Page 47 of Eden's Deliverance

It takes the sharp pinch of Skylar’s hand around my wrist to snap me out of it, and I realize he’s still waiting for an answer—I just don’t have one to give him. It was already bad enough that I spewed half my secrets in the accusation alone; I can’t go and explain them now.

“I made a mistake, just drop it. Somebody fucked with my room, and I thought it might have been you. Don’t pretend like it’s not something you would do,Satan.”

“Satan?” He laughs at the name. “What, are you 12 years old?”

I flash him a mocking grin. “Well, you call me Red. I had to come up with a fitting nickname for you too.”

I’ve become so numb that I don’t even realize he let go of my wrist until his hand comes up to fuss with a lock of my hair, twirling it playfully around his fingers.

“Redis hardly an insult. You’re the personification of the color, it’s just what you are. You radiate it.” The hand floats closer to my face, fingers curling under my chin while his thumb swipes over my lips. “Red everything…everywhere.”

Okay.

Maybe Penelope was right.

His featherlight touch isn’t sending the same message as his penetrating gaze, though. I don’t actually know what he wants. His fingers are searching for the warmth of my skin, but his eyes seem like they’re hunting—waiting for me to make a move so he can tear and devour.

“And you’re just a devil.” His eyebrow shoots up in amusement, but I can’t bear to look in his eyes anymore and subject myself to his ridicule. I find his lips again, watching the way his tongue peeks out to wash away the dryness. The subtle movement is hypnotizing. “You’re mean,” I say. “You’re nasty for no reason, alwaysready to pick on me and anyone else you feel like hurting. It’s evil.You’reevil.”

His hand travels along my jawline and down the column of my throat, the sensation of his fingertips surprising me as they curl around the side of my neck. He just holds them there, like feeling my pulse beneath his touch is enough, without the need to squeeze. Planting his thumb on the bottom of my chin, he tips my head back so I’m forced to watch him peer at me from behind his long, beautiful lashes.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it—like you don’t live for going toe to toe with me.” His voice is almost a whisper, so low and drawled that I have to strain to hear him. For a second, I think he might kiss me when he pitches forward. Instead, he ducks down to run the tip of his nose along my jawline, teasing the skin from my chin to ear. “Just admit it, you like the fight.”

Fuck. He’s doing that thing with my ear that makes me crumble. With every word and exhale, the hot air of his breath blows directly into my canal, making me shiver in a way I can’t hide.

Not with the way he’s touching me. Not with how close he is.

“So what if I do? Why do you care?” I’m sure I could sound more intimidating if my knees weren’t ready to fold, if my pussy wasn’t aching for any kind of attention, and if I wasn’t sighing every time the touch of his nose tickles my sensitive skin.

He lets out a little hum when his head moves, bringing his nose to my cheek, then to my chin and lips. His thumb wraps around the other side of my throat and he gives a little squeeze, keeping me still while he electrifies the skin of my face.

It’s too much.

“Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m justmeanand want to make you look weak,” he taunts. “I can feel you trembling. I bet you’re fucking soaked right now. Maybe, the second you let yourself admit it…you can actually do something about it,” he whispers directly against my mouth, his lips brushing over mine.

I don’t want him. I hatehim more than I hate Casanova and Broody, but I need sex. They won’t give it to me, and they’ve gotten in my head enough that I can’t even enjoy my time with The Prince. I’m dying for something new—for somebody to satisfy me the way I deserve.

Skylar’s here. He’s touching me. He’s an able body.

I’ll take what I can get.

“Fuck it,” I surrender, surging forward to meet his hovering lips.

He keeps me restrained though, holding me against the wall by my throat so I can’t move. “Say it,” he insists.

Of course, it was too good to be true. “Seriously?” He was fucking with me like he always does, just toying with my obvious desperation so I’ll look like an idiot.

“‘Fuck it’ doesn’t really do it for me. Say it, Red.” He smirks, so pleased with himself for making me have to beg.

“Fine,Satan. I like the fight. I want you, alright? So just fu—”

He steals the words from off my tongue, locking our lips together in a struggle that encompasses who we are to each other—two people who hate one another so deeply, the rage we expel has nowhere to go except to merge into one giant bonfire of lust.

He lets go of my neck to slide both hands down my waist and the curve of my hips. Then, he bends his knees and taps the side of my thighs. We may disagree on a lot of things, but we’re totally in sync here.

I throw my arms around his neck and jump when he gives the signal, wrapping my thighs around his waist with my ankles locked to stabilize myself.

Because of my size, I don’t like the idea of being carried. But he makes it seem effortless when he slams me against the wall, forcing the air from my lungs with a heavy grunt.

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