Page 63 of Caged Kitten

The witch brushed her lower lip with a frown. “Just friends?”

“What the fuck are you doing, Katja?” I demanded roughly. My growl had her cheeks igniting and my cock shooting to attention. Damn it. I covered the traitorous bastard as best I could while I shuffled away, seconds from bolting… or I’d pounce. “You belong to—”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” she said fiercely, eyes glistening as she prowled after me. “I belong to me, and I decide my fate and my future and…”

We stilled at the end of the cot, me a breath away from toppling over and onto the floor, her on her knees—and her hands fisted in my jumpsuit, buttons straining under her grasp. The physical contact came so easily. After months of whispering through the wall, keeping our distance around the others, it felt so natural.

Felt like I never wanted her to stop touching me.

Vision slowly clouding over with a bloodlust haze, I snapped and slammed my mouth to hers in a brutal kiss that had her gasping. Before, Katja had been the aggressor, initiating every touch, every caress, stalking me across the cot, but in that moment, she tasted a true predator in all his violent glory. I kissed to claim, to conquer, hands in her hair and tongue between her lips. Her heart roared, her pulse a war drum pounding, pounding, pounding in my ears.

And then clarity struck.

My eyes shot open and I reared back, incensed at myself for indulging the beast within. For that was what this had been—just another weakness, another failing on my part.

On her knees, Katja sat trembling in my wake, her cheeks a brilliant rosy pink and her lips swollen…

Bleeding.

My fangs must have nicked that luscious lower lip at some point; a ruby dot plumed without the pressure holding it back, and Katja tentatively wiped it away, blinking down at her fingertip like she didn’t understand what had happened.

Me.

I’d happened.

“Katja, I’m…” I trailed off when she licked her lips, hurriedly at first, then slowly for the next rush of blood, locking eyes with me.

Oh.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

“Don’t say you’re sorry, Rafe,” she murmured. “I… I’m not.”

Those two words were my undoing. I lunged just as she pounced, and we collided with the force of two charging armies meeting in battle, this kiss more furious than the first. All raw, undying passion, months of pent-up need exploding between us. I raked my hands through her hair, fingers tangling, twining, yanking as they had yearned to do from the very first week. Her delectable little squeak of shock, perhaps even pain, at one of my harder tugs had me grinning savagely against her mouth, and I swallowed every sound greedily, hungrily, her surprise the perfect seasoning to her blood.

B-negative.

A rare and exquisite elixir.

Dangerous—for I had been starved in here. While I allowed my restraint to falter, my hands everywhere, fingers bruising her hips as I steered her onto my lap, I had to keep the true bloodlust in check. Tamed.

Or I might drain her dry.

Elijah would never forgive me.

I would never forgive myself.

She fit so perfectly, straddling my thighs, looming over me with her hands planted firmly on my shoulders. For such a little thing, quiet and pensive to the rest of the prison, an outright delight during our nightly conversations, Katja Fox proved she could be brutal. She was a predator in her own right, a hunter in the highest regard, snapping at my lips, my tongue, marking me even as her life force trickled down my throat. Her nails raked up my neck and over the collar, the slight nudging of the leather paired with a jolt of panic; I had seen what happened when inmates tried to remove their collars.

Snarling, I snared her wrists and wrenched them away, bringing those cruel hands to my cheeks, desperate to feel the sting of her claws. Katja allowed some manipulation, our kiss deep and binding, but she dropped her hands to my chest an instant later, fingers fumbling over the buttons. I bucked up, cock rigid and needy, and she shivered in my arms. As soon as she’d conquered half my buttons, she hastily attacked her own, parting the purple fabric and revealing herself to me—creamy skin and gorgeous cleavage, the perfect palmful of breast hidden away beneath an unflattering prison-issued brassiere.

When I tore my mouth from hers, the witch sucked down a few gasping breaths, her chest rising and falling in hard beats. Heavy-lidded sapphires gazed down at me, and I paused, allowing a moment of tenderness as I brushed the staticky hair from her face, mapped the lines of her nose, her cheekbones, her chin. Still trembling, still chasing her breath, Katja did the same, dragging a finger over the harsh black stubble along my jaw, the hard edges of my features of particular interest. Silence reigned outside my cell door, and behind her, Tully had melted into the shadows.

Did that mean he approved of this?

Eyes locked, an upspoken question stretched between us. Do we want to stop?

We should.

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