Page 101 of Harnessed in Gold

Determined to ignore it, I run my hands up his back, pushing up his shirt. He pulls it over his head and tosses it aside.

He could leave as early as tomorrow.

An ache tears through my chest, and my nails sink into his skin, making him hiss through his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

I shake my head.I have tonight, I tell the voice.You can’t take away tonight.

When I try to kiss him again, he takes hold of my chin. “Betts. What’s wrong?”

Damn him. How dare he look up at me with those beautiful eyes? How dare he send me wave after wave of sincere concern? Just let me be reckless. Let me break my own heart.

“Betts—” He traces my cheek.

I choke out, “You’re leaving.”

His thick brows dip. “What?”

“Tomorrow, the next day, whenever,” I whisper-wail. “As soon as we find the bracelet, you’ll be gone.”

“What? No.” Understanding softens his features. “No. Betts—” He sweeps my hair from face.

Tears clog my throat. “You have to go back.”

“Yes, I do,” he sighs. “But not forever.”

“I don’t want you to go,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

Ever.

“A chroí,” he breathes, stilling my head and holding my gaze. “I’m not going to leave you. I’ll come back.”

“B… but you can’t?—”

Fire blazes in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You can’t break the rules.”

The heat of his determination fills the small space between us. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving you.” With a forceful kiss, he seals his promise.

I grab fistfuls of his hair, trapping his mouth against mine. Because, if he doesn’t care, then neither do I. At least not tonight.

You can’t take away tonight.

“I want this off,” he orders, lifting the hem of my sweater.

Obediently, I raise my arms.

Shirts discarded, he pulls me to him, holding me skin to skin and trailing his lips down my neck. When I roll my hips, he grabs them, not to still them but to push, to make sure I feel every hard inch of him. Eyes burning and jaw tight, he looks up at me, watches me, until the pleasure and tension are too much and I shudder.

Behind my back, his fingers battle my stubborn bra hook. “The fae don’t wear these,” he snarls, tugging the straps off my shoulders and yanking the whole contraption down to my waist.

Collecting my wits, I undo the hook myself and set my arms free, gripping him by the shoulders as he snakes his hand into the back of my hair and pulls, bending my neck back and arching my chest forward. His teeth scrape the swell of my breast, his hot tongue following behind to soothe my tender skin. He sucks hard. Bites. And my core throbs.

He’s different. Wilder. More unleashed.

More fae.