Page 104 of The Darkest Chase

Micah Ainsley isn’t a night-creature who can pierce my flesh smoothly with razor teeth and make me love the pain.

He’s a real man, holding tight and trembling in a way that feels so powerful.

I love how just touching me makes him react—and he’s touching me like a real man, kissing me like a real man, delivering pleasure with his teeth the way only a real man can.

Still, I don’t expect it when he bites me again, this time a little harder.

Again and again, he’s covering my neck with hot rings, only for gravity to upend itself as he tumbles me down on my bed.

I fall on my back, gasping, but he’s already covering me with his body.

He fits between my legs, weighing me down with hard muscle.

His hands grasp my thighs and his hips rock down hard into mine, stroking between my thighs with the full pressure of his body.

A fire burst washes through me.

And just as he twists his hips to grind, to tease, to ruin me, he bites me again.

Lust imprinting my skin.

A fever burning us both down.

I dig my fingers into his hair and toss my head back, writhing under him, completely trapped and yet God, I don’t want to escape.

Not now.

Not ever.

If Micah is a monster, I’m his willing captive.

But as his teeth hold on, I scream, hugging my thighs against his hips and digging my fingers into his shoulders.

He pulls back, leaving my neck throbbing.

He breathes harshly, staring at my throat, his thumb grazing over the pulsing spot on my skin before those feral eyes flick to my face.

“Too much?” he asks, husky and gritty. “Did I scare you?”

“No.” I shake my head quickly, reaching up to touch my trembling fingers to his lips.

It’s hard to speak.

Not because I’m afraid, but because I’m overwhelmed.

“I couldn’t be scared of you, Micah. Never. It just startled me, but… it felt good.” It takes all my courage to say that out loud.

His lips curl faintly under my touch.

“So, there really is a little wild thing under all the pink,” he whispers.

“Show me how wild I can be,” I whisper back. “And then, next time, show me more.”

Next time.

Part of me wants reassurance that there’ll be a next time.

That he’s as caught up in this as I am, this madness that feels like a spell. But that small, eager smile is all he gives as he kisses my fingertips.

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