Page 78 of Court of Evil

I shove my hands into her pants as she fights me. “I’m not letting you into my bed,” she growls.

Licking a line up her neck to her ear, I can’t help but grin. “This isn’t your bed, though, is it, angel?” I tug her underwear aside and slide my fingers along her wet cunt, feeling her warmth and desire even as she struggles. “You want this just like me. Look how wet you are.” Lifting my fingers, I lick them clean as I watch her. “You like fighting with me? Does fighting with me turn you on, angel?”

“Who said I like it?” she snaps.

“Your body, angel. You can fight me all you want, but this can’t lie to me. Keep running your pretty mouth though.” I lick a line down her neck to her chest, addicted to the taste of her skin. “I like when you fight me, and I like your sharp tongue. Neither will make me stop, but it will make me all the more determined to get inside you.”

“You bastard, I’m going to gut you when my hands are free.”

I shove my hand back into her pants, sliding my fingers inside her with a thrust that has her crying out and her hips arching into the air.

“Go ahead. You could carve me with your blade and I wouldn’t stop, not right now, when I have you where I want you.”I press my lips to hers, silencing what would have been a cutting retort.

Instead, she bites down on my tongue, making me groan in ecstasy as I taste my own blood. She gives as good as she gets, even as her hips roll and she rides my fingers. I swipe my thumb over her clit, swallowing her cry, but I want more. I need more. I need her to know. I need Tate Havelock like I’ve never needed another, and I’m tired of fighting it.

Pulling my hand free of her clinging cunt, I grip her trousers and rip them open before tugging them down. I slide down her body, and before she can fight me, I quickly seal my mouth to her cunt as her cries fill the air.

She grabs my hair, her grip brutal and hard, but rather than push me away, she drags me closer. Her legs hook over my shoulders and her back bows as her cream drips across my tongue. I hold her tighter for my assault, thrusting my tongue inside her before flicking her clit.

“Fingers,” she demands.

Rolling my eyes at her command, I slide my hand between us and thrust two back into her, knowing we both want it. She’s so wet, she’s dripping, turned on from our sparring match just like I am, but I ignore my hard cock. Instead, I lash her clit, adding a third finger and forcing her to take me as I fuck her with them until she locks up and her moan fills the air as she comes all over my hand and tongue.

Victory fills me, and I grin as I kiss her swollen clit and slide my fingers free. I lick them clean as she slumps to my office floor. She’s so fucking beautiful, it hurts. When she opens her eyes, she catches me watching her. I know what she wants, what we both want, but I don’t plan to give her it, not yet, even if it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Tugging her trousers up, I button them and sit back before standing.

She licks her swollen lips as I move away with a vicious smile. “Go make him pay. Come back alive and I’ll give you what you want. I’ll be waiting.” I turn away from her and walk back to my desk like nothing happened.

Like my entire world did not just shift all because I got a taste of her.

CHAPTER 33

That fucking prick.

I storm from his office, his laughter chasing me.

His fucking smirk haunts me as I stomp down the corridor, only to jerk to a stop as Ronan pops into view before me. “Fucking ghosts,” I mutter as I march through him.

“What happened?” Ronan chuckles, completely unbothered by my anger. “You look like you got fucked or tried to kill each other—or maybe both.”

“Shut it,” I warn.

I know I’m being unreasonable, but I’m annoyed at myself. I would have fucked him if he hadn’t stopped us. Why did he? Shit, I’m a mess, and I need to focus on the hunt ahead, not my annoyance at that smirking asshole sitting behind his desk.

Black is all that matters.

“Ronan,” I warn as he appears in front of me again, and I come to a stop.

“Tate, listen to me.” His serious tone makes me swallow my next rant. “Whatever Shamus did or said, you should know he’s not the kind of man to do something without thinking through every angle of it. He chose you for a reason. You can trust him.”

“You trust him blindly?—”

“Not blindly. He earned it,” he replies. “He earned it with every battle and year spent by my side, and when I died . . . he was lost. He brought us back, fighting death itself for it. He’s the strongest and most trustworthy person I have ever met. He does everything for other people. His entire life is for someone else, so if he took something for himself, know that it took something major to make him. I’m not saying he’s perfect, but he’s a good man, Tate.”

I hold his gaze, relaxing a little at his words. “Are you angry you died?”

“I used to be,” he admits. “Not anymore. It was nobody’s fault. It was just a matter of life. We all die eventually. My time was simply a lot earlier than some, but I’m lucky. Shamus gave me a second chance, and most do not get that.” He’s as serious as I’ve ever seen him.

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