Page 59 of Fall
When Iris Kitson was expunged from the planet, a newer version was born from her misfortune. A stronger woman prepared to fight for her life without regret. I didn’t give in to the man who trapped me with invisible bars, I granted him permission. And in a twisted tale of fate, it turns out I would kill for him too.
I am equally as savage as he is now.
We are matched in ferocity and loyalty.
On reflection, my brutality is the awful thing I should be afraid of, not the furnace stoking in his eyes.
The seething temper he unleashes with daggered words and bloodied hands doesn’t terrify me as it should. His expression transcribes a different story. He appears lost, confused, torn up by death or worry. Hungry as a wolf and ready to snap the threads holding my dress together.
Haphazard inky hair hangs over his sun kissed forehead. Forest green eyes glint as if they are trapped beneath a menacing mask craving an escape. Sweat glistens on his torso as every glorious muscle flexes and contracts. For the first time since I’ve been here, I feel sorry for him.
He’s unbalanced and untamed, losing a grip of self-control.
My cruor spattered fingers clamp around his rigid wrists. We both have blood on our hands now––we both share common ground. It’s at this moment, hemmed in by the natural world, that I understand him. Our eyes lock. The intensity of horrifying events bleeds out before us. All I want is forgiveness and a ticket home, but all I crave is a deeper connection with him.
“What have you done to me?” I choke out, staving a sob.
His eyelids squeeze shut, and he groans. “None of this was supposed to happen. I didn’t want you here.” His voice breaks under the weight of resentment.
From the very beginning, neither of us could fathom the fierce attraction blooming into an exotic flower. Kindling sparks of discovery quickly gusted through our lives like wildfire, leaving us both in the embers of loneliness when we parted ways. Miguel wasn’t a threat to Dante’s domain—he was a potential threat to me. No one else. Dante had the situation under control.
Until I showed up.
Guards were instructed to protect me. To kill for me.
He cares.
I care.
Urgent lust crackles in the air. The anger vibrating from him seems toxic. Cruel. Nothing how I imagine a reunion of two lovers would be. Shade covers us like moving clouds. Sunlight speckles the wet ground underfoot, illuminating pale leaves like lanterns.
“What would have happened if his gun was loaded, after all. Miguel wouldn’t think twice about shooting a woman, beija flor,” he hisses at me. “He pointed it right at you. Right here.” His hand shoots between us, and he spreads his palm over my belly button. “Why don’t you ever listen?”
His expression is crazed as if I’ve shoved him closer to the fiery gates of Hades with no promise of a return.
My throat starts to close from the lumps of regret wedged behind a sob. I stare up at him, blinking in his wild beauty. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving? That I’d never see you again. Did you think fucking me was an appropriate way to say goodbye? I deserve better than that. I deserve your honesty.”
A hand finds its way to my bare thigh. Torturous fingers glide higher. “You enjoyed it,” he grits out, sliding his other hand behind my neck. “Admit it. It was the best way to end things between us. Fucking is what we do best.”
My viperous temper bursts into flames. I drop his wrist so my hand can sail through the air and slap him across the face. The noise slices through the understory louder than the crack of a whip. He freezes. For a second, his eyes flash like I’ve managed to break his rotten mood. Until he blinks, and his jaw muscles work.
The light contact beneath my dress vanishes. He brings up his hand and slaps me back. It’s not hard, or vicious, more of a light warning tap with his fingertips. Directing his forefinger at my face, he draws in a slow breath before speaking. “You’re not in charge, beija flor. I’ve a good mind to smack your ass for being so goddamn insolent.”
I’m defected. Deranged. Wet with anticipation. I would have blushed before or even argued that rough sex was not a turn on. Yet now, I’m burning up for it. For him. He’s demanding and controlling, but never physically abusive. Truth be told, I’ve never been ravenous for filthy intimacy until I met this ferocious man.
I shudder when his boorish hand returns to my thigh, and he traces the seam of my panties. His full masculine weight pins me to the tree trunk. Hungry fingers glide over the material protecting my decency, causing me to groan with anticipation. My skin prickles with a thousand promises of satisfaction.
The wait for pleasure ends when his lips smash onto mine. He kisses me hard. It’s salty, voracious and wickedly hot. I kiss him back, ploughing my fingers into his sweat damp hair and curling the lengths in fists. The blistering heat radiating off his neck feels like sunshine in paradise.
He breaks away, buries his face in the spirals hanging by my cheek and whispers close to my ear. “I jerked off thinking about you every night,” he confesses on a growl. “Every single night you were here.” His teeth nip my earlobe, and fireworks explode. “While you slept. While you lathered up your tits in the shower. While you laid on your bed and finger fucked yourself.” The rhythm of my heart beats out of time. His husky voice, on the edge of reason, fires up my veins ready for combustion. “Who did you think about?”
“You.” I fumble with the buttons on his combat pants.
“Right answer, beija flor. It’s always been about you. From the very first time I set eyes on you to the second that bastard pointed a gun at your belly. I would have torn out his throat with my bare hands to save you.”
He kisses me again, only this time, he nearly chokes me when his tongue drives deep into my throat. Coarse hairs on his face scratch my chin. We’ve kissed before, but not like this—not with reciprocated violence. Teeth, spittle, tongues and growling vibrations. I’m shaking with adrenaline. He controls my every breath as he ravages my mouth.
My hands roam over his red-hot flesh, and my nails trail over his muscular shoulders. His brittle anger morphs to fluid passion. He pours a rainbow of emotions into the kiss. Shooting stars collide and explode with excitement.
