Page 87 of Seduced

“As I said, I am better off the way that I am,” he added. “And so is every single woman in England, for that matter. Better off without a man like me.”

“I am equal parts terrified and charmed,” Poppy said.

He went perfectly still. “You should be nothing but terrified,” he breathed.

“I should? Why, are you?”

“No. I am…” He couldn’t breathe.

I don’t need a Zella. I don’t need a Wendy. I’m better off without a woman; and every single woman is better off without me.

Poppy had stood and walked up to him sometime as he was speaking about his friends. She was now two steps away, but she made no further attempt to approach him. The distance between them pressed on his chest like water, cutting off his air, choking him. The physical need to be near her, to touch her, to breathe her in, was causing him pain so great his physical injuries were quite forgotten.

He needed her like air. More than air.

He needed her like he needed blood in his veins, life in his lungs. He needed her to survive.

“I am seduced,” he said, and then he was closing the space between them, grabbing her wrists in one hand and bending his head over her lips. “What have you done to me, Wyatt?”

She made a slight movement towards him, so imperceptible he might have missed it if his entire attention was not on her. But it was, and he saw how she lifted her face to his, opening her lips, inviting him.

He lost it.

He lowered his lips to hers and let the water pull him under.

twenty-two

Poppy

She hadn’t known how much she needed to be kissed by Hades again until it was happening.

She did not know much about kisses—nothing really—but she knew that he was kissing her like a drowning man clinging to a bubble of air. Like a man starved. She knew about starving, after all.

And she knew about hunger.

She tasted the hunger on his lips, the blood, the pain, the desperation.

His whole body was shaking, and she pressed herself up close against him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to comfort herself by his warmth and proximity. But for him, it seemed to have the opposite effect. As soon as she moved, his tall form bent and swayed over her, and she was afraid that he would faint and fall. But he didn’t.

He moaned brokenly and pulled her hands behind her back, joining them at the wrists with one, large hand, and with the other he cupped her neck and turned her face so that his mouth would fit better over hers. His heart was beating in a frenzy; she could feel it underneath his shirt, fluttering against her own. He tasted like blood. Sweet and salty at once.

“Wait,” she dropped her mouth from his and he stumbled and almost fell.

“What is it? Am I hurting you?” The panic was a low rumble in his voice, but she heard it and it cut her to the core.

“No, you are doing the exact opposite,” she said. “But I wanted to do this.” She brought her hands to the front, surprised when he resisted, held her back.

She had to twist them to get out of his grip, and her bad arm started to hurt, but at that moment he quickly realized how strongly he was holding her and let go. She cupped his cheek and he winced, turning his face away from her light touch.

“I’d rather hold your hands back,” he said tensely, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t want to be distracted by…unwanted thoughts, if you are touching me. Is that not to your liking?”

“I don’t mind, if my touching you hurts you,” Poppy replied. “But sometimes I feel that…Sometimes it hurtsmenot to touch you.”

He looked down at her—he was a good head and a half taller. His eyes were haunted by that tortured look and she knew that he was lost inside his own head, somewhere far away, in the past, where she couldn’t reach him and help him. But then a sudden smile brightened his face, teeth flashing white.

“You insist then,” he murmured. His hands were still at his sides, she noticed. Not attempting to grab her wrists again.

“I do.”I think. No, I do.

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