Page 59 of Run Little Fawn

I've won this round, but the game is far from over.

The moment I step backstage, my heart pounds in my chest, the exhilaration making me lightheaded. I can still feel the heat of the stage lights on my skin, the weight of Lucian's gaze burning into me. It's a high unlike any other, knowing I've pushed him to the brink, shattered that ironclad control.

I barely make it halfway down the dimly lit hallway before a strong hand grips my arm, spinning me around and pinning me against the wall.

Lucian's body presses against mine, hard planes of muscle trapping me in place. His eyes blaze with a storm of emotions—anger, desire, possessiveness—as they bore into mine.

"Well played, little fawn," he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

I tilt my head back, meeting his gaze with a defiant smirk. "Did you enjoy the performance?" I purr, rolling my hips against his in a deliberate, provocative motion.

After all, he did catch me.

A groan rumbles deep in his chest, his grip on my arms tightening. "Give me one reason not to kill every man who just had his eyes on you."

I trail my hand down his body, feeling the coiled tension beneath his suit. My fingers dance along the waistband of his slacks, teasing, tempting. "I can think of one right now," I breathe, my lips grazing the edge of his jaw.

Lucian's control snaps.

With a growl, he hauls me flush against him, his mouth claiming mine in a bruising kiss. It's all teeth and tongue, a clash of wills and desire.

I melt into him, my hands fisting in his hair, giving as good as I get.

"Dressing room. Now." His command leaves no room for argument, his voice rough with need.

Not want. Need.

I lead him down the hall, my heart racing, skin tingling with anticipation. The moment we step inside the private room, Lucian kicks the door shut and pushes me up against it, his body caging me in.

His hands roam over my curves, possessive, demanding, as if he's staking his claim on every inch of my flesh.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he rasps against my ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Flaunting yourself up there, teasing me, pushing me to the edge."

I arch into his touch, a breathy moan escaping my lips. "That's the point, isn't it? To make you lose control, to shatter that perfect composure."

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark with hunger. "Careful what you wish for, little fawn. You might just get it."

With that, he captures my mouth again, his kiss searing, consuming. I surrender to the onslaught of sensation, the heat of his touch, the press of his body against mine. It's a dance of dominance and submission, push and pull, a game we both crave.

His hands skim along my thighs, hiking up the flimsy material of my costume. I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding against the hard evidence of his desire. A groan tears from his throat, his hips rocking into mine, seeking friction, relief.

"You're mine," he growls against my skin, his teeth scraping along my collarbone. "Only mine."

"Prove it," I challenge, my nails raking down his back, urging him closer.

A shiver runs through me at his commanding tone, but it's not fear that makes my skin prickle.

It's need.

Desire.

I want him to claim me, mark me as his with his hands and his teeth. I lean into him, my breath coming in short gasps as his teeth scrape along my sensitive skin.

"Yours," I whisper, my eyes closing at the feel of his lips on my throat.

I tilt my head back, baring my neck to him, an invitation, a surrender. His hands are everywhere, leaving no inch of my body untouched, unmarked by his passionate exploration.

I relish the feel of his hands gripping my thighs, his fingers digging into my skin as he lifts me, pressing me back against the door.

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