Page 94 of Bound to the Dreadlord

Like something stirs.

Like something hears.

He comes fast.

Too fast.

I can’t react fast enough before he is there.

Veylan moves like a storm, like something unleashed, his eyes darker than night, his body tense.

He stops before me.

Silent. Staring. Breathing too hard.

I press back into the stone, my heart a hammer against my rib cage. "I?—"

He moves.

His fingers graze my throat. A touch so light, so unbearably soft, that it steals the words from my lips.

I shiver.

Not from fear.

From something worse.

His thumb drags up, tracing the curve of my jaw.

I should push him away.

I should move. Should fight.

But I don’t.

His gaze flicks to my lips. His breath is warm, slow, measured.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, his fingers tighten.

He kisses me.

It is not gentle.

Not slow.

It is punishment.

It is possession.

A war without words. His mouth claims, takes, devours.

I bite back. Its gasp. A growl. A clash of lips, of breath, of something more violent than desire.

His hands find my waist, gripping too tight, too rough, too perfect.

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