Chapter 28 #3
When for a moment, for a breath, his lips pull away from mine, I whisper, “You feel nothing for me, do you?” A small, almost frightened laugh hums in my throat. “You’re such a damned liar, Valtar Skylock.”
He growls. “You have no rutting idea.”
Then his fingers thread through my hair, tangling in my braid.
With a vicious twist, he pulls it loose.
Soft curls fall around my shoulders and face, and he buries both hands in them, groaning as though this is something he has been longing to do, as though he’s only just managed to restrain himself all this time.
Gripping the back of my head, he angles my face and kisses me again, deeper than before.
I open my mouth to him, and his tongue slides between my teeth, a violent dance, an eager rhythm.
My knees go weak; I grab fistfuls of his shirt just to keep myself upright.
He tastes of spiced wine and fire, an intoxicating mix.
Hunger yawns in my gut—hunger for all that is forbidden and dangerous and new.
I catch his lips between my teeth, scraping just hard enough that he growls in response.
The fingers at the back of my head tighten.
Yanking my head back, he kisses me harder, his mouth moving relentlessly against mine, until I feel I will burst with the new responsiveness singing through my body.
He kisses me and kisses me, his mouth trailing down my jaw, my neck, along the puckered skin of my spreading scar.
And though I’ve had almost no feeling in that part of my body for years, sensation suddenly bursts to life with exquisite reaction.
Moaning, I arch into him, desperate for the friction of his body against mine. His hands slide from my hair, down my shoulders to my rib cage, and I want more, more. More of his touch on more of my body. I whimper, trying to find words to articulate my need, but cannot seem to catch my breath.
Suddenly, those enormous hands of his grip my thighs, hiking me up in a single, fluid motion.
I gasp, catching hold of his shoulders, my head whirling with vertigo.
The stones of the cavern wall dig into my shoulders, but I don’t care.
I wrap my legs around his waist and thread my fingers through his silky black hair, even as his mouth explores hungrily along my collarbone.
The shoulder of my gown pulls askew, and I coax it to slide farther down, exposing my shoulder and the upper curve of my breast. He answers the invitation, lipping, tasting, nipping along my slopes and valleys, his hunger insatiable.
He reaches my throbbing heart and lingers there, as though savoring that frantic beat through his sensitive lips.
Finally, his mouth finds its way back to mine.
I sink into his kiss, ready to drown in the molten lava exploding through my senses.
I had no idea my body could feel this way, no idea I was capable of experiencing such heat—nothing like the devouring heat of hellfire.
No, this is deeper, hotter, a flame of creation and renewal, pulsing through my veins until it finds a roiling core at the crest between my legs.
A sound like growling thunder bursts in my head, echoes in my chest. Some part of me, trying to warn against danger, but I love it.
I love the danger, love the risk, and even the edge of fear which this man inspires in my soul.
For I know, with a deep and vital conviction beyond any ability to articulate it, that I am safe with him.
That whatever danger he represents to the world at large, I am safe here, in his arms, in the center of his passion.
He may engulf me in flame, and I will burn but never hurt. Not in this glorious inferno.
I want him. I want more of him. And I want to give him more of me. Is it madness? Maybe. I’ve known him such a short while and under such bitter circumstances. I don’t care. After everything we’ve endured these last few lunatic days, are we not owed a little lunacy of our own?
I slip one hand down into the tiny slice of space between us, finding the front laces of his tunic.
He breathes hard, his mouth against my ear, his nose buried in my hair.
My fingers fumble to yank those laces free until I can rip his black shirt open, exposing the muscles of his massive, muscular chest. But when I trail my greedy fingers across those ridges, they stroke the puckered skin of the scar emblazoned there.
Burning pain erupts under my fingertips. Startled, I withdraw my hand, my already ragged breath caught in my throat.
Valtar yanks back from me, still holding me by the thighs, still pressing me against the wall.
I stare into his eyes and see the fire burning in their depths, as hot as ever.
And I want it, I want that fire. All of it.
I want him to consume me in the furnace of his desire and damn all the consequences.
But his features have gone rigid. I put my hand to his cheek, trying to draw his mouth back to mine.
He turns away sharply. “You must go.”
His words are like shards of ice. Even as he speaks, he lets go of one of my legs then the other, all but dropping me.
I stagger to catch my balance, clutching his shirt to keep myself upright, but he backs away farther, breaking my hold.
Leaving me standing in the dark and the cold, bereft of his warmth.
“Valtar?” I quaver, staring up into that face, which is like a mask of stone. “Valtar, please, don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”
He shakes his head. First a short, sharp shake. Then another and another, faster and faster, as he backs away from me, into the shadows. “I’ll kill you, Rosie,” he says, his voice rough and breaking.
“What?” My lips part in panting confusion. “Valtar, what are you—”
“I’ll kill you,” he says again, louder this time, a terrible snarl that echoes up and down the passage. “I’ll kill you, and the only hope left in all this dark and damned world will be lost.”
He turns away, staggers once, like a wounded animal. Then he pulls himself upright and flees into the darkness, footsteps echoing as he vanishes down the tunnel toward the cliff and the river.