Page 17 of Enemies By Fate

My head cocks back to look up at her, waiting for her to resist, to show some of the defiance she’d possessed earlier, but all I read in her face is the naked desire I feel coursing through my own veins as I rip away her panties with my teeth.

Inhaling deeply, I nuzzle my face between the sweetness of her center, her arousal already pooling at the entrance of her core.

Her hands twist into my hair, and I tense, remembering her power, but before she can get any ideas, my tongue dips fully into her. A loud, vibrating cry reverberates through Poppy’s body, her back falling against the mirror as she grips the railing for support. I grab her leg and splay it over my shoulder, fissions of electric current surging through me as my laps grow faster and headier instantly.

“Oh gods,” she gasps. “What are you doing?”

Her head falls back against the mirror, and I don’t acknowledge her question, the twist of her fingers in my hairencouraging me to work harder, faster, more urgently, as if I’m proving something not only to her, but to myself, too.

What am I doing? Why am I doing this?

But neither of us put a stop to it; the attraction between us is too great and I need to see her come. I want to taste her nectar all over my tongue and mouth, to bring her to my complete submission and claim her for myself. Her thigh tightens around my neck, and I can tell I’m bringing her closer to her peak. Her ass clenches in my hands, and the tip of my tongue works tirelessly against her swollen sweet spot.

“Oh,” she mewls, her taut form ready to snap under the pressure of her climax.

I smile to myself, but it’s a mirthless grin, even as she releases, giving me exactly what I wanted all along.

Lapping up every drop of her climax, I gently release her, allowing the makeshift dress to fall back in place. I turn away, wiping her juices from my face as I stand. Self-loathing crashes over me, cutting through the euphoria before I can fully revel in it.

That was impulsive and stupid! I shouldn’t have done that.

I can almost hear my fathers breathing a collective sigh of relief from the grave that Warrick is in charge and not me.

This is why the laws of primogeniture exist.

Avoiding Poppy’s wistful sapphire stare, I push the elevator back into service and ignore her, fixing my gaze straight ahead. Her breaths even out by the time the doors open again, and we arrive on the third floor.

“I—” she starts to say, but I cut her off as I stalk out in front of her.

“You’ll stay in the west wing,” I interject rudely. “Just because you’re not in the underground cells anymore doesn’t mean you’re still not a prisoner. Is that understood?”

I see her nod through my side vision, but I don’t slow down. Her scent lingers on my lips, driving me to the brink of madness. All I want is to get back to my room and wash her off before the urge to touch her consumes me again. But deep down, I know no amount of scrubbing will rid me of this craving. She’s under my skin, and there’s no escaping it now.

“I understand,” she whispers.

Stopping in front of a set of double doors, I throw them open without touching them, and step aside before she can get too close. Gasping in awe, Poppy steps to the threshold.

“I’m staying here?” she asks shakily, blinking at the spacious rooms.

“Not my choice,” I remind her coldly. “Are you going inside or what? I don’t have all day.”

She shuffles forward and turns to me gratefully. “Thank you, Alpha,” she says, but I still see the gleam of mistrust in her eyes.

Whatever moment we’d shared in the elevator had been a moment of weakness for both of us. It can’t happen again. I can’t let it.

“Don’t thank me,” I bark, slamming the door behind me.

Having her in the estate is just bad for everyone. I have to make my brothers understand how foolish this choice is.

Chapter 5

Poppy

Every part of my body tingles in the aftermath of Malachi’s touch. Long after he leaves me to explore the stunning suite where I’m being held “prisoner”, I catch whiffs of his masculine scent all over my skin, and waves of headiness wash over me.

In the six-piece marble bathroom, I strip off the ugly potato sack and tentatively step into the shower, hoping to strip him away, but wary to do that too. I like having his scent on me, but I also hate it. It feels so wrong, but he’d made me feel so good simultaneously. Everything about this journey so far has been confusing, and I wish I’d taken Circe’s advice and just stayed home.

I’m in over my head.

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