Page 82 of Savage Crown

I smile again, slow and sharp.

Ah.

There it is.

I let the whip drag across the floor once more, circling her as if considering her joke.

"You’re amusing," I admit. "But humor won’t save you."

Her lips curl slightly. "Who said I was trying to be saved?"

I cock my head. "Is that so?"

She gestures lazily toward the whip. "You’re obviously very... experienced with that thing."

I arch a brow.

"And?"

Her grin widens. "If you’re looking for a sparring partner, I suppose I could learn how to use it. Unless—" she pauses, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "—you’re the kind of guy who prefers being on the receiving end?"

A slow, creeping heat coils in my chest.

I should be angry.

I should want to break her for this insolence.

But damn her—there is something wicked about the way she looks at me.

A glint of something almost... teasing.

I chuckle. Low. Dangerous.

"You think you’d be the one holding the whip, little thief?"

She shrugs. "You’re the one dragging it across my skin like you want me to practice."

I exhale through my nose, amused despite myself.

"Careful," I murmur, trailing the whip's handle along the delicate line of her jaw. "You might enjoy it too much."

She smirks. "What a coincidence. I was thinking the same about you."

Gods.

I almost laugh.

Almost.

I lift the whip again, dragging it along the floor once more, then let it graze her skin—a whisper-light touch.

She shivers. Holds her breath.

Her body reacts before her mind can stop it.

I see it.

I feel it.

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