Page 190 of A Tribute of Fire

I did not protest. I wanted this. All of him.

Demaratus had taught me that self-control was of the utmost importance. But Jason had obliterated mine.

He laid me gently on the bed, as if I were made of glass. He followed me down, caging me with his arms and body. “If you want to go, you should go now.”

Because we might soon pass a point of no return.

Shaking my head I told him, “I don’t want to leave. I want to be here with you.” I wanted to lie with him, to be naked with him, to find out what happened where all my dreams left off.

When he kissed me again, it was more than just physical passion that I felt. There was an emotion there—a message he was conveying. He kissed me like he didn’t want to ever let go of me.

Like he cared about me.

He reached down to outline my mouth, my cheeks, my jawline, with kisses. He kissed down to my throat, sliding his lips across my neck, and it made my nerves light up like a firefly. Then he was kissing the base of my throat, sucking at my skittering pulse, and fiery sensations glided along my skin, spiraling out from his mouth.

I dug my fingers into his shoulders while he kissed along my collarbone and over to my left shoulder. He pulled at my tunic, wanting access to more of my skin, and I hissed when he brushed against my wound. It was sensitive to touch.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding concerned.

I pulled the tunic away from my shoulder so that he could see. “I was stabbed.”

His eyes darkened, full of fury. “Who do I have to kill?”

Again, his words shouldn’t have excited me, but they did. “We were attacked at the temple. Another acolyte already took care of the man that did it.”

“When was this?” he demanded.

“A few days ago.”

His eyes widened in disbelief. “And you climbed over the wall in this condition?”

“It doesn’t hurt.” And it was the truth. I hadn’t thought of it at all until he’d touched it. “Even if it did, it would be worth the pain to be close to you.”

There was a long pause, an expression in his eyes that I didn’t understand, and then he spoke. “I understand that all too well.”

Before I could ask what he’d meant, he was kissing me again.

The kisses started out tiny, delicate, brushes of his lips against mine. But he built my pleasure the same way my sisters had built a fire. He began with the smaller things, the fleeting touch of his lips on mine, a whisper of his fingertips on my skin, a soft murmur of pleasure, piling them up. Then he ignited them, his touch firm, his lips demanding, until I was blazing and ready to consume everything within reach.

As that pleasure spread through me like warm honey, his kiss continued to smolder and burn. He incinerated whatever doubt I might have still had left. He reached over to knot his fingers in my hair, holding me in place while his tongue moved urgently against mine. His kisses were hot, tangling us together. They burned heavy, like the seal Io had pressed to my shoulder, and I did my best to burn him back.

This was everything—that way that all his attention was focused and intent on only me, how his fingers grasped my flesh, his chest grazing mine. He made me feel like a newly created sword being thrust into a fiery heat, and he would forge me into something new with his kiss and his touch.

Jason was magic, no matter what he’d said. He had created some kind of potion that emanated directly from his skin and lips and I was helpless against it. Like he was a shape-shifting terawolf with a special kind of venom that went into my bloodstream like a sickness, infecting every part of my being. The only solution was to keep kissing him, to touch more of him, to move against him.

As if he were both the cure and the disease.

He gently tugged at my tunic and attached his mouth to a spot of skin that was below my collarbone and just above my breast. He sucked and I felt his teeth as he tugged at the skin. I arched against him, my eyes blurring, fire lancing through me as he marked me.

When he finished he pulled back and surveyed his work. I glanced down and saw my skin had reddened.

“You’re mine,” he told me in a tone that brooked no argument.

“And you’re mine.” I needed to get closer to him. I tugged at him, wanting his body against me.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” I promised. “I’m tough.”

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