Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter Colletion_ Books 11-15 - Laurell K. Hamilton [259]
“It’s not punishment, Damian,” and even my voice was low and calm.
“Jean-Claude says that if you wished, you could gain calm only when you needed it. That you could touch me and enjoy touching me, but not be trapped behind this mask.” His fingers were digging in so hard, I was bruising.
“You’re hurting me, Damian.” My voice was still calm, but there was an edge of heat to it, an edge of anger.
“At least you feel something when I touch you.”
“Let go of my arms, Damian.” And just like that, he released me, let me go as if my arms had grown hot to the touch, because he could not disobey a direct order from me. Whatever that order might be.
“Take a step back, Damian, give me some room.” I was angry now, even with the rest of his body touching me. When he did what I told him and was no longer touching me at all, the anger filled me up and spilled over my skin like heat. God, it felt good. I was used to being angry. I liked it. Not the most positive thing to say, but still true.
I started to rub my arms where he’d squeezed, then stopped. I didn’t like letting anyone know how much they’d hurt me.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, and he was holding his own arms. I thought for a moment he was feeling my pain, then realized he was hugging himself to keep from touching me.
“No, you just want to fuck me.”
“That’s not fair,” he said.
He was right, it wasn’t fair, but I didn’t care. Without him touching me, I could be as unfair as I wanted to be. I wrapped my anger around myself. I fed it with every petty impulse I’d fought for days. I should have remembered that one control is much like another. That if you throw away one kind of control, it makes other kinds harder to hold on to.
I unleashed my anger like you’d unleash a rabid dog. It roared through me, and I remembered a time when my rage had been the only warmth I allowed in my life. When my anger had been my solace and my shield. “Get out, Damian, just go to bed.”
“Don’t do this, Anita, please.” He held his hand out to me, would have touched me, but I moved back, just out of reach.
“Go, now.”
And with that he couldn’t help himself. I’d given him a direct order. He had to obey.
He walked out, tears glittering in his green eyes. He passed Nathaniel in the doorway. Nathaniel gave me neutral eyes, a careful face. “Micah had to go.”
I nodded, because I didn’t trust my voice. I hadn’t let myself get this angry in so long. It had felt good for a few moments, but I was already beginning to regret how I’d treated Damian. He hadn’t asked to be my servant. The fact that I’d done it accidentally didn’t make it any more right. He was an adult person, and I’d just ordered him to bed like he was a naughty child. He deserved better than that. Anyone did.
The anger pulled back, and even my skin felt cooler. The term hot with anger was very real. I was ashamed of what I’d just done. I understood why, in part. I so did not need another man tied to me by metaphysics that demanded a piece of my bed, or at least my body. I didn’t need that. I especially didn’t need a man who might not even be capable of feeding the ardeur. Because even in the middle of the worst of the ardeur, Damian’s touch could cool that fire. With him holding my hand, the ardeur could not rise, or at least it could be put away for hours. So why didn’t I paste Damian to my body? Because of how much more he wanted from me than I was comfortable with giving. I could not use him to help me fight the ardeur if I wasn’t willing to give in to that skin hunger we both felt for each other.
Nathaniel padded into the room, wearing nothing but a pair of silky jogging shorts. They were his version of jammies. He’d taken his braid out, so that his thick hair