Page 48 of Tarnished Reign

He clears his throat and lifts me from his lap.

“We should take a look at these papers.” He bends and begins to pick them up.

My heart seizes in my chest, and I stare at him in dismay. Maybe the kiss didn't mean anything to him. Or worse… Perhaps it was bad for him. Just because it was a seismic moment for me, tearing new fault lines in my soul, doesn't mean it was the same for him.

After all, I don't know what I'm doing. I might be the world's worst kisser. I haven’t had that much practice. Not with a man at any rate. My kisses have always been with boys of my own age.

“I'm sorry,” I say softly.

He turns to look at me, his dark brows raised in surprise. “What are you sorry for?”

“That maybe, I'm a bad kisser?”

He looks at me, and the moment stretches into something agonizing. There's a battle raging in his eyes that I don't understand. He scratches at his heavy stubble and seems to make a decision.

“You're not a bad kisser, Adriana,” he says. “It was the best fucking kiss of my entire life.”

An adrenaline rush of sugar-filled joy races through me. It wasn't just me. He felt it too.

“So what's the problem?” I ask.

He’s gathered all the papers now and sets them on the table. “The problem, Adriana, is that I want things from you I'm not sure you're ready to give. The problem is, that I'm feeling things I don't normally feel.”

“Love?” I ask. I immediately regret the question. What a stupid thing to ask. My cheeks flush hot, and I wish I could take it back.

“No, not love. Darker things.”

“Like?” I suck in a breath, and his gaze drops to my heaving chest, my hard nipples rubbing against the cotton of his T-shirt. The one I stole to cover my body in.

“Like lust,” he says. “Desire. Possessiveness.”

“That's okay.”

He gives a dark laugh. “Oh, really, you think that's all okay, do you?”

“Yes, I do. I feel them too.”

He pulls me into him once more, slotting me between his legs this time. He's half leaning and half sitting on the desk now, and I'm trapped by his thick, muscular thighs. “You feel the same as me?”

There's something almost disdainful to his tone, and it makes my skin prick with anger.

“You think I can't feel those things because I'm some innocent idiot that you picked up off the street?”

“I didn't pick you up off the street.”

That’s what he chooses to go with.

“Turn of phrase. A bad one, granted. What I mean is you seem to think that I can't feel the same things you do. You don't seem to believe that I can desire you.”

“Oh, I think you desire me. I felt it in your kiss. I can see it in the way your neck is all flushed and your nipples are hard.”

“Well, then, I don't understand the problem.”

He stares at me, his eyes glittering. “I want to take you, I want to strip you of all your clothes, and I want to tie you to my bed for a fucking month. I want to feed you morsels of food and not let you go. I want to bring you water and champagne. I want you to bathe in that fucking champagne, and then I’ll lick it from every inch of your body.”

I’m onboard so far, if a little nervous.

“I want to fuck your mouth, your pussy, your ass. I want to take you over and over again until you're sobbing with exhaustion, and you can't come anymore. Then I’ll force another orgasm out of you. I want to paint you with my cum. I want to cover you in bite marks and fingerprints so that everybody who sees you knows that you’re mine. I want to devour you. Utterly and completely fucking devour you.”

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