Page 158 of Bound to the Dreadlord

The second my lips touch hers, she devours me.

There is no softness in the way she kisses me. No hesitation.

Only fury.

Only need.

Her fingers curl into my hair, pulling, demanding, matching the fire I have always known burns inside her.

And I let her.

I let her take.

I let her consume.

This—this—is what I have always wanted.

Not submission.

Not surrender.

But this. All of her.

Her nails rake down my spine, dragging fire in their wake. My breath stutters, my control slipping beneath the feel of her mouth, her body, the raw want between us.

I back her against the stone wall, caging her in.

But it is not a cage.

She does not yield. She meets me head-on.

She bites my lip, smirking against my mouth when she tastes blood.

“You like this,” she taunts, her voice breathless, wild.

I growl, pressing her harder against the cold stone, my hand wrapped around her throat.

Not to control.

To feel.

To claim.

Gods, she moans as if she was made for this.

For me.

I lift her effortlessly, her body light as a feather in my arms, and carry her through the shadowed chambers.

The air is overflowing with anticipation, the dim light casting flickering patterns on her skin as I lay her down against the heavy furs of my bed. Her hair spills across the fabric like ink, a stark contrast to the pale expanse of her throat, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

She’s watching me. Always gazing at me as if she can see through my soul.

Her gaze is a fire I can’t escape, and I kneel between her parted thighs, my hands sliding up the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the delicate cage of her ribs.

I memorize her like a map, every inch of her a territory I’ve claimed and yet still yearn to conquer.

“Please say it,” I growl, my voice rough, desperate, begging. In between her legs, I’m no ruler.

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