Page 42 of Brutal Crown
“No one chooses to die.”
“No.” Marco brushes a loose strand of hair from my face. “But he chose to break the rules. And in our world, that’s the same thing.”
My chest is heaving. My skin is burning. “I should hate you.”
“Then hate me.” He grabs my face, not roughly, but with intention. “Hate me and let me feel it. You came out here like a storm, ready to confront me. But look at you…”
He presses closer, chest against mine, heat and danger radiating off him.
“You’re trembling. And you’restillletting me touch you.”
I want to pull away, I should pull away. But somehow, I don’t. The warmth of his body draws me in against my will, as if my mind and body are at war.This is the only way to forget him. To forget Francesco.
The tension snaps like a live wire between us. Then he kisses me, and I shatter.
It’s hard. Deep. Like a punishment.
My fists pound against his chest, but then they curl into his shirt as I drag him closer. I hate them all—I hate him—but my lips part for him like they’ve forgotten how to fight back.
His mouth moves over mine roughly, desperately. A collision of lust and punishment. His kiss devours like he’s trying to erase my questions, my rebellion,me.
And for a terrifying second, I let him. I kiss him back like I’m trying to forget the blood, the ring, the oath in my father’s journal.
But even as Marco pulls me deeper into the kiss, my thoughts flash back—Francesco.His kiss, the way his mouth haunted mine, the way he burned into me with the same dangerous intensity. I try to push it away, try to bury it, but I can’t.
So I don’t stop Marco when he slides his hands down my hips, his mouth sucking on my lower lip as he digs his fingers into my flesh. I slide my hands to his back, keeping him close to me. One part of me wants to stop him.
The other clingsto him like maybe this—maybe letting him consume me—is the only way to forget Francesco.
The cold breeze brushes against my skin as he lifts the skirt of my uniform. His hands wander beneath it, caressing, searching…
I pull back with a gasp when his hands almost reach my heat.
“Marco,” I gasp, pushing at his chest. “Don’t.”
I’m struggling to catch my breath, confusion swirling through my head and making me dizzy. The kiss—it was supposed to help. To erase the memory of Francesco, to give me control back. But it’s only made it worse.
His eyes glint as he smiles, but his hands drop from my body.
“Next time,” he whispers, “you’ll beg me not to stop.”
He says it like he’s so sure there’ll be a next time. He steps back, his control restored like a mask slipping back into place.
“You should get some rest. Sleep tight,Stellina.”
With that flirty wink of his, he turns around and walks away.
I remain there for a few more seconds, still shaking and disgusted with myself. Not just for what he did, but for how much of meallowedit to happen.
Then I feel it.
That prickling heat at the back of my neck.
I don’t need to look up to know.
Francesco.
I raise my eyes to the balcony. My heart rate accelerates with several thoughts swirling through my head. I’m expecting to meet his heated, angry gaze, but he’s gone.
