Page 70 of Lana Pecherczyk
River kissed Blake like he fought, all instinct and feral control. His fingers circled her throat, pinning her with that same deadly grace he used in battle, and by god, it stoked her desire. His other hand tugged roughly at her waist, slamming her hips against his. She gasped, and he ate it up. One heartbeat, he savored her lips. Next, his teeth grazed and nipped her jaw. Each touch was deliberate. Each breath measured, yet wild.
There was no other way to describe the feeling except that he was all in. He took charge. He was violence wrapped in a pretty package. His desire peppered through his block, pelting her like bullets, injecting fire into her veins until she was left panting.
It felt too good, too right, and terrifying for reasons she couldn’t fathom. She hated Jeff. She wasn’t the guilty party. She should be all in for this, too, hunting River’s lips as he did hers, devouring him like the starved woman she was. But a lifetime of dedication to one person, vows she’d taken seriously, and a belief that her ex’s cold love was all she deserved were hard to forget. It made her angry. Indignant. He was here, ruining her new life as surely as if he stood beside her and whispered,I should have seen the warning signs.
River’s lips froze on Blake’s.
Oh no.
He knew she wasn’t into this as much as he was. But she had been at the start. She wanted to get back into it. She couldn’t. Awkward awareness roared between them louder than the rustling leaves, louder than the water cascading in the distance.
An apology hovered on the tip of her tongue, but River handled her change in mood exactly as she’d predicted. He cracked a joke.
“Question.” His thumb traced her bottom lip, unapologetic appreciation written across his face. “How bad does my boo-boo need to be for that to last longer next time?”
Laughter bubbled up despite herself.
“Because,” he added, eyes crinkling, “I think I’ve changed my mind about letting you stab me instead of dickface. If it helps.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
He collected their discarded daggers with fluid movements and slid the obsidian hilt of one back into her palm. He moved on from the awkwardness so easily. Must be something that came with the almost three-hundred-year age thing.
So weird.
Yet oddly comforting. It made her feel that, as an adult, she didn’t need to have everything figured out. Like he would teach her and guide her, he would keep her safe. Something about that thought rekindled her desire for him. She bit her lower lip, hid her smile, and focused on the cool feel of the dagger’s hilt.
River positioned himself behind her, walking them backward until they stood halfway between the amphitheater’s edge and the forest.
“Alright, Sparkles.” His breath ghosted her ear. “Show me what you’ve got.” His heat vanished as he stepped away, and she almost pouted. “Ten points if you hit the dick.”
“Only ten?” Blake tested the dagger’s weight as if she knew what she was doing.
“Plus one of your debts back.”
“How can I resist that temptation?” She lined up her shot, then hesitated. The carved face seemed to mock her uncertainty. “But are you sure? I’m not used to destroying things. I fix them.”
“Breaking things feels good. Stabbing even better.”
She glanced over her shoulder. He stood two steps behind, arms crossed, narrowed gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “I’ll kiss the wittle twee’s boo-boo afterward. It’s an excellent remedy.”
His wink sparked heat in her cheeks. And between her thighs. Shit. She was definitely going to try kissing him again. Maybe sooner rather than later.
He clapped his hands, all business. “Let’s go.”
“Okay, but…” She shifted her weight. “I’m not feeling very ragey anymore.”
The look he returned was pure male hubris. “I have that effect on people sometimes.”
“Really? I thought it was the opposite.” She threw the dagger, but it glanced off the tree with humiliating ineffectiveness.
“I meant females, not people,” he corrected, striding over to collect her fallen weapon. Each movement held that lethal grace she’d begun associating with all Guardians. “Males tend to want to stab me. Go figure.”
His words twisted something in her gut. Was that jealousy?
“Did he cheat on you?” he asked, returning the dagger. “Your ex?”
