Page 13 of The Healer

His warm hand landed on her lower back and pulled her closer as he leaned forward, his breath mingling with her own.

“Just this once,” he panted.

“What—”

Briggs kissed her.

Nyx froze as Briggs devoured her, begging her with his lips to give into him.

And she did.

Her nerves sparked alive, and she grabbed handfuls of his hair, pulling him even closer. He crushed her against his body, his hand on her lower back burning through her dress, branding Nyx. She gasped as his hands slid up the back of her thighs before he lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. It was everything and not enough all at once.

The room spun and she tipped her head back, gasping for breath as he pressed urgent kisses to her jaw, neck. His fingers clenched her bare skin, his thumbs sweeping her curves. She shivered as he licked the hollow behind her ear and tugged on the lobe.

Sweet poison, that was heaven.

Nyx cupped his face and brought him back to her mouth for another deep drugging kiss. Briggs shuddered and his hands seemed to be everywhere at once. The world went hazy, and she sighed, eyes closing. This was what she’d wanted for ages. It was for him to notice her. To want Nyx as much as she wanted him.

Her dress sagged and slipped off her right shoulder. He tugged on her hair, tipping her head back so he could once again nibble on her jawline.

“No,” she moaned, running her hands down his muscular chest. “Kiss me.”

The kisses stopped.

She opened her blurry eyes and blinked at Briggs. He stared down at her.

Not at Nyx, but her neck.

Releasing his hair, she slapped a hand over the mark.

“What is that?” he asked gutturally.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, pulling up the sleeve to her dress. Nyx practically scrambled from his lap, and Briggs let her. She moved to the window as her bear slowly got to his feet and stared her down.

“You’re marked.” It wasn’t quite an accusation.

“Just a scar,” she mumbled, messily tightening the laces on her side.

“It’s notjusta scar.” A pause. “Who marked you?”

“No one.”

He took a step in her direction, his eyes dark. “Are you mated?”

“No.”

“That mark is fresh. Maybe a few years old.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “Were you mated?” A demand.

“No.”

He inhaled deeply and her skin prickled.

“Stop attempting to scent me,” she whispered.

“I can’t smell another on you.”

“Because there is no other!” she shouted.

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