Page 117 of Emylia

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he growled, just as my lips parted.

Damn him.

He fixed me with those eyes—liquid midnight, wild and endless–while his fingers traced up my arms to my face, his touch featherlight but anchoring. It took everything in me not to melt into it.

“Are you sure you want this?” Reckless hunger rippled off him, a violent kind of stillness that could break a lesser girl apart.

But I wasn’t a lesser girl.

I felt the heat of him pressed against me, every inch of my body aware of his—of the danger, the temptation, the promise of something I might not come back from. His warmth coiled around me like a noose I didn’t want to escape.

“Yes.” The word left me with no hesitation.

Just need.

Abandon.

Then his lips crashed into mine—devouring, claiming. A kiss that scorched. He trailed down my neck, branding me with each touch. I grabbed his jaw and dragged him back up, letting him taste every inch of the hunger he’d awakened in me.

A moan escaped as he slammed me harder against the wall. His hands gripped my ass and lifted me like I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around his waist, every part of me locked to his.

The first betrayal came in a rush of goosebumps, crawling over my skin like a confession I couldn’t take back. As my head hit the pillow, I was hit with the scent of pine and the sharp tingle of mint on his breath.

This was a bad idea.

No—a catastrophic one.

But I wanted him.

I wanted his weight pressing into me, his body stretched over mine like a promise I had no business craving. I wanted his mouth, his hands, the way his presence burned through me like wildfire.

His body hovered above mine, impossibly sculpted, the rise and fall of his chest steady, dominant. His skin brushed mine—soft but searing—and every nerve lit up like fire racing through kindling.

His hands moved slowly, reverently, trailing fire across my body. When he finally pressed against me, there was no space left. No sanity.

Just him.

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. And yet, I didn’t have the strength—or the will—to stop it.

“Is this okay?” His voice ghosted over my skin.

Gods, that voice. Velvet and danger. I should’ve stopped him. But how could I, when being touched by him felt like the only thing keeping me alive?

Traitor.

My body, my breath, my soul—they were his now.

“Yes. This is perfect.”

Damn it.

I had no self-control left. I wasn’t just playing with fire—I was feeding it. I was letting it devour me.

“Good,” he murmured, a smile in his voice—quiet, triumphant. Like he already knew he had me. Knew I’d beg for more. Like he could feel every inch of control slipping from my grasp and didn’t mind tasting my ruin.

Maalikai sat back and tugged his shirt off. Even in the dim light, I could see the hard lines of his body. A masterpiece carved from war and want.

He leaned in again, caging me beneath him, one forearm braced beside my head, the other trailing fire down my shoulder, fingers slipping beneath the loose neckline of my shirt.

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