead-in, no tasting or tentative moment to let her get away if she wanted to. He devoured her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, moaning at the taste of her, at the smell of sex that filled the air. She wrapped her arms around him and dug her fingers into his shoulder blades, arching her body against his torso. Her tongue met his stroke for stroke, and her own breathy moans made him shudder with need.
He spread his legs wide and rolled closer, leaning forward and running his hands down Riley’s back, slipping one into the shoulder opening of the tank top so he could touch her skin. He knew she wasn’t wearing a bra, but feeling it, that she was completely unhindered, fed his hunger.
And then his fantasy became reality. He covered Riley on the bed, grunting with satisfaction when she tightened her thighs around his hips. Her body writhing under him, he sucked on her neck, nibbled her collarbone, and buried his face between her spectacular breasts. She gasped and clutched his head, arching her back. He accepted the invitation and closed his mouth over her nipple. She convulsed, and the pressure of his zipper on his cock became unbearable. He had to get free, had to take her, to fill her, to fill himself, to—
He didn’t know what triggered it—maybe when he twisted to reach for his belt buckle, he caught sight of the moon outside the window—but sanity returned like a punch in the gut.
This wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal. He could hurt her.
The chair got in his way when he reared back and scrambled off the bed. He tripped and fell against the desk, panting, staring in shock at Riley, who looked confused and fucking delicious sprawled across the bed like that.
“I’m sorry,” he ground out before she could say anything. “I’m so sorry.”
And he bolted.
Chapter Twelve
Today, my brother watched me heal a dove that had hit our window and broken its wing. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face made my heart ache. He no longer courts the girl who sells flowers downtown, and he stopped tutoring his students after school. I fear for what’s to become of him.
Sam felt no relief when the bathroom door closed between him and Riley. Nausea washed over him, and the overly bright room spun. He gripped the sides of the sink and gagged, blinking hard, trying to get everything to settle. Parts of his body were on fire, other parts so cold the sweat beading on his skin could turn to ice.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He’d been lost in Riley, but this wasn’t typical lust. At some point he’d been so far gone he wouldn’t have been able to tell whether she’d been right there with him or struggling to get away.
His gorge rose at the thought of what he could’ve done. He whirled and got the toilet lid up in time to lose his dinner. It didn’t make him feel better.
Worse, the need wasn’t gone. His erection was as hard as ever, and the craving kept getting stronger. Already, it nearly overwhelmed his revulsion. But he couldn’t go back out there. Couldn’t face Riley like this.
Everything in the room had a pink tinge to it, and the edges of his vision were darkening to red. He stripped off his clothes and yanked on the shower, getting under the spray without regulating the temperature. There was only one thing he could do now to ease the pressure.
Sam braced his left hand against the wall under the showerhead and let the water pound down on his head and back while he wrapped his other hand around his cock. He was harder than he’d ever been before, so fucking sensitive his first grip sent a wave of pleasure through him that abated the awful, biting hunger.
Relief gusted out in a breath, and he went to work, concentrating on his goal, focusing intently on sensation, not imagery. But control eluded him. With each stroke, he saw flashes of Riley. Tasted her skin, her nipple. Smelled her. Felt her body cradling his. Heard her cry out. Thrust into her, and—
He grunted and came violently, pleasure in a dozen concentrated bursts. He gulped in air, his muscles relaxing, tension slowly draining away. He sank onto the floor of the tub, exhausted, and held his head in his hands, his elbows against upraised knees. The water pelting him gradually cooled, and he felt more normal as the minutes ticked by.
He didn’t know what to do. The power transfer had obviously triggered this in him. Why had it taken so long to manifest? He’d had the itch when it first happened, but then nothing until…well, until he stormed out of the motel when Riley called, and he let a small surge of energy burst out of him. But he’d done so little, and it triggered this? What if it got worse with each transfer?
But he couldn’t stop. They still had Chloe and Tanda, and Sam couldn’t back out. He couldn’t deny them what was rightfully theirs. Especially since Quinn was sick and hurting, too. The only cure for her was finishing the job. But God, he was terrified of what would happen next time. Every transfer could affect him more strongly. Leave a greater residue. And put Riley in more danger.
He could send her back to Boston, but she wasn’t some pliant, obedient flower. She wouldn’t stay put now any more than she had the last time, especially with everything else they knew now, and not with Jeannine withholding information. That probably reinforced her mistrust of the Society, reversing any progress they’d made when she first arrived.
Thinking, planning, analyzing had calmed him, but then Sam thought about going out there, to Riley, and the tension returned. He could stay in here all night. Or until she went to sleep. She had to be tired, after everything that had happened. He owed her an apology, and more, but he could handle it better in the morning. Yeah, he’d wait it out.
If she’d let him.
As soon as the water shut off, Riley knocked on the bathroom door. Silence. “Sam? Are you all right?”