Page 34 of Run Little Fawn

The door slams shut. I spin her, pinning her against it, one hand above her head. Wide emerald eyes stare up at me, darkening with desire even as her breath catches. My other hand traces along her jaw, thumb brushing her full bottom lip.

"I believe you owe me a prize, little fawn."

"Is that so?" Her voice is breathless, but there's a hint of defiance. Good.

I dip my head, hovering a hair's breadth from her lips. "Indeed it is. But don't worry, I'll be gentle... at first."

Then I claim her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her gasp. She tastes like sin and honey. I want to devour her. Slender fingers tangle in my hair as she arches into me, all soft curves against hard planes.

I lift her easily, wrapping soft thighs around my waist. She makes the most delicious little whimper. Carrying her to the bed, I lay her down amongst the pillows, climbing over her.

I've never wanted anyone the way I want her. It's a hunger, an ache in my very bones. If she knew the truth of who I am, what I am...

No. I won't let such thoughts ruin this.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she murmurs, tugging at my shirt.

I flash a wicked grin. "Eager, are we? I can fix that."

I sit back on my heels, slowly unbuttoning my shirt, revealing the tattoos and scars that map my skin. Her eyes roam over me, appreciation and curiosity mingling.

"Like what you see?" I purr, shrugging out of the fabric and tossing it aside.

She props herself up on her elbows, a coy smile curving her lips. "You're not so bad. For a psychopath."

I laugh, low and dark. "Flattery will get you everywhere, little fawn." My hands find her hips, thumbs stroking through the fabric of her dress. "Although I prefer 'morally ambiguous.'"

"Is that what we're calling it these days?" Her voice is teasing, but there's an undercurrent of something else.

Nervousness, perhaps.

Or excitement.

Bending down, I nuzzle into her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. She tilts her head back, a breathy sigh escaping her.

"We can call it whatever you like," I murmur against her skin. "As long as you scream it for me later."

She shivers again and I smile. My teeth scrape her pulse point. Not enough to mark, but enough to promise. Her fingers dig into my shoulders.

I take my time undressing her, savoring each new expanse of creamy flesh revealed. She's a vision in the amber lamplight, hair spilled across the pillow, kiss-swollen lips parted. An angel at the mercy of a demon.

And I am hungry. So very, very hungry.

But I hold back, determined to unravel her slowly. To make her beg and plead and fall apart beneath my hands, my mouth. Only when she's mindless with pleasure will I finally claim my prize.

After all, I am nothing if not a patient hunter.

I can't get enough of her scent.

The sweet fragrance of her desire mixes with the musky scent of her fear. The combination is heady, making me light-headed.

I resist the urge to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. Instead, I trail kisses along her shoulder, down her arm, mapping every inch of her with my lips and tongue.

She tastes of sin and something sweeter. I want to devour her, to consume her completely.

My hands shake with the effort of holding back, of not marking her delicate skin with my teeth. I've never felt this way before—this desperation, this need.

It's both thrilling and terrifying.

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