Page 38 of Of Blood and Smoke

“I just want to see you,” I complained, my voice echoing and still trapped in my head.

He began kissing my jaw line and his fingers curved around my hip, tilting me closer. If I could’ve broken free, I’d have instantly known who held me.

The overwhelming desire to see who this man was clawed at me, tearing me apart from the inside out. My back was against his firm chest, his arm strong around my midsection, and his soft hair trailed along the space between my shoulder and my neck.

The way he felt, he had to have been beautiful, he had to be all my dark fantasies come to life.

His tongue flicked the flesh behind my ear and my spirit shuddered, the need for him writhing within me. “Stop fightingme. Submit to me,” he whispered. “If I wanted you to see me, you would.”

Submit? Did he think it was okay to keep me here on the brink, to leave the magical petting unfulfilled?

A different form of heat arose within me and finally, my arm broke free. It swung in the air, the see-through form distracting me for a millisecond, before it felt like I’d been slammed back into my body. The sensation was as if I’d fallen from atop a mountain and careened into the ground at full speed. I jolted, one wrist smacking his thigh and the other his collarbone as my knee smashed into his stomach.

As quickly as I could, I grabbed onto his shirt and threw my leg over his, so I was facing him. With my chest heaving against his, and my breasts rubbing his torso, I tried to calm my breathing. The man held perfectly still. I could feel his shock and disbelief and it matched my own.

After all that effort, suddenly I was scared. The undeniable fact that I was clearly awake changed things, and my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest. I wanted to tilt my head up and gaze at his face, but I couldn’t.

Instead, I kept my eyes down. I glanced at his strong but slim legs, encased in black pants, the strip of dark leather winding through the loops of his waistband. Gripping his shoulders, I slowly examined him, making note of the navy-blue dress shirt, before I focused on the base of his neck where the fabric was unbuttoned, and lightly tanned skin with a silver chain peeked through.

I just couldn’t do it.

Emotions crashed through me, a sea of deep longing and a wide ocean of regret. Had I crossed a line, forcing my way out of his spell? Would he leave and never come back?

Resting my head in the crook of his neck, I tried to relax. He smelled like a candle I’d once found in a shop back inConnecticut and loved, called Weathered Wood. Distinctly, I remembered scenting it and wishing I had a man who smelled just like the jar of wax. I remembered laughing at myself, highly amused over the fanciful thought. I had burned that candle right down to the base of the wick and never had the chance to replace it.

My lips connected with his skin, and I shivered. Finally, he moved, shifting below me and then grasping the back of my neck. “You’re a little fighter,” he said, his jaw moving against my hair. “Whatever will we do with you?” He sounded amused.

“All that struggle to see me and you’re clinging to me, refusing to look me in the eye,” he paused. “I certainly hope, when your bravery returns, that what you see is to your liking.”

To your liking. I’d heard that phrase recently. It’d stood out because nobody spoke like that, hardly anyone used that combination of words—at least not anyone I knew. My grip faltered as I began to tremble. There was only one person that came to mind.

Moving my head, I peeked at my shoulder and searched for his hand. His fingers were hidden on my back, so I reached up and grabbed him, taking his palm in my own.

A short gasp escaped me as I peered down at the glassy nails and then the silver and gold rings encrusted with gemstones.

Holy fuck.

TWENTY-ONE

Della

Shocked, I quickly glanced up at him before I could stop myself. I was greeted with eyes so dark and liquid that I yelped and tried to scramble away.

He was devastatingly beautiful and absolutely terrifying, his irises swirling with blood and smoke, a demon come to life.

He’s my fucking boss.

I made it maybe a foot across the bed before his heavy palm grabbed my leg, branding me with fire. I hadn’t seen or felt him stand up, it was instantaneous. One moment he had been sitting, and the next, he was upright and dragging me to the edge of the mattress and caging my legs with his own.

“Do not fear me,” he ordered, his voice commanding instant compliance.

Speechless, I stared at him. My eyes were watering, and my pulse beating at a frenetic pace. I had no idea what to say; this was all too real. The man whose mouth had brought me ecstasy was the same man who’d used it to threaten me countless times. He’d been an absolute asshole, and I worked under him in abject fear, and now here he had been, holding me as if I were the most precious thing in his life.

Josiah bent down, resting his arms on either side of me. “You’re shivering for the wrong reasons, Little One.” He lowered his face, so his lips brushed along my own. “I’ll let you know when you should be afraid.”

“Josiah,” I started to say, but then his mouth claimed my own, silencing whatever it had been that I was going to say next.

He shifted one hand to hold the edge of my face, and a whimper escaped me, the sound vibrating against his lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside and stroking mine. Each and every single fiber of my being zeroed in on him while he drugged me with his touch.

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