Page 19 of Shattered & Returned

“You can let me go now.” Even as I spoke, my body arched closer. Nineteen years of isolation hadn’t prepared me for this, the way my pulse stuttered when his thumb brushed my ribcage, how my skin ached where we didn’t touch.

His chuckle rippled through me, dark and seductive. “You don’t want that, baby.”

Baby?

The endearment sent fresh heat pooling low in my belly. No one had ever called me that, not even Mom. His gaze dropped to my parted lips, and suddenly I wondered how his carnal mouth would feel against mine. The thought alone left me lightheaded.

I’d never been kissed.

But gods, I wanted his to be the first.

Just like in the courtyard, his nearness sent fire through my veins. That familiar hunger coiled in me, throbbing in time with my pulse. While my mouth went dry, my core grew slick and wet.

His fingers skimmed my throat, slow as a knife pressed to a pulse. “Do you know why?”

Every nerve ending sang. I bit back a whimper, even as my thoughts screamed retreat. This was how rabbits froze when the wolf circled—equal parts terror and terrible fascination.

I should push away. Run. Be the proper girl Mom had tried to shape.

But his thumb found the frantic flutter beneath my jaw, and all my resolve vanished like sugar in tea.

“Why?” The word slipped out before I could stop it. I tilted my head, immediately regretting both the question and the instinctive gesture. My thoughts moved through molasses, thick and slow, drowned in his scent of woodsmoke and something darkly addictive.

His grin widened, all white, even teeth and predatory amusement. “First, I saved you.” A calloused thumb brushed my collarbone. “Second,” his voice dropped to a rumble that vibrated through my ribs, “you’re dripping for me, little flower.”

My breath hitched. Surely, I’d misheard. No one spoke like that outside of romance novels. And he shouldn’t be so crude.

“I beg your pardon?” The protest came out half-strangled.

His silky voice curled around my throat like a coil of smoke. “You’re one breath away from begging me to bend you over and fuck you good and hard.”

Heat flamed my cheeks even as my body arched toward him of its own volition. His touch burned through my gown, branding me with invisible marks. Every ounce of propriety screamed at me to slap that arrogant smirk off his face, to leave him with the sting of my fingerprints as a reminder.

Yet I hesitated.

Not from fear, but from something far more dangerous—curiosity.

He was a predator, yes. I knew the type—had seen their hungry stares in the French town near my cabin. But this man? The way his fingers traced my spine, possessive yet reverent…

No. He’d devour the world before letting harm touch me.

I didn’t know how I knew, only that the certainty settled deep in my bones.

I met his gaze, letting fury mask the thrill coursing through me.“How dare you?”The words trembled, revealing everything I refused to admit.

His minty breath washed over me, mingling with sandalwood and embers. Beneath it all lurked a scent that didn’t belong in this world, one that tugged at a memory I couldn’t quite grasp. Familiar as my own heartbeat, yet alien as the stars.

Then a vision struck:

Me—but not me—with crimson hair like spilled wine down to my ankles, curled against a mountain of a man in black silk as we watched the river of lavas.

The image shattered before I could breathe. Gone like smoke, leaving only the ghost of heat against my cheeks.

“Let’s make a deal.” His smirk was a blade against my self-control. Moonlight caught the sharp angles of his beautiful face. “If you’re not wet for me right now, I’ll release you and never glance your way again.” His fingers flexed against my throat. “But if you are”—that dark gaze dropped to my mouth—“I get to taste what’s mine.”

My pulse hammered against his palm. Before I could summon outrage, before I could even breathe, his other hand was under my skirt. No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and calloused fingers where I ached most.

My spine arched of its own accord, a silent surrender.

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