Page 31 of Riordan's Revenge

Inside, I locked the door then leaned against it, my fingers fluttering at my chest.

Riordan tossed his shirt to the rug. I trailed my gaze over him and down the dusting of hair that led beneath his waistband.

Then I clocked the welts and red bruises, some already dark. Guilt swallowed me whole.

“Are ye okay?”

“Why, want to kiss me better?”

I stared, shocked at the sass. He’d flirted back. Ho-lee shite.

Yet there was no humour in his savage expression. If anything, his mood seemed darker than ever.

“I need a shower.”

“What’s mine is yours.” I directed him to my bedroom.

Riordan kept close behind and snatched up the rucksack his sister had sent but which had stayed abandoned by my couch when he’d locked me in.

In my bedroom, I eyed my bed but stepped into the en suite, flipping on the light then the shower. Water thundered down in the spacious stall, the gold-flecked tiles gleaming.

From the cupboard, I pulled out two towels then draped them over the rail. Then I turned back to Riordan, huge, in my space, his mouth luscious. I should leave. This was my cue.

I didn’t.

“Why did ye play along with my brother’s questions? Would’ve been easier for ye to say we weren’t a couple.”

His glower remained in place. “I was facing a beating either way. Better for him to assume he had to leave the scraps for you.”

I laughed under my breath. Stepping closer, I traced my gaze over his bruised cheek. My fingers shook. “That wasn’t it.”

“Then maybe I just needed to get back behind closed doors with you. You ran from me. I should punish you.”

My insides tightened.

God, yes. To whatever he had in mind. The steam from the shower rose. I heaved in a breath of humid air, my dress clinging to me.

“I liked watching ye fight.”

“Enjoyed seeing me bleed?”

I raised my finger to his cut lip. It came away red.

Both of us stared at my fingertip. I took it to my mouth and sucked, tasting his blood on my tongue.

With a sound of anger, Riordan captured my wrist. His other hand snatched my waist to tug me against him. Coarse jeans to slick silk. Rigid muscles to soft flesh.

I parted my lips in shock. At exactly the same second, he kissed me.

Hard.

All restraint fell away. It was a desperate, bruising kiss. Nothing like I’d imagined but so much better.

For weeks, I’d lain in bed and pictured him doing this. His touch wandering my body. His limbs tangled with mine. Our first kiss. My first kiss ever. In my head, I’d pictured it being gentle and just a smidge more romantic. In reality, he gave me something entirely different and probably better suited.

A claiming.

His lips forced mine wider, and I moaned at the touch of his tongue. The copper of his blood. He tasted masculine. Startlingly unfamiliar.Mine.

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