Page 110 of Thirst
“Remember that story I told you last night?” I slipped around the couch. “About the fae prince?”
“Yeah. But?—”
“Shh.” I stopped in front of him.
His shoulders pulled into a stiff line, but he didn’t move or speak, just watched me with hot blue eyes.
Tonight, instead of his usual black and white, he wore all black—pants, dress shirt, both cut to show off his hard-muscled frame. I undid his top button. “You know that prince was really you.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Was he?”
“Oh, yeah.” I slipped open the second button. “So here’s what we’re going to do. Pretend we’re in the story, and the page just turned.” I spread his shirt apart and touched my lips to his collarbone, breathing him in. “It’s a blank page. No past, no future. Just you and me writing whatever we want.” I stroked my fingertips over his chest, lightly furred with dark blond hair.
His hands came to my hips. His jaw clenched like he was in pain. “What d’you want from me?”
“This.” I licked at his mouth, nipped his full lower lip. “Stranger.”
“Fuck.” His voice was tight, but his fingers dug into my hips, keeping me where I was.
“A blank page,” I murmured and moved against him, slow and sensuous, dragging my breasts over his chest. “Like we just met tonight.”
A beat passed. Then he made a low, at-the-end-of-his-rope sound and hauled me up against him. One hand cupped my chin, taking control, and his mouth descended on mine in a take-no-prisoners kiss.
I sucked his tongue deeper, drinking in his taste—heat and whiskey and Cain. I couldn’t get close enough. The thin barrier of our clothing was an irritation.
I brought a leg up, twining it around his thigh, wanting him thick and hot against my center. Needing the hard muscles of his pecs to soothe my aching breasts. Even the belt buckle against my stomach felt necessary.
It had hurt these past few nights, to keep him at arm’s length. To tell myself I hated him, knowing it was a lie, told to make myself feel better.
When he lifted his head, his irises were a thin silver rim around dark, enlarged pupils. “If this is some kind of trick, I swear I’ll spank you.”
“No trick, I promise.”
His gaze moved between my eyes, assessing my truthfulness.
I pressed closer, running my fingers down one angular cheek, lightly scratching the stubble. “Don’t make me beg,” I said against his ear. “Or maybe you should—make me beg, that is. Maybe you should punish me. I did try to meet with your uncle, after all. That was very bad of me.” I bit down on his earlobe.
“Fuck.” He sounded tortured. “Damn you, Nyx. I can’t—I can’t tell you no.”
Longer fingers wrapped around my nape. His other hand stroked down my back in a firm caress. He palmed my ass, urging me up against his erection.
Triumph surged up in me, along with an awed sort of humbleness. That this powerful, controlled male had a weakness—me.
He saw my lips twitch in an I-win smile, and slapped my bottom. “Just remember who’s in charge.”
My sex constricted. “You are,” I said immediately.
That elicited a rueful laugh. He smacked me again, harder.
“I haven’t been in control,” he said, “since the night we met. I think about this—about you—all the time. It’s eating me alive, how much I need you.”
“Oh.” I swallowed broken bits of glass, all pretense that we were strangers, writing on a blank page, falling away.
He’d opened himself to me, let himself be vulnerable, and I couldn’t respond. I couldn’t tell him I loved him, that I’d be honored to accept his bond.
But I could touch him, show him how special he was, how perfect.
I finished unbuttoning his shirt and tugged the fabric from the waistband of his pants. He took over, stripping it off in one fluid motion and tossing it on the couch.
