Page 66 of Tempt

She barely has time to foster another thought before he’s on her, snatching her by the waist and hoisting her against him. “Fuck this,” he growls.

And then his lips smash against hers.

Wonder gasps, or maybe it’s a sob, and maybe he hadn’t been the only one reaching out for an embrace. In that millisecond before he’d captured her, maybe her arms had already risen for him, desperate to repent or surrender, or both.

Whatever craggy sound she makes, it causes her mouth to open, and it causes his mouth to split. And right then, they work in tandem. They slant and fit, their lips clutching. And more grating noises twist out of them, conducive to one another, an entanglement of confusion and fury and guilt and desire.

This pent-up kiss is a lifeline and a punishment. It’s a refuge and an abduction.

It’s hatred and perhaps a seed of the opposite—a perplexing enigma that deities aren’t supposed to feel. Perhaps this is something that hides in a crevice between the past and future, something that has to do with the heart. No matter how broken, somehow that organ still functions—still pounds, pounds, pounds.

Her pulse is utterly alive. It’s wild, slamming from her chest into his.

The tip of Malice’s wet, infuriating tongue flicks the crook of Wonder’s lips. In response, she unfurls under that hungry mouth, spreading for him, for herself, for this. His tongue probes her with swift, frenzied strokes, and her hands rip into his hair, seizing the roots and holding on as though he’s a ledge, as though she’s dangling over a bottomless pit—if she lets go, she’ll fall for eternity.

Then she matches his pace, her own tongue curling, setting a rhythm.

A passionate groan travels from Malice’s throat to hers. It reminds Wonder of elusive heat, an element that’s impossible for them to feel, even though hints writhe along their bodies, emitting thick swatches of air, radiating especially from their groins. The density of it swirls at the center of her thighs, which mash against his.

He’s erect, straining against her navel, and she likes it.

No, she adores it. That she affects him this way incites pride and possessiveness.

What else can she draw from him? What else can she give herself? What else can bodies do for each other?

In how many ways? For how long?

In the throes of ecstasy, does he sound the same as his mortal self? Does it matter?

Consumed by these questions, she gyrates into his body, curves fitting into muscles. Frustrated with everything, with herself, with him, she lets go. Her reservations dissolve, and the books dissolve, and the room dissolves, all of them replaced by his palms roughly claiming her waist, his mouth latching on to hers. She yields to a century and a half of yearning, of wishing things had been different.

When she does, power floods her veins. It soaks her like a tempest to soil.

Malice’s saber nails prick into her sides, which makes her yelp against his lips, which makes him grin into hers. He’s likely poked holes in the nightgown and broken her skin. Though, his attack hadn’t hurt more than a second, with a bolt of pleasure tingling up her spine—flesh prickling from her bare soles to the back of her skull. It had felt good, so incredibly, pertinently good.

How she’d like to bite him for that. So she does, yanking her mouth away and snaring his bottom lip with her teeth, hard enough to draw blood, the copper tang of it leaking across her tongue. There, now they’ve made one another bleed.

They’re even.

As if reading her mind, Malice half-winces, half-sniggers. He grabs her cheeks and takes her lips again, but his amusement alters the slope of his tongue, the tip sliding across the roof of her mouth. It tickles and vexes, a smattering of the two in quick succession.

Oh, stars. She’s kissing him, and he’s kissing her, and it’s nothing like she’d imagined. No, it’s better. The kiss keeps going, and widening, and deepening.

Malice flings his head away from her. They pant for breath, and their hands cling, digging in. His chest heaves while her lungs thrash, gusts of oxygen sawing through her.

His delirious eyes find hers, and he rasps, “Yes or no?”

She’s given himyesafteryestonight. But there’s one more left.

Wonder nods, mouthing her reply, and it’s enough.

Malice walks her backward, striding so fast that her rump bangs into a bookcase, causing the structure to teeter. As it regains balance, he grips her backside and hauls her off the ground.

Her legs bend on either side of his hips, her heels finding purchase on the rim of a shelf, shoving books farther into the recess. A few other titles dislodge and plummet on either side of Wonder and Malice, the ancient texts smacking the floor in clouds of green stardust.

Everlasting Fates! They might have damaged some of the precious volumes!

Wonder feels compelled to reprimand Malice, but then his forehead presses against hers, his irises swallowing her vision. The nightgown bunches up around her. His pelvis rouses the nexus in between her split thighs, the coarse jeans rubbing her sensitive, uncovered flesh, creating a friction that pulls another gasp from her.

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