Page 83 of The Shadow Bride

Then he flexes his hips against me, and I nearly expire on the spot. Unable to help it, I reach for him again, half-crazed with this blisteringwant. “Michal—”

He chuckles and replaces my hands. “Perhaps I shall win next time, so you can touch me.”

Next time.If possible, the flames in my body lick higher—because yes, therewillbe a next time, and my hips have started to roll against him now, seeking more of that delicious friction as my fingers bite into the wood. He trails his knuckles down my arms in response, not stopping until he reaches my ribs. Once there, he spreads his hands wide, watching hungrily as his fingers span below my breasts. He traces the underside of one with his thumb. “Do you remember,” he asks softly, “the morning we met? You were wearing a nightgown, and it was raining.”

“I remember,” I gasp.

“Doyou?”

Fresh heat suffuses my skin at his tone. It deepens the flush creeping up my chest. Abruptly, Michal bends to lave it with his tongue, and a low moan escapes me as he drags his teeth across the soft swell of my upper breasts. My grip on the branch slips. “You—you refused to help me—”

“I didn’t want to help you.”

“Why?” The branch begins to splinter, snow drifting between us, as he slowly unravels the front of my bodice—a corset built into the dress with violet ribbons. I forwent a regular corset because of it. Only a silk chemise protects my skin from the fabric, and as the gown falls open, Michal drags it aside, baring my chest to his gaze. His pupils dilate at the sight. His lips part on a rough inhale.

“Because,” he says tightly, “even then, moje sunce, I knew that I could never know you—that I could never earn such a privilege. That I could never deserve it.”

“But—you do know me.” The words are breathless, spokenhastily. “You know me, Michal. Better than anyone.” The confession stretches between us like the tree sap at my back: sticky and difficult to remove.

When he takes my breasts in his hands—when he puts hismouthupon them—the sensation sends a bolt of heat straight to my core. With another gasp, I roll my hips, but my movements are growing wilder now, clumsier. In a mindless haze, I release the branch to grip his shoulders, to gain purchase against him, to relieve this sharply buildingacheinside me. His lips still against my breast. I feel them curve into a wicked grin.

Too late, I realize my mistake, but I cannot bring myself to care. My head tips back against the tree as I work myself against him. When I speak again, my voice quakes, andGod, I need him to—to— “Michal,please. Touch me. I need you to touch me—”

“You broke the rules to our game.”

“Damnthe game—”

With a rumble of laughter and a quick, efficient tug, he rips the sleeve from my gown, and I realize what he plans to do the second before he does it. My eyes widen in shock. “You wouldn’tdare.”

He pauses in winding the violet satin around both my wrists. “Shall I stop?”

The answer spills from me without hesitation. Without remorse.

“No,” I whisper.

Never in my life have I felt more exposed than I do now, with Michal Vasiliev tying my wrists to the tree branch overhead. Never in my life have I felt morealive. Every inch of my skin burns with fire as he ties the satin into a neat bow, as he catches my chin and kisses me again. A feverish,filthykiss that belies his tender touch. “Keep your hands still,” he warns again, and his grin widenswhen my other leg clamps around his waist instead.

I wrench him closer, desperate to feel him again, and I revel in the sensation of his body moving with mine. Ifthisis what sex feels like, I fear I’ll never want to stop—until that ache, sharp and needy, quickly spirals higher. Almost too sharp now. Almosttooneedy. Though I thrash against him, I don’t know what to do to ease it. I don’t know what todo.

As if sensing my mounting panic, Michal snakes a hand between my thighs, and I nearly leap into the branches at the feel of him there. “Easy,” he murmurs at my ear, and instantly, I relax into him once more. Gooseflesh erupts down my spine at the sweep of those strong, dexterous fingers. When I moan, he shudders and presses harder, drawing back to watch me with a hungry expression. “Do that again.”

It isn’t difficult to oblige. He works his fingers faster at the sound, slipping one inside me—two—and I think I might fly apart at the seams if he keeps touching me like this. Though the pressure builds higher and higher, relief lingers just out of reach; I nearly sob in frustration, my fingers curling around the silk restraints. “Michal, Ican’t. I—I don’t know how to—”

“Everything you’ve done is perfect,” he says, his voice strained.

At the last, he presses down on the most sensitive part of me, and my entire body shatters. A cry tears from my throat, and Michal’s free arm wraps around me as my legs stiffen, as my hands tear through the violet silk like gossamer to clutch his face. Distantly, I realize I’m saying his name—that I’m saying it over and over again, that his eyes have closed at the sound of it, that he rests his forehead against mine as if he’d like to hear it for the rest of his life.

We stand there, clutching each other, for several long moments after my knees collapse. Neither of us speaking.

Le Lien Éternel, he called it. The Eternal Bond.

His voice seems to swirl around us now, equal parts comforting and confusing.The longer two vampires feed from each other, the stronger the bond grows, until it becomes irrevocable.

Irrevocable.

His arms tighten around me, and I return the pressure, burying my face in his shoulder and inhaling deeply. Because the truth is Michal Vasiliev hasn’t fed from me again, yet this emotion unfurling in my chest...

It feels irrevocable to me.

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