Page 109 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

His bicep tenses under my touch, a raw wave of anger building in him, threatening to pull him into some black hole of frustration. I can feel him slipping—losing himself.

I grab his face between my hands, forcing him to meetmy eyes in the dark, to stay with me, to not disappear into whatever storm is brewing inside him.

“Look at me,” I whisper, my voice steady even though my heart aches.Stay with me.

But the truth is—it hurts me, too. He’s here, and yet not. It’s like loving someone through dirty glass, when all I want is for him to see us clearly.

I say evenly, “I’ll show you. I’ll guide you this time. You and I, we couldn’t keep our hands off one another. There’s a reason your heart drove you here. We’re fated—hearts, minds, and bodies. You showed me what physical pleasure could be.” On impulse, I plunge my thumb into the open caramel jar and then tease it over his bottom lip as I whisper, “Now let me show you.”

His body shudders with desire. Feverish, he takes my thumb in his mouth. He licks off the liquid caramel with the raw hunger of a feral beast.

“Show me,” he says hoarsely. “Now.”

The stark command does something to me. My body gives a tremor of pleasure, my pussy clenching. It’s all I can do not to rake up my skirt and rub myself all over his leg. But he’s still holding back—literally. An agonizing inch separates our bodies.

With my back pressed against the shelves, I roll my hips enough to brush against the bulge tenting the front of his pants.

I moan at the friction. His hand tightens on the back of my neck. “Fucking hell, little violet.”

“Our first time,” I pant, “You were gentle. You warned me that you wouldn’t always be. That’s what I want now. Don’t treat me like a virgin. Definitely not like a princess. I want you to make love to me on this floor—hard.”

Live coals burn in the base of my belly as I guide his hand to slide the strap off my shoulder. The front of my dress slumps down to rest above my peaked nipple, which strains through the fabric, begging for his sweet torture.

He shifts his stance, muscles flexing as he grips the shelf behind me harder, and it calls to mind a fighter in the arena, adrenaline and testosterone demanding release in the form of connecting flesh.

His cock strains at his pants—strains at me.

His hand hovers over my breast, hesitant, so slow it’s killing me.

“Stop being so damn respectful,” I growl, picking up his hand and roughly cupping it over my breast.

The fabric slips down another inch, my nipple springing free as it rubs against the hard callouses of his palm. I moan.

“That’s what you want, little violet?” He skims his thumb over the sensitive bud, teasing. His deep voice takes on a wicked lilt that makes all the blood pour straight into my groin. “For me to bend you over one of these sacks and fuck you until you moan?”

Oh. He learnsfast.

I’m writhing against the shelves, back arching to drive my nipple harder against his hand. My elbow connects with a clay jar, which crashes to the floor and fills the room with the heady scent of plum sauce.

“Please, Basten,” I beg. “If I don’t feel your mouth on me in the next three seconds, I’m going to burst like a ripe pear.”

I jump as he grips the back of my neck, forcing my head up, his breath ghosting hot and heavy against my cheeks.There—there’s the positively filthy beast I know is prowling behind his veneer ofgentlemanly tact.

“It was so fucking hot to see you like that,” he pants. “Cheeks flushed, lips dripping with whiskey, tongue still tasting of that fae bastard’s sweat. I could have killed Artain in that moment—only because I would have traded the entire world to be in his place.”

I murmur, “You can take his place now.”

That does it.

He crushes his lips to mine, and I cling to him around the neck, afraid to let go. Now that he’s here—real, breathing, hot against me—I can’t imagine us ever being apart again.

For a dizzying number of days, I’ve been plunged in this topsy-turvy fae reverie where I don’t know left from right, up from down. I’ve danced with gods. Witnessed feats that until now were reserved for fiction. Felt the crackle of pure, powerful fey.

And all I can think, as our lips meet with a relentless devotion, is howheis a hundred times worthier than the gods. Every drop of blood in his veins is human, and yet the raw power I feel under his skin brings me to my knees.

I vocalize a needy moan, and Basten grabs my breast almost painfully, driving me back against the shelves with one knee thrust between my legs. I drag my skirt around my hips. My thin silk panties are soaked. I straddle his thigh, holding onto his shoulders for leverage while I buck against him.

“Down on your knees,” he barks, voice ragged with desire.

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