Page 27 of Veil of Smoke

“Didn’t expect you to,” I say.

She drifts to the table, fingers grazing the crumpled manifest I’d left there. She doesn’t look at it. Just turns to me. “You were right. I didn’t break.”

“No. You didn’t.”

She steps closer. My body tenses, every nerve firing. I’ve taken down men twice my size with less effort than it takes to stay still right now.

Her gaze holds mine, and she’s near enough I can smell her again—sweat, blood, that fierce edge cutting through it all.

“Why haven’t you touched me?” she asks.

I straighten, the chair creaking under me. “You’ve been through hell.”

“I’m still breathing.”

“That doesn’t mean I—”

“I didn’t ask what you think you should do,” she cuts in, sharp. “I asked why you haven’t.”

I stand. She doesn’t step back. Her chest rises and falls, quick but controlled, and her fingers twitch at her sides like she’s fighting to keep them still. I don’t touch her yet.

I watch her, reading the tight line of her shoulders, the heat in her cheeks, the way her hands curl in like she’s holding herself back from something she wants.

“Say stop,” I tell her, voice thick.

“Don’t you dare,” she whispers.

I move. My hand fists in her hair, pulling her to me, and my mouth finds hers.

It’s not soft. Not planned. It’s need—raw, sharp, spilling out.

She gasps, the sound hitting me hard, and I feel it everywhere. My other hand slides under the shirt—my shirt—and grips her hip, fingers pressing into soft skin.

She leans into me, her body molding against mine, and my head spins.

Her tongue brushes mine, warm and bold, and I groan into her mouth. She tastes like defiance, like every line I’ve crossed and then some.

Her hands claw at my shirt, bunching the fabric, pulling me tighter until there’s no gap left. We stumble back, my legs hitting the chair, and she shoves me down before I can think.

She straddles me quickly. Her hair falls forward, brushing my face, and I can barely pull air in.

“Viviana,” I say, her name rough against her mouth.

She doesn’t answer. Just presses her lips to my throat, teeth scraping skin, and whatever I meant to say vanishes.

My hands find the hem of her shirt, and I don’t wait—I yank it up and off, tossing it aside. Her skin’s hot under my palms, and I run my fingers down her sides, tracing the curve of her ribs, the dip of her spine.

She shivers when I brush just under her shoulder blade, a soft sound catching in her throat.

I pull back enough to see her. Her breasts rise with every breath, nipples tight and pink against pale skin.

Her stomach dips in, leading down to the shorts she’s still got on—thin, barely there. She shifts, grinding against me, and I feel my dick twitch, already half-hard in my jeans.

Her hands drop to my shirt, tugging it up. I help her, peeling it off and throwing it somewhere behind me.

She presses herself closer, bare chest brushing mine, and I feel her nipples drag across my skin. My hands settle on her thighs, gripping them as I lift her slightly, adjusting her across my lap.

She leans in, mouth finding my collarbone, sucking lightly, and I let out a low sound, my fingers digging in harder.

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