Page 5 of Fire Kissed
The lock to my cell is wrenched off with one harsh twist of his wrist. My legs kick against the flooring to stand, to hunch, to gain any sort of defensive stance against the hellish warrior clawing his way into my space. But I’m not fast enough.
His big body is on top of me in less than a second. His palms slam my hands into the blankets, and he shakes as he looks down on me with reckless, fiery rage.
“I amnotone of them.” His teeth clench against trembling words.
Time snaps between us like an electric current fused with too much power. I shift slightly beneath the weight of his chest. His hips. His thighs. I’m stretched out and vulnerable beneath the strongest man I’ve ever met. Every part of me is his for the taking.
How does he still make me feel so much sexual frustration among so much irate frustration?
“Yeah.” I breathe out on a shuddering exhale. “You really look like the good guy right now.”
Sudden awareness shadows across his face, and he looks down on me with enough tormented regret swimming in his eyes to drown me alive. Why is he like this? Why?
His hold on my wrists loosens, and he leans back from me little by little until he’s scrambling away.
But I can’t help but grab his hand once more. The callous feel of his palm in mine is hot but not enough to melt away the mixture of hurt and anguish that’s between us.
“Tell me...” I don’t even know. But I can’t stop from wanting to understand him. “Tell me something you shouldn’t,” I whisper quietly, but it’s enough to still pain my throat to speak.
“Something I shouldn’t?” His brows lift high with an exhale that carries on for so long, it makes me realize he clearly has a long list of secrets. “I—”
I hang on his every unspoken word. My arm brushes his as I lean in even closer. His gaze drops to our hands still held between us in the little mound of blankets.
“I—” Just when I think he’ll explain things about Hela or my mother or even himself... he says something else instead. “I hate this cell. It’s too cramped. Can’t even sit up straight. The floor’s cold.” I’m left speechless as he drops my hand with a lifeless flop and crawls back out the way he came, leaving me with a gaping mouth and a swift view of his ass.
That’s... that’s it?
I ask him to tell me something I don’t know, and he describes the sensory appeal of my own cage to me?
I am well a-fucking-ware.
Then he squats down at the open cell door. “Come on. Out.” He nods his head with a quick and impatient gesture.
I peer at him and then the few feet of space between us like it might swallow me up if I dare to touch it. Hesitantly, I, too, crawl toward the door. But like a defensive animal, I slow my pace when I get nearer to him.
It’s not a trick. He isn’t that cruel. I don’t think.
No, I’m sure. As much as he constantly shows me the darkest parts of him, I’ve seen the other side. The lighter side.
The good side.
I shift carefully past him and stand on unsteady feet. My knees ache to give out as they always do when he lets me out. Stiffly, I roll my shoulders, lifting my arms high above my head to stretch them this way and then that.
When my eyes open from relishing in the feel of unrestrained bliss, I find him watching me with a roaming gaze. It drifts from the high slit of yesterday’s dress to the sheer cloth that covers my stomach, the tight material pressing across my breasts, to my lips, and finally, to my questioning eyes.
The rumbling of noise as he clears his throat breaks our locked attention.
“I have to go to her. I want you to enjoy the room for the day. Take a long bath, knit, or read a book, or whatever it is women like to do when they have free time.” He lifts his hand vaguely to the shelves lining one wall.
Knit? He thinks I like to knit?
I pause and tread lightly at this newfound freedom. But ultimately, I ask anyway.
“Can I see my mother?”
“No,” he answers flatly.
“Ca—”
