Page 59 of Cursed Shadows 1

But I forget them quickly.

In one fluid move, he kicks back and stands over me again.

He leaves me to get up myself, no offered hand of help from the dark one who watches me like a tense predator ready to strike. Agile, I flip onto my feet, as though to show him I’m no fighter but I’m not entirely useless, and rise.

He doesn’t step away or move for me. Head still tilted slightly, he waits, and there’s no trace of a smirk or a smile on those kissable lips.

No one speaks or growls or laughs now.

If the tension was thick before, it’s suffocating now.

A taste.

I’ll give you a taste.

One you won’t forget.

I reach up for him. My hands cup his cheeks tenderly. His lashes flutter and I’m certain I hear the slightest sweep of a breath utter from his mouth.

Then my grip tightens.

A smile splits my face as I draw his face down, guide him closer to me. I push up on the tips of my toes.

He must think I’m about to kiss him. All the fae watching must expect that from me—but then I shift my thumb from his cheek to his bottom lip, and I add pressure.

A slight crease forms between his brows. He lets me guide his bottom lip downwards, a gentle prying of his lips until there’s just enough space to stick my thumb into his mouth.

But to let him merely taste my thumb would be too easy, and not enough of an impact. I want him to remember this—remember me—for the rest of his life.

I amthathalfling, dark one.

First, I mirror his parted lips with my own. So close together, the tips of our noses touch. Even that has my core on fire. I feel the wetness gather between my legs. But I don’t let anything deter me.

Our gazes hooked, I do it—

I give him that taste.

A small, littlespit…right into his mouth.

A heartbeat of silence passes.

Then laughter rips through the dark fae. Between the roars of laughter, I pick up on feral sounds of desperation, of lust and need. I feel more than hear the snarls from the light ones.

But it’s Daxeel that has my full attention. It’s the sharp breath he takes, the ripple of tension through his body—and most of all,the sudden lean onto his right leg, as though he nearly lost his balance and dropped to the ground for me.

I step back and eye him over.

Still, he towers over me and he’s utterly motionless. I don’t think of shadows now, like I thought of before. I think of statues, like he’s forcing himself into a rigid stone sculpture, like he needs to do that, be frozen in this moment with me.

My tone is slick with my own desire, “Did you like your prize?”

He’s silent, there is no answer he gives me, and I don’t need one, not when his eyes burn into me with the need I stirred in him.

I’ve shattered the illusion of his victory, I’ve stolen it right from under him.

Did you win this round, dark one?

Because I feel every bit the victor here.

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