Page 34 of Forbidden Empire
This was the same old routine: we’d dance, we’d burn, and it would all go to hell.
So I tried to bury the feelings. Let my body take over, shut everything else out.
Fine, I thought.
I’d fuck him, just once more.
Let him inside me. Watch him fall apart. See the look on his face when he came.
And then? I’d vanish.
Smoke, gone before the sheets even cooled. He’d wake up and wonder if I’d ever been there at all.
Like I always said I would.
Six
ESME
His mouth crashed over mine like a man who’d been waiting his whole life to do it, tongue hungry, lips hard, no hesitation. Each slide of his tongue felt like he was staking a claim, every press of his mouth another inch of ground taken.
I’d thought I’d put up a fight. Instead, my whole body just…melted. The heat pooled low in my core, spreading so fast it made my head spin.
Yeah, my hips were the first to betray me. I rolled up against him, right into the thick, demanding pressure of him, chasing friction I’d promised myself I wouldn’t want.
Gravity? Gone. The world spun out. My lungs burned.
I needed air, but I needed him more.
He let go of my wrists, and I thought I’d be relieved, but nope. If anything, it just made the need worse, even more so when his arm clamped around my waist, like he couldn’t trust me not to run.
Spoiler: I wasn’t going anywhere.
I could have stopped this. I chose not to. It was about choice, not surrender.
So I kissed him back. Hard. My tongue met his, and there was blood, whiskey, and something else sharp and wild between us. His fingers found my hair, yanked hard at the nape until pain zapped right through my scalp, so strong my head snapped back.
My throat was wide open, and I made this sound that was half gasp, half moan, all desperation.
He refused to let up. His tongue dove deeper, taking everything, like he could own me from the inside. Every stroke was a jolt, lighting up nerves I never knew existed.
I clawed at his back, fingers curling through his shirt, nails digging down because I needed something solid or I was going to fall apart.
He let go of my hair and slid his hands down my body, palms rough on my thighs and fingers gripping my ass hard enough to bruise. He lifted me like I weighed nothing.
My stomach shot into my throat. I held on for dear life, but he couldn’t have cared less; he carried me those last few steps and then tossed me onto the bed like it was the one place I belonged.
The impact knocked the breath straight out of me, mattress springs screeching like they were as startled as I was.
My dress twisted up, caught around my hips, leaving nothing but the lacy edge of my underwear.
He noticed, of course. His gaze flicked there and lingered, patient and predatory, like he was waiting for me to cave.
He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling, his shirt clinging to every muscle as he tensed up.
Dried blood streaked from his split lip, stark and red.
I should’ve been scared. That was the sane reaction, but my thighs were shaking for a whole different reason.
