Chapter 20
Elowen
He works the buttons of the shirt I’m wearing. Without a bra to hide myself, my breasts bare to his gaze. He lowers his mouth to one nipple while twisting the other between leather-clad finger and thumb. I moan, arching up, offering him more.
He shifts his mouth from one nipple to the other, biting down lightly, pinching the other between forefinger and middle finger.
I cry out, a loud moan tearing from my throat.
The pressure at my center builds, unbearable.
He leaves my nipple—I make a weak sound of protest—he moves lower, to the place I need him most, and latches his mouth to my center.
His tongue licks, the tip flicking my clit.
I’m riding toward the peak, but I never land.
My eyes fly open.
I’m drenched in sweat, breath frantic, heart thudding against my ribs. My thighs press together; the pool between them is hot.
I look toward the couch. He’s not there.
I’ve never had such a vivid wet dream before. I should blame the books I’m reading, and the man who’s become the protagonist of every fantasy. A fierce ache coils in me.
Out of control, frontal cortex on vacation, I rise from Bruno’s bed. He lifts his head to watch me. I kneel, bend, and press a kiss to his head.
“I’ll be right back.”
I stroke his head once and leave his room.
I reach his door. Without knocking, I twist the doorknob. It turns.
I don’t know how safe he thinks his house is, leaving his door unlocked. Or perhaps he just doesn’t fear death at all.
I enter. The white light hits my eyes, sobering me slightly. But not enough to turn around, walk out, and do the sane thing: sleep in Bruno’s bed.
He sits up and looks at me, the question clear in his eyes: What am I doing here?
“I had a nightmare.” In which you were eating me.
I move to the switchboard and turn on the dim, warm light, switching off the white. I don’t know how he can sleep under that glare, it feels like the sun is right above your head.
The warm light chases away the little logic I’d regained, and I’m back in the same state I was in when I entered.
I walk to his bed and slide under his covers. He watches me, silent.
“I hope you don’t mind me sleeping here.”
“I do.”
I make a sad face. “I’m really scared. Just let me sleep here for five minutes.”
“Don’t you have Bruno?”
I shift closer to him. “Bruno isn’t strong enough to fight the monster in my dream. I was about to die.” I use the line he hates, and his face instantly pinches into a frown.
He turns, reaching for the nightstand. Only then do I notice—his gloves are off. I catch a glimpse of the skin on the back of his hand. It looks wrong. Burned.
“What happened to your hands?”
He pulls the glove onto his hands and looks at me. “My uncle burned them.”
My eyes widen. “What kind of asshole uncle does that?”
He lies down beside me, leaving a gap between us.
“The asshole kind.”
I frown at the lack of emotion on his face.
“Don’t you hate him?”
I tilt toward him, one arm tucked under my head, the other resting on the bed between us.
“I killed him a decade ago. Threw him into a fire, pulled him out alive, skinned him, and dipped him—”
I press my fingers to his mouth.
My eyes are saucers. “I don’t need that kind of description.”
I slide my hand from his lips, letting my fingers linger against their softness, then place my hand on his chest.
“I’ve never even watched someone kill an ant. I don’t like details of violence.”
His heart thuds under my palm. I feel the echo of each beat between my thighs. His eyes burn into mine.
I let my hand wander over his chest, tracing the contours of muscle. Gradually, I trail lower across his abs, feeling the hard ridges beneath my palm. I’d pay any amount to see this man naked.
“Don’t.” The word hisses out, strained.
I shift closer. “Why not?”
“You’ll hate it.” He breathes the words, as if speaking them costs him everything.
I know what that line means. But in my delusional mind, I believe that somehow—he’ll give up on his revenge.
“And you?”
His eyes darken further. The hard line of his jaw sharpens. He catches my hand, pulls it up, and presses it back to his chest, covering it with his own.
“Keep it here.”
I shift closer, until my front brushes his arm.
“That’s not an answer.”
“You won’t get one,” he mutters.
The sound of our breathing—ragged, rapid—fills the small space between us. Temptation thrums in the air, in our blood. I used to think he was unaffected, but not now. Not when I can feel his heart hammering, wild as my own.
“I want to kiss you,” I whisper.
His heartbeat turns violent beneath my hand, pounding like it might burst from his chest.
“Just one kiss,” I beseech, not daring to move.
I can’t face another rejection. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since the last one.
He turns onto his side. My hand, still pressed to his chest, forms a barrier between us. He cups my chin, the cool leather sending a shiver through me. I part my lips, breathing through my mouth to chase away the burn in my lungs.
His thumb brushes across my lower lip.
“I’ll kiss you, Princess. But it will make you mine.” His voice is rough.
I move closer to his mouth.
“Do it.” The words rush out on my breath.
“Promise me you won’t hate me when I kill your father,” he says in a low, pleading voice.
I stare into his eyes.
“You won’t give it up.” My throat closes around the words.
The heat in his eyes vanishes—replaced by a cold that seeps into my chest, freezing everything. The rapid pounding stops. His. Mine. All of it.
“I can’t.” His voice is cold, empty.
I shift away from him onto my back. The desire has drained from my body, leaving an ache behind, a void inside my ribs.
I’ve fallen for the only man I shouldn’t. My body craves the man who wants to kill my uncle. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
I turn my head and find him watching me with eyes emptied of everything. Now my heart aches for him. I don’t know what it is, but I can see he’s fighting something—something inside him.
I turn back toward him and reach out.
I press my hand to his cheek. The stubble scratches my palm, but the skin underneath is soft, just like his lips.
“Maybe we’re not destined to be together,” I say, smiling through the sting behind my eyes.
His hand closes around my waist, pulling me in. My hand slides from his cheek to the nape of his neck. He presses against me, burying his face in the curve of my neck.
“Meet me again in the next life,” he whispers, his voice thick, as he presses me close against him.
A stream of tears runs down my cheek.
“I promise I will. And I won’t be your enemy’s daughter.”
???
I wake up wrapped in him. He’s hugging me so tightly like he never wants to let me go. Which is exactly what I want, but can’t have.
My stomach knots.
In fairytales, when Beauty loved the Beast, he became human. I don’t want my beast to change, I just want him to give up his revenge. Even that small thing isn’t possible here. I guess I don’t have the magic required to make love work.
I tilt my head back from under his chin to meet his gaze.
His eyes open.
I slide my hand from his back to his chest, then up to his face, tracing its outline with my finger while he watches me through half-lidded eyes.
I hold his face the way I would if I were going to kiss him. But since that isn’t an option, I’ll settle for the edges of it—relishing the feel of his jaw in my palm, strong and warm.
I have only one wish for God: make this man mine.
Avi and I made a pact—we would only love once in this life. But even without that promise, I couldn’t love anyone else. No one could ever take my heart from this man, not even when he eventually shatters it into a million pieces.
I move away from him and sit against the headboard. A large part of me still believes he won’t do it, but the small, doubting part is slowly killing me.
“I told Bruno I’d be right back. He must think I’m a liar,” I mutter, staring at the door.
He sits up beside me. “He won’t.”
I smile, turning my head toward him. “You have a sexy morning voice.”
He watches me the way I always saw my father watch my mother, as if he can’t bear to look away. I let myself feel a flicker of happiness, but I can’t erase the longing that comes with it.
“You have a beautiful morning face.”
I clear my throat. “No mixed signals.”
“My signals are clear, Princess.”
His voice is making me wet. Thoughts with no future flash through my mind. Sitting in his lap. Strangling his sides with my legs. Kissing him while riding him.
Okay, get a grip, Wen. You know nothing about riding. Don’t start thinking you’re a pro based on unrealistic media consumption.
I get out of bed.
“I’m going to check on Bruno.” I adjust the rolled-up sleeves of his brown shirt—the one I’m wearing.
I glance up and the heat in his eyes scalds me. Without a word, I turn and leave his room.
I’m already so ruined by my feelings for this man. What difference would sleeping with him make? whispers the impulsive, reckless part of my brain.
But my sane, sensible part slaps it silent.
There would be a difference—one big enough that I’d regret ever meeting him. The guilt of sleeping with a man I knew wanted to kill my uncle would be enough to bury me alive.