Page 189 of A Tribute of Fire

He kissed me like he hadn’t eaten in months and I was a table laden with all of his favorite foods. He devoured me. His lips were rhythmic, smooth, insistent while also being all consuming.

I was lost in kissing him, a flame blazing, radiating heat and pleasure but without being burned.

That wasn’t accurate. Because I was burning for him—every part of me he touched, he scalded. I was afraid that no part of my body would feel like my own again. That it would always be a place that Jason had touched or caressed or kissed, because I could feel him all over me. Even when his hands and fingers moved to a new spot, that phantom imprint stayed behind.

Like he was touching me everywhere all at once.

“You feel like magic,” I said into his mouth.

He stopped kissing me long enough to say, “So do you.”

I shook my head. “I’m just an ordinary woman.”

That reverent look was back in his eyes, and he said in a rough, fire-inducing voice, “Lia, there is absolutely nothing ordinary about you.”

I pulled the back of his neck down toward me so that I could kiss him, show him what his words meant to me. As he’d predicted, our fires burned together, lighting up the room and my soul.

“Did you still want to see me?” he asked suddenly, surprising me.

“What?” I was confused, disoriented.

Up until the moment he reached up and undid his shoulder pin with one hand. His blue tunic fell to his waist, where his belt kept the rest of it in place.

Had I asked for this? I didn’t remember doing so.

I had in my dreams. But how would he know that?

He kissed me again and I forgot my question, forgot my own name.

His skin was warm and I pushed my hands against him, backing up. I wanted to see him and touch him.

I let out a small sigh. His chest was so perfect that it should have been taken to the nearest statue maker so that they could create a moldfrom it. I planned on doing what he’d suggested earlier—I was going to explore him with my fingers and mouth and tongue.

I mapped out the topography of his torso, so very different from my own. Fascinated, I ran my fingertips along his muscles, rewarded with his sharp intakes of breath. Those muscles quivered and then hardened under my touch.

I always felt at a bit of a disadvantage in our encounters, his experience so evident and my lack of it just as glaring. But this was making me feel like I had the power. As if I could have him on his knees, begging for my touch and my kiss.

That he wanted me every bit as much as I wanted him.

It emboldened me. I ducked my head to kiss his stomach, letting my tongue flick out to taste him there. He made a sound so guttural that it was like it had been ripped from deep in his chest.

I felt his hand at the back of my head, massaging it and holding me against him at the same time. Just like in the dream I’d had of this moment. I kissed my way up, brushing my lips against his skin. There was so much strength under this warm softness.

His fingers curled into my hair and he pulled my mouth to his, his kiss raw with need and desire. He kissed me with a thoroughness, a ruthlessness, that made me want to collapse to the floor.

Were it not for the arm he had clamped around my waist, I probably would have.

He tore his lips away. “Do you want more?”

I only partially understood what he was asking but it didn’t change my answer. “Yes.”

He bent down, reaching an arm under my knees, and swept me off my feet. Surprised, I wrapped both of my arms around his neck. He carried me against his chest and I asked, “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to bed.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

In my dreams he had to beg me to change my mind, to give in, to yield, but that wasn’t happening now.

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