Chapter 43 #3
I hated him.
I wanted to drag his mouth to mine and bite until we both tasted blood.
“Gods,” I groaned, half to myself. “I fucking hate you so much. You are impossible. You make me crazy.”
“So do you,” he said. “Maybe that’s why this works.”
“This doesn’t work,” I snapped. “Look at us. I’m a second away from killing you.”
“Oh, I am.” He held my gaze until I felt like I was falling. Then ever so slowly, his fingers tightened around my wrist, and he eased the blade away from his throat.
And like a coward, I let him.
This is stupid, I told myself. He is dangerous and unpredictable, and feeling like this will only ruin everything.
I leaned down and tossed the knife away.
The first brush of my mouth against his was clumsy and angry, with entirely too much tongue.
Dante froze for a second, as if he couldn’t believe what I’d just done, then his free hand came up, tangling in my hair and dragging me back down.
His mouth crashed into mine, hot, hard, and messy, teeth and anger and the taste of something forbidden between us.
Heat surged inside me, a small, needy sound slipped out, and Dante swallowed it, tongue sliding against mine with indecent familiarity.
This was a terrible idea.
I kissed him harder.
We rolled, never breaking the kiss, rolled until my back hit the mat, his weight coming down over me like a cage. For one incoherent second, I panicked at the sudden press of all that power, my instincts screaming this was a trap.
Dante felt my shudder of frozen panic, breaking the kiss long enough to breathe against my mouth, “Emberline. Tell me to stop, and I will.”
His blue eyes were heavy and hooded, fangs pricking his lower lip, blood welling around the punctures like prizes, that tantalizing scent winding through my senses like a siren’s song I could never deny.
I shouldn’t trust him.
I didn’t even know him. I needed to guard my heart, to protect myself. My entire life, I’d had rules, rules that kept me safe in this world, and trusting an almost stranger was at the very top of my do-not-do list.
I slid my hands under his shirt instead, palms tracing the hard lines of his stomach and chest, cataloguing every scar and divot, his heated skin gliding soft as velvet against my fingers.
“You’re still an asshole, and I’ll never forgive you for last night,” I muttered.
“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he promised, his eyes blazing fiercely enough, I believed him.
He pulled me down and kissed me again, and this time, there was less anger and more heat, more of that slow, dangerous pull that had been building between us since the night he threw me over his shoulder and forged our unholy partnership.
His mouth was sinful, his clever, probing tongue sliding past my lips with enough expertise, another swirl of jealousy hit me out of nowhere.
Then I was lost—lost in his taste, in the strength of his muscled body, of being consumed by someone bigger and more powerful, someone who blocked out the light and dragged me into the shadows.
Shadows I wanted to hide in forever, wrapped up in his arms, because this felt like coming home.
I’d known Dante was dangerous, yet nothing had prepared me for how he swept the world away.
How he made me feel like the center of a storm, like he was a star and I was the galaxy, inexorably drawn into his orbit, with no choice but to obey.
His hand traced the line of my thigh, the curve of my hip, fingers digging into my waist like he couldn’t let go, and honey pooled between my legs.
I arched against him, a helpless whimper tearing from my throat when he answered by grinding his hips down, letting me feel exactly how badly he wanted me.
“Gods,” he breathed against my neck. “You’re going to kill me, Emberline.”
“That’s still on the table,” I gasped, “so you’d better not drop your guard.”
His lips lingered over my fluttering pulse, fangs grazing skin, the points pressing softly, then harder, not quite breaking skin. Asking a question without words.
I tipped my head back, baring my throat in silent answer.
Later, I would blame my lack of sleep. The adrenaline. This consuming loneliness that was finally held at bay by a pair of wicked blue eyes and sweet promises I’d be a fool to believe.
But for now, I let myself stop thinking.
I gave in to every secret urge I’d ever entertained in the darkness.
His teeth broke skin, a sharp, sweet sting that melted into heat as he fed, careful and controlled, as if he was holding back. But his groans, those were wild… ravenous. My fingers wound into his shirt, holding him down, our hips rocking together, lost in the power of this moment.
Whatever this was—mistake, inevitability, or something else entirely—tonight belonged to us.
Or for however long we had left before everything crashed down on our heads.
When he lifted his mouth from my throat, his eyes were darker than night, his lips stained with blood. He looked wrecked. Beautiful. Mine.
I dragged him back down into another kiss, tasting my own coppery blood and fire and everything we couldn’t admit to each other. But this… this moment was utter perfection.
Today changes nothing, I promised myself again. Our marriage will never be real.
But I kissed him like it was.