Page 127 of A Dance With Fire
Only one thing was certain.
She was a survivor, and she would continue to be one regardless of the circumstances or what fate threw at her. She’d rise from the ashes covered in blood if she had to. But shewouldsurvive.
Her thoughts were interrupted by heavy footfalls against the floor. Shula looked up from her dessert to find Ryker walking into the small room.
He was towel drying his dripping hair, wearing a loose fitted tunic and pants, feet bare of socks and shoes. While the shirt was loose, it still clung to the wet patches of his body. Shula could make out the scars behind the material but tore her attention away when she heard him growl.
His massive body seemed to take up most of the space around them, but really it was his presence that left her drowning.
It was the stare, the way those eyes roved over her figure, seeing something she didn’t,knowingsomething she didn’t. It was a stare that pressed between the thin lines of hatred and desire, and it didn’t matter how many times she tried to expel it from her mind and body; that desireflooded.It consumed.
It also made her angry.
She wasn’t sure when those lines had blurred between them. When things had changed from hatred, to tentative relationship, tothis.There’d always been that strange push and pull. Ever since she smacked into his body, she’d felt something akin to touching pure, raw magic.
It was an all-consuming feeling that made her wonder if hatred and desire stemmed from the same place. She wasn’t sure she could even differentiate between one and the other anymore.
All she knew was his gaze until he was closer. She hadn’t even realized he’d moved until he tossed the towel to the side and stepped in front of her.
Shula’s thighs widened like it was an instinctual thing to let him get this close. But her body demanded what it never had before.
Closeness.
She craved touch just as easily as she pushed it away. Fanny had left a hole in her soul that way, had dared to make Shula feelunlovable.Unworthy of touch and feeling.
But Shulafelt; it echoed in the cavern of her chest, one beat after another. Her fingers trembled against the plate, her throat tightened, and her body seemed to curve towards Ryker as he stepped between her legs, with only the chocolate cake keeping them apart.
“What do you want?” Her tongue felt leaden in her mouth, but the bite she wanted to lace in her words wasn’t there. It came out airy, almost breathless.
Wordlessly, Ryker reached between them and took the plate and spoon. Shula watched with a sort of fascination as he took a bite of chocolate into his mouth and chewed before he set the plate to the side.
Without anything to hide the trembling of her fingers, Shula grabbed the edge of the table as he pressed closer.
His silence somehow made the moment that much more intense. She traced the scars on his face, like puzzle pieces pulling skin together by jagged edges. He was a jagged edge, like a broken shard of glass, and when his chest brushed against hers, for a moment it was like clicking two broken pieces together to form something new and strong and perfectly imperfect.
“Tell me to fuck off,” he whispered, and the way his voice rumbled from his chest to hers had her feeling the sensation down to her core. She ached to rub her thighs together and ease the foreign pressure there, but they were opened, his hips wedged between them.
Sheshouldtell him to fuck off. It only made sense after his angry display at dinner. But somehow Shula knew deep in her mind that those events had been the catalyst to set this off like an explosion.
And all they had to do was burn.
Her hands slid up his chest, where she felt the rising ridges of his scars through the material of his tunic. She traced them with her fingertips, over his hard pecs, his shoulders, ever careful with his wounds, and down to his stomach. The scars were just a testament to howgoodhe was. And how much guilt he carried.
His hooded eyes were on her face, taking in every quiet gasp the more she explored, from the way her own eyes lowered as the pleasure threatened to consume.
“I don’t want to tell you to fuck off, though.” She wasn’t sure where she found the strength to admit that. Somewhere in the energy pulsing around them, maybe. Or maybe just in this moment, as she finally decided to chase away the embarrassment with her own wants.
Ryker’s nostrils flared. His hand reached up, cupping the back of her neck. He bent, merely a whisper away. He didn’t offer her a smile, but an expression that was angry, stern. Like he wanted her as much as she wanted him and hated her for it.
“Hate me,” Shula ordered.
That black eye flared, and then he was devouring her like he meant to do just that. The firm pressure of his lips against hers lasted a single second before he pillaged, his tongue pushing past the seams of her mouth to dive in, demanding, fighting.
He kissed like he argued. Like Shula imagined he fucked.
She responded with an almost desperation, her fingers grasping his shoulders for purchase as she pressed herself closer to him. One hand at the back of her neck, the other went to her hip, his nails digging in as he bent her over with his body, grinding his hips into her molten center.
Fire stirred to life beneath her skin with every press of his skin against hers. His tongue played, dominated like a jailor doling out punishment. Their hearts pounded together.
