Page 93 of Salem’s Rise

I search for some sign I’m misunderstanding, some flicker of the man who just had me pinned against a door like he couldn’t stand one more inch of space between us.

Instead, I find something careful. Restrained. Like he’s working very hard to make the responsible choice, and I have the horrifying realization that I’m about to be rejected by Silas Blackhollow, of all people.

Great. Humiliating. Exactly what I needed tonight.

“I don’t understand. Do you… not want this?”

“Fuck, Jacqueline,” he says hoarsely and guides my hand down until I can feel how hard he is, how much this is costing him to slow down. “Does it feel like I don’t want this? I’ve wanted this since the first day I saw you.”

His eyes meet mine and the wild, unguarded lust I see there almost undoes me on the spot.

“Then why?”

“Because you’re in shock. Confused,” he says. “You just had everything you thought you knew about your family turned upside down.” He exhales sharply. “And because I am trying, for once in my thoroughly selfish and fucked-up life, to be the good guy. You’re going through more than anyone should have to. I’m not going to use that to get something I want.”

“Fine. If you aren’t up for this, I’ll find someone who is.”

“Jack—”

I push harder, saying the one thing I hope might break through that damn restraint of his. “Maybe Rowan?” I ask. “You did say he still cared for me.”

Jealousy flares dark and immediate in his eyes before his hips pin mine to the door, his body pressed against me. “The hell you will,” he growls, low and rough as he grips my wrists again, resuming his hold on me. “My attempt to behave honorably did not include sending you into another man’s bed.”

“Finally.” I roll my hips against his, slow and deliberate, and feel the hitch in his breath. “We agree for once, Blackhollow.”

I watch the last of his restraint dissolve. For weeks, we’ve circled one another—arguments, impossible alliances, almost-confessions. Now all of it collapses into this one moment.

When he kisses me this time, there’s no hesitation. Our mouths crash together, hot and hard and entirely out of our control. He pulls me flush against him, and my legs circle his waist, ankles crossing behind him. The friction draws a sound out of me I don’t recognize as my own voice.

His mouth trails slowly down my neck, leaving a string of wicked kisses in its wake. When his teeth sink lightly into my skin, heat explodes in my core.

“You’re going to hate me tomorrow,” he says between uneven breaths.

“I hate you now.”

I curl my fingers against the nape of his neck, and he seems to understand exactly what I’m asking. His mouth moves lower to the curve of my shoulder and then still lower, until every inch of skin he touches feels lit from within. I know this is a terrible idea, but knowing and wanting are not the same thing, and if I might die at any moment anyway, I want to enjoy myself first.

He strips down and then undresses me slowly, almost reverently, his eyes tracking every inch he reveals of my body like he’s committing it to memory. When I’m lying bare beneath him, his mouth finding my most sensitive parts, I remind him anyway, because some self-destructive part of me needs to say it out loud.

“Just remember, this is a strategic partnership,” I say, breathless. “Nothing else.”

He goes still.

“Mercer, maybe we shouldn’t—” His eyes search mine, uncertainty flickering there, and my chest tightens. Is he really that worried about winning The Rites and our stupid fucking partnership when I’m lying beneath him, naked?

“No. Don’t you dare stop now, you asshole.”

I kiss him again, and he responds, carnal and scorching, almost feverish, his tongue stroking mine, claiming every inch of me. His thumb skims the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and then slides lower between my legs. Pleasure rockets through me as he kisses me harder, faster, while his fingers hit the exact spot I need them to.

“More,” I demand, nails digging into his back.

He lines himself up, and I feel the hard tip of him pressing into me, teasing at my entrance, right where I want him. Nothing is between us but heat. The bare skin-to-skin contact alone is enough to make my thighs tremble around his hips, enough to steal the breath right out of my lungs. I can feel every ridge and pulse of him against me, feel how badly he wants this in the way his body shakes with the effort of holding still. The groan that tears out of him makes me feel everything.

He hesitates, stopping again, like he’s giving me one last chance to change my mind, like he needs me to be sure as much as he needs to be inside me.

“I don’t have anything with me. I wasn’t expecting⁠—”

“It’s okay,” I breathe. “I’m on the pill.”