CHAPTER 22
A throbbing begins low in my belly, a pulsing ache that spreads up through my chest to merge with the heat from his fingertips. He drags them lower over my clavicle. Exceptionally gentle, more tenuous than the touch of the others. Soft and kind and comforting, a massage done not only by the pads of his fingers but by his energy. It sounds so hokey, so new-age weird, but I can’t help it. I’m suddenly hyperaware of the T-shirt I’m wearing, the place on my upper chest where his hand rests on the cotton and not on my skin.
I want him on my skin.
“You’re shaking,” I say. “Are you okay? Tired?” He’s not scared—I somehow doubt that Mack can get scared.
He nods. His breath is hot, his flesh on fire. “I’m fine. I think I’ve been exhausted my entire life, but right now…” I catch the g
