Page 39 of Cast in Shadow
He hummed his appreciation. The sound was so low it reminded me of the purr of a giant cat. “Good.”
My blood was already boiling. I was slick and swollen. Every inch of me wanted more, but he just held me like that as the seconds ticked by, with his strong fingers wrapped around my throat as he stared into my eyes with a hunger that called to something deep inside me.
“Deep breath this time, Sai. In three, two, one.” He loosened his grip, and the air whooshed out of me in a rush, taking with it all the fear and doubt that were begging me to stop this before it went too far.
When I inhaled, I filled my lungs to the brim, and his grip tightened again.
His lips crashed into mine. Rough. Feral.
He tasted the same. Like over a century hadn’t passed since we’d shared a bed. Just like he’d tasted in every lurid dream I’d had about him since.
Like home.
And my control slipped a little more.
The ache in my core grew. My nipples hardened beneath his demanding touch.
Feeling him on my skin, with our teeth and tongues starting a war I wasn’t sure I wanted to win, was like being dragged back in time.
My head began to throb as I balled his shirt in my fists, torn between the need to pull him closer and my instincts screaming at me to shove him away. But his kiss was too raw, too deliciously brutal, and all I could do was hold on and pray I didn't break.
He pulled back, sucking in a ragged breath, but his hold on my throat didn’t ease. “Fuck,” he growled, watching me. “You always did love to push me.”
The pressure in my head built. My lips tingled. I could feel my cheeks flushing from pink to red while my lungs begged for fresh air.
“The signal, Senna.”
I knew what he wanted, but I stared back at him, suddenly desperate not to lose the moment and the euphoria it promised. If I let him in and he hurt me again, there wasn’t a chance in hell I would survive the fallout.
But maybe I could have this moment.
He shook me gently, his grip firm. “Give me the signal.” The gravel in his voice was a warning.
When Emerson took me to the edge, it also tested the limitsof his control, because he was a killer at heart. An ancient being with a black soul that was built for destruction. For him, the thrill of holding my life in his hands was something he got off on as much as I got off on giving myself over to him.
Even now, apparently.
His jaw tightened and he pulled me up higher, until the toes of my boots barely scraped the floor and his lips were an inch from mine.
Gods, I was so close already. I squeezed my thighs together, searching for the friction I craved. The way every muscle in my body stretched as he held me up was almost enough to push me over the edge.
His fingers dug into my skin. “Dammit, Senna.” He fisted my hair tighter.
Black spots danced at the edge of my vision. My eyelids fluttered, the sensation heady but still controlled. Barely.
So.
Close.
My hand felt like it was floating when I finally reached up and tapped his wrist three times. For one breathless second, I felt the shift in him—the hesitation, the fight to hold on. Then his grip vanished, and I fell back onto the bed, sucking in the sweetest air I’d ever tasted.
Emerson didn’t give me any longer than that to recover before he grabbed my belt and hauled me to the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”
I gave him a quick nod—part lie, part truth. My mind was still catching up, my pulse still chaotic from what we’d just done, but my body was already reaching for him as his fingers made fast work of my belt.
He tore my pants down my thighs, panties and all, before he’d gotten the zipper halfway down. My boots were still on, and when the bunched fabric caught at my ankles, thefrustration radiating from him raised the short hairs along the back of my neck. The man was all kinds of terrifying, but that was part of his appeal.
I’d always secretly loved it when he was wild for me.
