Page 37 of Claimed By Midnight

But I love how she is with me. She gives me parts of herself no one else gets to see, and her submission is so much sweeter when I have to force it from her grip.

"I don't-" She cuts off with a gasp as my fingers trace her spine. "That's not fair."

The scent of honey grows stronger as her skin heats. My other hand finds her hip, and fuck if she doesn't fit perfectly in my grip. The warrior in me wants to dominate, to show her exactly why she shouldn't challenge me. But there's something intoxicating about her fire, the way she meets my gaze without flinching.

"What's not fair?" I drag my thumb along the strip of skin where her shirt has ridden up. "This?"

Her pupils dilate, golden-green nearly swallowed by black. "You can't just-" She swallows hard. "You can't touch me like that and expect me to stay angry."

"Maybe that's the point." I lean down until our foreheads nearly touch. The metal and citrus of my workshop fades beneath the sweetness of her scent. "Maybe I'm tired of fighting."

Her fingers uncurl from my shirt, sliding up to my chest. The touch burns even through the fabric. "Then stop fighting."

I could. I could give in and take her like I know we both want. And while my body is screaming at me to do it, to punish the little demon and show her exactly how her defiance makes me feel, the other part is holding back.

I've never wanted someone the way I want her. And knowing that I forced her here, that she would run given the chance…

It has me recoiling, unable to give in fully. Maybe I have a shred of decency in me still - or maybe I'm too damn stubborn to take risks like I used to. But I just can't cross that line thinking she hates me still.

I'll take her anger. Her fire. But there's a pang in my chest when I consider it's coming from a place of hate.

I drop my hands from her waist like her skin burns me. I see the shock register over her face as I take a step back, and though I'm aching for her, I know now that giving it won't help me.

It will only cement this addiction I've been trying to fight.

But how much longer can I keep going?

At least for tonight, I decide.

"Fuck this." I spin away from her, wings snapping tight against my back.

"Where are you going?" Her footsteps follow, those damn honey-sweet curls probably bouncing with each step. "We're not done."

"Yes." My knuckles go white against the wood. "We are."

She grabs my arm, her small hand barely wrapping halfway around my bicep. The touch sends electricity through my veins, and I jerk away before I do something we'll both regret.

"Coward." The word hits like a blade between my shoulders. "You can't even look at me."

I whirl around, baring my teeth. "You want me to look at you?" My wings spread wide, casting shadows across her face. "You want me to show you exactly what happens when you push a xaphan too far?"

But she just lifts her chin, those eyes reflecting golden in the fading light. No fear. No submission. Just pure, maddening defiance.

"I want you to be honest." She steps closer, and I retreat. "For once."

The distance between us burns like acid. Every instinct screams to close it, to cage her against the nearest surface and make her understand exactly what she's playing with.

Instead, I stride toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Her voice cracks on the last word.

I pause, hand on the doorknob. The metal groans under my grip. "Out."

The door slams behind me hard enough to rattle the windows. Her scent – honey and herbs and everything pure I don't deserve – follows me into the evening air.

21

ATHENA

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