Page 76 of Wicked Fury

“Always.” I close the distance between us in two strides, my hands finding her waist. “Especially when it comes to you.”

“Lincoln,” she breathes, and it’s all the invitation I need. My chest constricts, every nerve ending aflame with anticipation.

“God, you’re fucking stunning,” I say, my voice barely above a growl.

“Show me,” she counters, stepping closer until I can feel the heat of her body radiating against mine. It’s a command disguised as a plea, and damn if it doesn’t spike my desire even higher.

“Patience,” I tease, though I’m anything but patient. I pull her to me, our bodies colliding with a force that steals my breath. “We’ve got all night.”

“Promise? Sounds…intense.” Her smile matches mine.

“Intense is my specialty,” I retort, the edge in my voice softened by the growing need that coils tight within me, begging for release.

“Show me,” she demands again, her tone commanding, leaving no room for argument—not that I’d even want to disagree with her right now.

“Good things come to those who wait,” I tease, even as every fiber of my being screams at me to take her, claim her as mine right here, right now.

“Fuck waiting,” she counters, and damn if that isn’t the hottest thing I’ve heard all night.

“Let’s make one thing clear, angel,” I say, my words thick with promise as I press her against the nearest wall. “You’re mine. All mine.”

“Prove it.” Her challenge is a red flag to a bull.

“Consider it done,” I growl, my voice a low rumble that fills the room with the sound of impending sin.

“You were mine the night I met you. You were mine when we pretended to hate each other.” I breathe raggedly against my stepsister’s perfect mouth. “You were always meant to be mine, angel.”

“Lincoln,” she pants, her voice a siren song that drowns out any last whisper of restraint.

“Quiet,” I rasp, my words tangling with the adrenaline that courses through me.

“Make me,” Iris retorts, a wicked gleam in her green eyes. She knows exactly what she’s doing, pushing buttons only she has access to now.

I answer her challenge without words, lips crashing on hers, devouring the sass and sarcasm I can’t get enough of. My hands, brash and unapologetic, work at the fabric of her clothes, stripping away the layers between us. There’s a desperation in the way I undress her, a hunger for skin, for contact, that’s got nothing to do with patience or foreplay.

“Fuck, your body is my goddamn playground,” I grunt as her shirt hits the floor, revealing the expanse of her flesh, unburdened by a death contraption called a bra. I spin her around so I can pull her against me but suddenly it’s not just lust—it’s something rawer, darker—that claws its way up my throat as my gaze trips over the crisscrossed scars that mar her otherwise flawless back.

“Shit, angel...” The words catch in my throat, half choked out, a mixture of desire and something akin to anger. Why hadn’t she told me? “Where did these come from?” It’s an accusation as much as a question, but one that hangs suspended in the air between us, unanswered.

She offers no explanation, her silence a barrier that suddenly feels more intimate than any confession. In this moment, I’m reading a story written on her skin—a tale of pain that she’s chosen to keep silent, but now I’m privy to the secret chapters etched into her flesh.

“Doesn’t matter right now, but one day you’ll tell me,” I say finally, dismissing my own curiosity because right now, there’s only this—her body yielding beneath my touch, the scent of her arousal mingling with mine, the undeniable truth that whatever her past holds, it’s brought her here to me.

“Shower,” I growl, steering her toward the glass enclosure. The scars don’t diminish her; if anything, they add to the complexity of her. She really is my godforsaken fallen angel. And I’m determined to unravel everything, starting with the taste of her skin. I reach in and turn it on and allow it to heat up. I don’t need a cold shower killing my erection right now. While we wait, I tug her panties down, leaving her completely naked to my eye. I can’t help but rove over every inch of her, looking for anything else I may have missed.

I’ve spent far too long rushing with her and right now I’m realizing the error of my ways. I should have seen it sooner. I back up just enough and she turns to watch me undress myself. Reaching behind me, I grab the back of my shirt, roughly pulling it over my head and tossing it to the side. The way her eyes dilate at the move is the exact reason I did it. It turns her on when I act like a fuck boy. Stepping out of my pants and boxers just as quickly as I pulled hers down has us both bare. My cock bobs, smacking against my lower abs and I watch as her cute tongue pokes out between her lips as the silver in her nipples begs for my attention.

The steam billows around us like a living thing as I usher Iris into the shower, the hot spray raining down on our bare skin. My heart hammers against my ribs, blood roaring in my ears. It’s not just raw desire; it’s something feral, something primal that tightens its grip on me with every droplet that slides over her skin.

“Fuck,” I hiss as the water trails down my back, all heat and pressure. The steam clouds my vision, but I don’t need clarity to feel her.

“Hot enough for you?” she teases, her voice sultry, almost drowned out by the cascade of water.

“Well, we have to have it scalding for you, angel,” I shoot back, smirking despite the tightness in my chest.

The water’s touch is almost a caress, amplifying every sensation. I watch rivulets carve paths over her collarbone, down the valley between her breasts, and I’m struck by an overwhelming need to follow their journey with my mouth.

“Lincoln...” Her voice is a soft moan now, weaving through the steam, pulling me from my trance.

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