The Missing

wasn’t going to get out of it alive. And I couldn’t help her; I didn’t know anything about it until she was already dead.” He dipped his head low, putting his face right into hers. His eyes were turbulent and angry, and they filled her vision so that she couldn’t see anything but that furious, tormented gaze. “And the bitch of it all, Taige? It’s that I could have done something. Could have done something to help her, to save her. You could have.”

    “No,” she argued, her voice low, furious with denial. She shook her head. There was a scream inside her close to breaking free, but Taige wasn’t going to let herself scream. She wasn’t going to give in to her tears; she didn’t deserve that luxury. “No, I couldn’t, Cullen. I can’t control how it works; you know that.”

    “What I know is that you’ve never tried,” he replied. “You don’t try to control it. You pretend it isn’t even there until one of those dreams comes on you. You don’t act—you react.”

    Anger finally worked its way through the sense of futility. She placed her hands against his chest and shoved against him, but he barely budged. “You don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about,” she snarled. “You don’t.”

    “I know I’m right.” He reached up and closed his fingers around her wrists and jerked her flat against him. “And so do you.”

    “Let go of me.” Taige arched back, trying to work her hands between them and shove him away, but he held her so close, she couldn’t do much more than squirm against him.

    “Why?” He dipped his head. She braced herself. She saw the fury in his gaze, and the pain. Emotions like that blinded people to everything but the hurt and the pain and the anger. None of them were gentle emotions, and Cullen was caught in the grip of them.

    But he didn’t crush his mouth against hers. Though he held her tight, his hands were gentle. His grip was unbreakable, but he didn’t hurt her. He brushed his lips over the top of her shoulder then up her neck to her ear. “You want to make me feel better, Taige? Is that why you’re here?”

    She swallowed. “I just wanted to be here for you,” she said. Oh, damn. Was that shaky, breathy voice really hers?

    A broad, rough palm stroked down her side then slid under the plain black T-shirt she wore. “Then be here,” he muttered. “Right here.” He straightened and grabbed the hem of her shirt, shoving it up until it was trapped under her arms. He stooped and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up and planting her butt on the back of the couch. He licked her nipple through the black cotton of her bra and then gently bit her. Taige arched, pressing against him. She reached for him, but he caught her hands, pushing them down and holding them at her sides as though he didn’t want her touching him.

    “Cullen . . .”

    He shook his head. “Don’t talk,” he ordered brusquely. “Don’t talk.” He pulled her off the couch and turned her around, crowding against her body until she was bent over the upholstered back. His hands went to her waist, freeing the button of her jeans, lowering the zipper. In one motion, he shoved her jeans and panties to her knees, and then she heard the rasp of his zipper. Taige twisted around to push her clothes the rest of the way off, but he fisted a hand in her hair and said, “Be still.”

    Then he was pushing against her. With her jeans and panties tangled around her knees, she couldn’t spread her legs, and it made his entry rougher. She gasped and arched back, squirming against him as he pushed in, deep, slow, burrowing his way through her tight muscles until he had buried his length inside her. He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her back against him. He muttered in her ear, “Tell me that you love me, Taige.” His voice was low, hoarse, and so tormented it made her heart clench painfully.

    “I love you.”

    He rolled his hips against her, and Taige groaned, pressing against him, trying to ride the thick length invading her, but the awkward position made it impossible to do much more than squirm and rock against him. Cullen shifted her again, urging her upper body forward, once more bending her over the couch. Then he braced his hands on her hips, held her steady. He withdrew and then slammed into her, deeper, harder, stealing her breath away. She didn’t even have time to gasp for air before he did it again, and again, taking her hard and