Page 45 of The Vagabond

“That lipstick,” I say, eyes locked on her mouth like it’s a loaded weapon, “doesn’t deserve your lips.”

I step in further, close enough for her perfume to cloud my judgment, close enough to make her pulse stutter.

“They don’t belong to it.” I dip my head, voice razor-sharp now—cutting, claiming, branding. “They belong to me.”

I reach out. Run my thumb across her lower lip—slowly, like I’m wiping away someone else’s fingerprints. Like I’m removing a fucking insult. The smear of lipstick paints my skin pink. And I hold it there, between us. Proof. Possession.

“This—” I say, eyes on her mouth, her trembling lips, her every goddamn inhale, “—is mine. Always has been. Always will be.”

Her breath catches. Her eyes darken. And for a second, just one wild second, I see it—the war inside her. The part of her that wants to run. And the part that wants to stay.

Her eyes flick to mine. Her lips part—barely. Breath shallow. But her eyes? They’re fire.

Saxon,” she breathes, voice shaking.

The way her throat moves when she swallows. I want to mark it. Want to kiss it just to feel her pulse stutter under my mouth.

“I hate that I’ve had to watch every man in that ballroom look at you like they want to ruin you.” I lean in until my mouth brushes her ear. “But I have a newsflash for them, sweetheart. I’m the only man that will have that honor for the rest of your life.”

Her breath catches. She pushes at my chest, but it’s weak. Surreal. She wants this. Wants me.

“You’re crazy,” she hisses.

“Obsessed,” I counter.

“Psycho."

I smile, but there’s nothing nice about it. “I’ve been obsessedsince the moment you looked at me like I was the only hope you had left in the world.”

“You are a monster.”

My hand finds her waist, palm burning against silk and skin.

“And you love monsters, don’t you?”

She opens her mouth to snap back, but I take that second to crash my lips against hers. It’s not gentle or sweet. It’s punishment, and it devours her. I taste that damned lipstick. I suck her bottom lip between my teeth, bite hard enough to make her gasp. Her hands fist in my jacket. One second away from pulling me closer or pushing me off. I don’t know which, and I don’t care. I drag my mouth to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone—leaving streaks of pink behind. Lipstick and lust and madness.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” I growl against her skin. “Not for one second.”

“You’re using me,” she whispers, breath hitching. “You think I can help you end what Kadri started.”

I freeze. My hands tighten on her hips.

“I came back foryou.”

“You left me,” she says, voice cracking.

“I had to. If I stayed, you would’ve died.”

“Then maybe I should’ve.”

I shove back from her like her words are a physical blow to my soul. My jaw clenches, fury and heartbreak boiling under my skin.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

Tears shine in her eyes, but she blinks them away. “You don’t get to play savior, Saxon. You broke me.”

I step back in. Cup her face. My thumb smears the lipstick across her cheek. She’s trembling. So am I. And we’re both bleeding. But I’d rather bleed with her than breathe without her.

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