Page 69 of Wicked Fury

“More like a dark knight,” she corrects, a smirk playing on her lips. “But yeah, you did, and I haven’t forgotten.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I fire back, but her words do something to me, and I take a step away from the wood behind me and it puts me just a bit closer to her.

“Lincoln—”

I don’t let her finish. My mouth crashes onto hers, hungry, demanding. There’s no grace here, just raw need, and she tastes like rebellion and redemption all rolled into one. Her fingers claw at my back, pulling me closer, as if she could crawl inside my skin and see the turmoil that rages there.

“God, angel,” I murmur against her lips, and she shivers under my touch, her body speaking a language that words never could.

“Linc,” she whispers against my lips, a plea and a warning all at once as I grip the silky strands of her hair in my right hand.

“More. I fucking need more,” I grunt. My free hand roams over her body, tracing the curves that haunt my dreams. Each moan from her is a victory, each shiver a testament to the heat we generate—the kind that could burn down this entire damned house.

“Lincoln,” she gasps, breaking away just enough to drag air into her lungs. Her eyes are darkness in the moonlight, deep and wild. “What are we doing?”

“Exactly what we need to,” I rasp, my voice thick with need. The restraint I had is shredding, threadbare, as I pull her closer, craving the heat of her skin against mine. Her scent envelops me, sweet and intoxicating, like the headiest liquor.

I walk us backward until my knees hit the edge of the bed, and I sink down on it without breaking our mouths apart. My hands roam her back, tracing the curve of her spine before guiding her to stand between my spread legs.

“Straddle me,” I command, my tone leaving no room for argument. Yet, Iris hesitates—a deer caught in headlights, her breath hitching. For a heartbeat, she’s still, then she shoves at my chest.

“Going soft on me, Blackwood?” she teases, a smile playing on those full lips that I’ve become addicted to.

“Never,” I growl, grabbing her wrists and pulling her down onto me. My words are a promise, a challenge, as I guide her hips to straddle me. The sensation of her weight on me is grounding yet somehow sending me spiraling all at once.

“Prove it,” she challenges, her voice laced with sass and that hint of vulnerability she hides so well.

“Challenge accepted,” I whisper against her neck, nipping the sensitive skin there. Every arch of her body, every sharp intake of breath, she’s under my skin, in my blood, and I’m hell-bent on showing her how much more than soft I can be.

A dark knight for a fallen angel. Match made in hell.

The smirk on Iris’ lips doesn’t reach her eyes, and that tells me everything. It’s like she’s waiting for the storm, bracing against what she thinks I’m about to unleash. But what she doesn’t realize is that I’m not just the chaos—I can be her calm too. Her hands against my chest are meant to push, to create distance, but all they do is pull me in deeper.

“Lincoln,” she breathes out, a mix of caution and anticipation lacing her voice.

“Easy, angel,” I murmur, holding her eyes, intense and unyielding. “You think I don’t know you’re scared? But I’m not here to play predator. Well, not tonight at least.” My hands leave her wrists, shifting to cradle her jaw, thumbs brushing over those full lips that spout harshness as easily as they whisper secrets.

She looks at me then, really looks at me. “You can bait me all you want, baby,” I tell her, words low and rough, “but tonight, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m gonna take my fucking time learning everything that makes your body twitch.”

Iris shivers, and it’s not from the cold. It’s the thrill, the promise. The air between us crackles, charged with a desire so thick I could choke on it.

“Lincoln…” Her voice wavers, caught in the web of yearning I weave around us.

“Shh, just feel,” I instruct, sliding one hand down her back to rest at the small of her spine, while the other traces the outline of her nipple piercing through her shirt. “Feel every touch, every breath. Memorize it.”

“God, you’re too much,” she moans, and the sound spurns me on.

“Only for you,” I confess, my mouth finding the column of her neck, tasting the salt and sweetness that is uniquely Iris. I suckle at the tender flesh, eliciting gasps and a gentle grinding of her hips against mine. Every move she makes, every little noise is mine.

“Lincoln, I—” Her protest dies on her lips as I capture them with mine once again, swallowing her words, devouring her doubt. The kiss is a promise, a quiet vow that tonight, I’ll worship every inch of her with the reverence it deserves.

“Let go, Iris,” I coax, pulling back to stare into her eyes. “You’ll feel it, Iris—every look, every touch. I’ll worship at the altar of your body until you’re breathless, until you’re begging for more.”

“God, Lincoln, when you talk like that…” Iris trails off, biting that full lower lip of hers, and damn if it doesn’t send a jolt straight to my core.

“Like what? Like someone who knows exactly how to make you unravel?” I tease, my voice a whisper of dark promises. “Because I do, Iris. And I will.”

Chapter 29

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