Page 115 of Desperate People

To claim her.

To feel that she’s real, that she’s here, that she’s mine.

So I cross the distance between us in three strides.

No greeting.

No pleasantries.

No lies or excuses.

Just a growl low in my throat as I grab her face and crush my mouth to hers like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.

She gasps into the kiss, and I take that too.

Mine. Every inch of her.

Tongue sweeping into her mouth, hands tangling in her hair, dragging her against me like I’ll die if I don’t.

Because maybe I fucking will.

Because if that snake masquerading as a tiger ever gets too close, if that masked stalker ever comes for her—if she’s hurt, if they try to take her from me—I don’t know what I’d become. What I’d do.

Not true. I know damn well what I’d become, but I don’t even want to entertain the thought.

Because if that day ever comes? Everything will burn.

Lucy makes this sound, this soft, choked moan, and it undoes me.

Pulls the rage right out of my chest and replaces it with heat, need, her.

I lift her—just grab her thighs and pull her up against me, her legs wrapping around my waist on instinct.

Her fingers curl into my hair, and I feel the tension melt from her body as I carry her deeper into our house.

To the table where she must have left the flowers.

Seeing them, sitting there half sticking out of a white florist box, flips a switch inside me.

And I know I’m not quite as in control as I’d like.

Only then do I pull back, just enough to speak.

“Mine,” I whisper against her swollen lips. “You’re mine, Lucy Cruz. And no one—no one—is going to fucking take you from me.”

Her forehead touches mine.

“I only want you, Balor. Only you.”

And she does.

Because the second she opened that door and looked at me like I’m her safe place, like I’m the only thing keeping the wolves at bay, she sealed her fate.

She’s mine.

Forever.

And I’m about to show her what that means.

---