Page 92 of The Road to Hell

I made a frustrated noise, and in response, Rathiel laughed, the low timbre of it running through me like a slow burn.

Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.

I gave his tunic another tug, but he stayed exactly where he was, forcing me to bridge the last bit of distance myself. I did, pressing into him, feeling the steady press of his chest against mine. His hands finally moved, but just barely, fingertips brushing against my sides, light and teasing, not nearly enough.

I bit back a curse. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His lips tilted. “Immensely.”

I would have scowled at him, but then he dipped his head, his mouth grazing the corner of mine. Not quite a kiss. Just enough to make my breath catch.

I glared playfully at him. “You know, I dragged you all the way out here for a reason.”

“Oh?” His voice was quiet, velvet over rough edges. “And what reason might that be?”

I arched a brow. “Take a wild guess.”

His gaze searched my face while his fingers skimmed lower, slipping beneath the hem of my tunic, tracing bare skin in slow, deliberate strokes. “I wouldn’t want to assume.”

I let out a slow breath, my head tilting just slightly as his lips brushed against my jaw. “Rathiel.”

“Yes?” he murmured.

“I swear to every forsaken inch of this place, if you don’t kiss me properly, I will?—”

He cut me off with exactly what I’d been asking for.

The teasing, the hesitation, all of it vanished the instant his lips claimed mine. I melted against him, my fingers tangling in his hair as I deepened the kiss. Rath’s hands slid up my back and under my wings, locking me against him. His touch wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t cautious or reverent. He was touching me like I was his. Because Iwas.

I nipped at his bottom lip, my hands stroking his stomach, his sides, his back, longing to rip his clothing off him. I wanted him nakednow. But I also wanted to take my time. An interesting contradiction of emotions.

And one Rathiel took charge of when he gripped my wrists and pinned my arms against the railing. My breath stuttered and my heart jumped at the show of strength, at the way he held me in place so effortlessly.

He lowered his head, his lips tracing the column of my throat with a deliberate slowness, his breath warm against my skin. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t desperate. But there was something beneath the practiced control and teasing. Something that sent a shiver down my spine.

I knew this game well.

We’d done this before—stolen moments between war councils and blood-soaked battles, pressed together in the dark, grasping at whatever time we could steal for ourselves. And more than once, in the heat of it all, I had felt the press of his fangs at my throat, the quick hitch in his breath before he gave in, before I tilted my head back and let him feed.

He always asked first. Even when hunger had sharpened his edges, when his restraint had frayed so thin I could feel the tremble in his hands, he’d never oncejusttaken. He’d waited for me to say yes.

And I had. Every time.

But tonight felt different.

His grip on my wrists wasn’tjustteasing. His breath against my skin wasn’tjusttemptation.

There was a weight to it.

A tension that hadn’t been there before.

I swallowed, feeling his lips skim just over the place where his fangs had pierced before. “Rathiel,” I murmured.

His fingers flexed around my wrists, his entire body taut, like he was holding himself back. His mouth hovered against my pulse, and for a moment, I thought he would ask.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he eased back, his grip releasing my wrists. “Not tonight.”

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