Page 102 of Red Fury
“I quickly realized that it wasn’t. I let my anger cloud my thinking. I should have known better. With males like Kozlov, it’snevera fair fight.”
Tears prick at my eyes, which is so unlike me that it’s almost alarming. I never cry. Never show weakness. But something about this situation, about seeing Fury blame himself for trying to help me, breaks something loose inside my chest.
“I’m grateful you came for me,” I whisper. “That you risked everything. But you shouldn’t have. Not for me.”
“Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to cup my face in his hands. “Look at me.”
I meet his gaze, seeing the sincerity burning in his eyes. They’re eyes I’ve come to know well in such a short time.
“You’re worth every risk and then some,” he tells me. “You’re worth everything.”
Before I can argue, his mouth is on mine, gentle at first, then with growing heat and desperation. I kiss him back with equal fervor, pouring all my fear and gratitude and confused emotions into the connection between us.
His hands tangle in my hair as he deepens the kiss. I whimper.
His answer is a low growl that rumbles beneath my nipples, a vibration that shivers through my bones, reminding me what I am and what I could become. He splays his hand over my hip, his fingers digging into the flesh, anchoring me to him.
I pull away a little. “I want you. Right here and right now,” I say against his mouth, rubbing myself against him.
“Are you sure?” His eyes are such a beautiful blue. “You’re still healing, and we don’t know—”
“I’m sure,” I say, cutting him off. “If this is our last night together, I want to spend it with you doing more than just cry about how bad we have it. I want to live.”
He watches me, lips slightly parted, as if he’s starving and I’m the only food left in the world. The air between us sharpens, hot as dragonfire and just as likely to burn. To show him I mean it, I drag the dress over my head.
When Fury puts his big, warm hands on me, I feel like things might just work out somehow, although I have no idea how. I don’t want to think about that right now. I just want to feel.
I slip off my panties, and they land forgotten somewhere in the shadows surrounding the mattress.
He takes me in. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.
My skin prickles where his lips press soft kisses along my collarbone, trailing lower until he’s suckling lightly at my breast, his tongue circling the nipple until I arch against him, hungry for more.
“Yes,” I moan.
He doesn’t rush, not this time. He guides me gently to my back, though the way his hands shake betrays how much he’s holding back. I wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer until there’s nothing but our warmth, our heat, our need.
The first time we were together, it was frantic and desperate. This time, it’s different.
He spends an eternity kissing me, his mouth lingering at the hollow of my throat, my shoulder, the stretch of my belly. My hands tunnel through his hair, clutching at the inky black when the need builds too high to contain. When he finally slides his fingers between my legs, I gasp, a harsh sound that echoes in the small room. He rubs circles around my clit, gentle at first, then firmer until I’m writhing. His mouth finds mine, and he swallows my moans, feeding them back to me, each sound making him harder as I feel him against my thigh.
He takes me almost to the edge before stopping. I gasp in frustration. I’m so needy, so desperate, so damned aching for more. For all of it. For him.
“Please,” I gasp.
He moves to cover me with his massive body and puts the tip of his cock at my entrance, where he hovers.
I curl my hand around the back of his neck and pull him down, lips to his ear. “Are you going to make me come, or what?”
Fury chuckles. “I think I can manage that.”
Then he thrusts inside me, slow and deep, and my world contracts until there’s nothing but the exquisite stretch and the bright, bursting sting of being filled so completely. I cry out, digging my nails into his shoulders, and he shudders.
“Fuck, Shadow,” he gasps. “Fuuuuck! You feel so good.”
He starts to thrust using deep, punchy movements that take my breath. Every time he moves inside me, it’s as if he’s driving out the darkness I never knew I had. The intensity of it makes me shake, makes me want to claw at him until I draw blood. His forehead presses against mine, both of us panting, and I see my reflection in his eyes. I also see how much pleasure I’m giving him, how taut his features look, how he is dragging in air like a dying male.
He pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in, setting a rhythm that’s slow but relentless. His hands roam constantly, one curled around my thigh, the other stroking up my arm, grounding me. He keeps whispering my name, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
