Chapter 5 The Lie She Almost Lost

Kerensa's POV

For one suspended second, Hunter's eyes dropped to the wrap of fabric compressed tight around my chest, his brow furrowing in confusion, as if his mind hadn't caught up to what his eyes showed him.

That cedar scent flooded my lungs at this distance, thick and warm, and my pulse roared so loud I was sure he could hear it.

"What - " he started, his gaze narrowing.

I didn't let him finish. I wrenched sideways, yanking my shirt back down and shoving past him with a strength I didn't know I had left.

"Bandages," I snapped, breathless, praying the lie held. "I pulled something in training. Not that it's any of your business."

Hunter blinked, confusion still heavy in his face, but the anger won out before the question could fully form.

"Bandages," he repeated flatly, like he didn't believe it and didn't know why. Then, quieter, more dangerous: "You've got a mouth on you for someone hiding under an ace bandage."

"Hunter." Xavier's voice, low, a warning.

Hunter ignored him. He closed the distance again before I could brace for it, his hand clamping around my wrist.

"You want to talk about underwhelming?" His voice had dropped, gone rough. "Fine. Let's settle this."

He didn't drag me toward the door or the hallway. He dragged me toward his bed, and I stumbled, bare feet catching on the rug, my mind still stuck on the binding, on how close, how impossibly close that had just come to unraveling everything.

"Let go of me," I spat, trying to twist free, but his grip only tightened.

"Not until you take it back." He shoved me down onto the edge of his mattress and dropped to a crouch in front of me before I could scramble away, blocking my escape with his body.

My breath caught in my throat. His scent surrounded me now, cedar and warm skin and something darker underneath, and I hated how my body responded before my mind could catch up, heat pooling low and unwanted, my heartbeat stumbling into a frantic rhythm I couldn't quiet.

He grabbed my hand again, his grip bruising this time, and before I understood what he meant to do, he pressed my palm flat against himself, against the thick, unmistakable heat of him through the thin fabric of his shorts.

My breath hitched. My whole body went rigid, a current of pure shock running up my arm and down my spine.

He was hard, shockingly, undeniably hard, thick and heavy under my palm, pulsing with a life of its own, and it stole every word out of my head.

"Still think it's underwhelming?" His voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble that traveled through my hand, up my arm, and settled somewhere deep in my chest. He held my hand there, forcing me to feel him, forcing me to feel the proof of my own lie.

My mind went blank. Every insult, every righteous flare of fury, every careful wall I'd spent seven years building came apart at once. There was only the heat of him under my hand, the shocking, silken weight of him straining against the thin fabric, the terrifying pulse of his arousal against my palm.

I had never touched a man like this before, and some traitorous, curious part of me registered every detail. The size of him, the way he twitched against my palm as though my touch alone undid him, the low sound caught in his throat when I didn't immediately pull away. Beneath it all lingered that maddening cedar scent, which seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my lungs.

Shame flooded me, hot and liquid, and right behind it came something else, something dark and thrilling that I refused to name, though it pooled low in my belly and made my thighs press together instinctively.

I had spent seven years learning how to disappear, how to flatten myself into someone unremarkable, sexless, safe. I did not know what to do with this shivering, mortifying awareness of my own body, of his, of the terrible closeness between us.

My face burned, and I knew it wasn't from anger. I couldn't look at him, couldn't look at my own hand where it rested against him, couldn't stop the wild, humiliating thought of what it might feel like without the fabric between us, a thought so unbidden that I nearly gasped aloud at myself.

My eyes darted wildly, landing on Xavier, who had finally gotten up. He wasn't coming to my aid. He simply leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, a lazy, amused smirk playing across his face, watching the confrontation unfold like entertaining theater. The sight of him, so detached, so amused by my struggle, sent a fresh wave of fury through me.

That was it.

That was the thing that broke me.

The casual cruelty, the utter indifference to my violation. I wasn't a person to them. I was a toy. A form of entertainment.

A new strength, born of pure rage, surged through me. I wrenched my hand from his grasp with a violent jerk, the contact breaking like a snapped wire.

"Get off me!"

Before he could react, I brought my knee up, hard, connecting with his groin. He let out a strangled cry, eyes widening in pain and surprise as he stumbled back, hands flying to his crotch.

I didn't hesitate. I shoved him with all my might, sending him crashing to the floor.

I didn't wait to see if he would get up. I scrambled away, grabbing my shirt and holding it closed as I ran for the sanctuary of my curtained-off bed. I could feel their eyes on me, Hunter's pained gasps and Xavier's soft chuckle following me like a physical touch. I reached my bed, tore the curtain aside, and practically dove into the small, enclosed space.

I fumbled with the makeshift latch I had installed, my hands shaking so badly I could barely manage it. I finally secured it, then sank to the floor, my back pressed against the thin wall of the enclosure.

Heat burned in my cheeks, a hot, humiliating blush I couldn't control. I could hear Hunter cursing on the other side of the curtain, and Xavier's low, amused laughter. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, trying to forget the feeling of Hunter's hands on my skin, the look in Xavier's eyes as he watched me struggle.

But I couldn't.

It was all there, burned into my memory, a fresh scar on my soul. The memory of his scent lingered, cedar and warmth clinging stubbornly to my senses.

I hated him. I hated them both. But my body remained a traitor, responding to the mere memory of his proximity with a warmth that shamed me to my core and left me pressing my thighs together in the dark, alone, and utterly unwilling to name what I was feeling.