Page 41 of Her Manticore Master
“You’re just sitting there, acting like this hellhole doesn’t touch you.”
“Want me to pace with you, vixen? We’d rip each other apart in this box.”
The image of us circling, claws out, sparks a dark thrill low in my belly. “Maybe we should.”
“Should what?”
“Fight. End this twisted game we’re playing.”
“Is that what you want, Corrina?” His eyes glint, daring me to cross the line.
“I want…” I falter, because admitting the truth means giving ground, and I’ll be damned if I let this beast win our war. Not yet.
“What do you want?” His voice is rough, a challenge that makes my pulse race.
Something inside me snaps. I cross the cell in three strides, slamming my palms against the stone above his shoulders, caging him in. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t feel this,” I hiss, close enough to smell the sweat and blood on him, to see the gold flecks in his eyes. “Stop acting like you don’t want to fuck me until I scream.”
“Feel what?” he taunts, but his pupils betray him, blown wide with hunger.
“This.” I gesture between us, my hand slicing the air. “This fire that makes my cunt throb every time you’re near, and I know you feel it too, you filthy beast.”
“Liar,” he growls, but there’s no weight behind it, only heat. “You think I want a spoiled harem girl who plays games with me?”
“Oh, please.” I lean closer, my breath hot against his jaw. “You want me to impale myself on that dirty cock of yours. You want me to ride you until you’re begging for mercy. Admit it.”
“Careful, Corrina,” he warns, voice low and dangerous, like a blade drawn slow. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Good. I want to burn. And I want to make you burn first.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Don’t I?” I press closer, my breasts brushing his chest through the thin tunic, feeling the hard muscle beneath. “I’m asking you to stop being a coward. To admit you’re just a horny beast who can’t stop thinking about me owning you.”
His hands seize my wrists, grip bruising, but he doesn’t push me away. “You think I’m a coward?”
“I think you’re terrified I’ll make you my bitch before you break me.”
The words hit like a lash, and his eyes flash feral, his grip tightening until it stings deliciously. “Don’t call yourself a whore.”
“Why not? It’s what I am. And it’s what makes you hard, isn’t it? The thought of defiling me until I’m screaming your name.”
“You’re not a whore to me.” The admission slips out, raw and unguarded, cracking the walls between us like brittle stone.
“Then what am I?” I demand, voice a low hiss.
“Dangerous. A sharp-tongued vixen who needs to be put in her place.”
“Good.”
I surge up and capture his mouth, the kiss a brutal clash of teeth and tongue, a war of hunger and hate. He freezes for a heartbeat, then responds with savage intensity, his hands fisting in my hair to yank my head back, his tongue thrusting like he’s already fucking me. It’s not a kiss—it’s a battle, and I bite his lip hard enough to taste blood.
“This is madness,” he growls, nipping my jaw, leaving a sting that makes me gasp.
“Yes.”
“We’ll regret it.”
“Not before I make you beg, beast.”
