Page 92 of Curse of Darkness
Two words, rough with longing, and my mind conjures the way he kissed me last night. The sensation of his tongue stroking over mine, and the hot kiss of his breath on my damp skin as he consumed me.
“Make me wet with merely a look. It’s the coat,” I whisper, brushing my palms against it. “Definitely the coat.”
“It’s not the coat,” he growls.
His lashes flutter against his cheek as he leans down, brushing the faintest of kisses against my mouth. I can’t stop my hand from sliding up that sumptuous velvet and fisting in his collar as I yield to his claim.
It makes me want to strip myself bare—or better yet, for him to demand I do so in that soft, dangerous voice.
But not him.
I want him fully dressed, the velvet a slick glide against my heated skin.
I want him to press me against this wall, the cool brickwork imprinting itself on my nakedness while he uses that hard, warrior-born body to take me from behind.
The back of his knuckles brush against my gown, running over the rigid curve of my nipple. “And imagine what I could do with more than a look.”
This time, it’s not the vine curling up my calf, but the caress of invisible fingers. One of his many gifts.
I lean into him, mouth parting pliantly as he captures it in a heated kiss. His tongue moves in slow curls, stroking against mine. Hands slide over my ass, hauling me against him and crushing my skirts between us.
The unspoken need of his lights a fire in my veins.
“I can feel you,” he whispers as I open to him, body and soul. “In here.” One hand splays over his heart. “It’s the only thing that grounds me.”
I can feel it too, fluttering within my chest, binding me to him.
Destiny.
Fate.
All that Maia promised on that long-ago night when she showed him my face.
“I want to feel you”—I breathe into his mouth, brushing my knuckles against the straining leather that guards his cock—“inside me.”
Curling a hand up my throat, he captures my chin and pushes me back, back, against the nearest brick wall. The other hand pins my right wrist to the wall, his knee driving between my legs.
And those invisible fingers stroke between my thighs, tracing slick circles over my skin.
Thiago stares into my eyes, daring me to say something about it.
I can’t breathe, the tension within me knotting tighter as that touch strokes higher. It’s a whisper of a caress. A tease. A possibility. It’s torture and pleasure, all entwined with exquisite desperation.
I break first. I always break first. “Please.”
“You belong to me,” he breathes, the exhalation of his breath casting dampness across my exposed collarbone as he nuzzles into the side of my throat. “Mine, Vi.Mine. For all eternity.”
“Always.” I can’t bear it. I have to close my eyes, desperate to give into his touch. The knot between my leg’s throbs with need.
There.
A silken lash right between my thighs. Such exquisite control and precision. Sometimes I hate him for that. That he can ruin me in such moments with barely a hint he feels the same chaos. Gooseflesh prickles across my skin, the nerves in that little bundle screaming for more. I can’t stop myself from undulating against him.
“I love watching your face,” he whispers, painting sharp nips down my throat and lower. “You’re so fucking expressive.”
“And you, not at all.” I fight against the firm hand pinning me to the bricks, until he’s forced to grasp my thigh with his other hand, firm fingers splaying me wide with bruising force.
Our eyes meet.
