Page 66 of The Naga Lord's Pretty Little Mouse

"But I want you anyway."

My pulse hammers against my ribs, a caged thing.

Heat licks along my spine, unwelcome, undeniable.

"Then why—" My voice falters as his fingers trace the tip of my jaw, light, deliberate, dangerous.

"Because if I take you, little mouse," he murmurs, voice like smoke curling around my skin, "I will never let you go."

A breath shudders from my lips.

This is not fate.

This is not magic.

This is him.

Xirath.

His presence, his hunger, his undeniable, unshakable desire.

I cannot fight it.

His lips crush against mine, a collision of rage and restraint snapping all at once.

A sharp gasp gets lost between us, swallowed by the force of his mouth, the way he claims every inch of space between us.

My hands clench against his chest, not to push him away, but to pull him closer.

He growls against my lips, the sound reverberating through my bones.

Fingers tighten at my waist, a possessive grip that leaves no space between us.

Heat flares through my veins, dangerous and intoxicating.

This is not soft.

This is war.

My teeth graze his lower lip, sharp and taunting. He snarls at the challenge, pressing me back against the stone wall, his body a wall of heat and strength.

The taste of him is fire and ruin, a brand I will never wash away.

His grip shifts, tilting my head back, forcing me to feel his dominance.

"You drive me mad," he mutters against my skin.

The words should not send a shudder through me, but they do.

My lips part, but whatever retort I planned dies as his mouth claims mine again, deeper this time, more deliberate.

I do not resist.

I burn.

29

XIRATH

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