Page 168 of Of Blood and Banes
I fight against the smile creeping up my cheeks at his brazen confidence in me. “Are you going to keep talking out of your ass? Or will you actually teach me something?”
And Gods, does that bring the most brilliant smile to his coy lips.
We dance in a series of jabs, sidesteps, and swipes, each growing closer and closer to slicing the other and eliminating the space between us step by step.
“I noticed…” he grunts as he jerks back out of my wild swipe. “You’ve been wielding with your left—” He ducks. “Fuck, you might be better with the dagger than you are with a sword?—”
I slam my dagger into his and our blades lock. Sliding my weight forward, I creep us back toward the wall, digging deep into that anger sitting beneath the surface.
I grunt, raising an eyebrow. “You were saying?”
He flashes me a quick smile, something like pride in his expression. “But…not…quite…good enough,” he grits out, then forces our blades far to the right, breaking my balance.
“You’re breathing a little heavy there, Darian,” I snicker and jerk back to my stance, ready to block his advances.
“Make no mistake, I’ve handled two women at a time. One is no challenge.”
I snort and slash out at him. “Why does that not surprise me.”
“I must say though…” He catches my blade again, leaning his head down daringly to whisper, “I used to think that was my greatest fantasy. And then I met you.”
I bite down a shiver, his words driving straight down to my core, heating my cheeks instantly. I grunt, shoving my dagger away and ducking in time to dodge his swing.
Sexual prowess drips from every one of his movements and snide remarks. Gods, and it fucking pisses me off. Part of me is pissed at him because of the feelings he stirs in me. And the other part? The other part is pissed at myself. I’m so conflicted about how I feel. How completely and utterly out of control I am. I’m caught on his confident strides, how his messy brown hair is swept in ways that should be disheveled—but make me yearn to be the reason it looks that way. With my fingers tangled in his hair. Dragging my lips and teeth over his throat to keep him from saying some ridiculously stupid flirtation. He shouldn’t be as good looking as he is. And what’s even more infuriating?
He knows it.
Just as well as I do.
He’s back on me quick, his blade meeting mine, and we lock together once more. He steps closer to me, as if he doesn’t give a damn that I could stab him—whether on purpose or not.
“Nothing could compare to when I…” he leans forward and inhales the air near my ear, dangerously close. “Smelled you.”
He drags a tongue up my neck, and the grip on my dagger trembles in my hand. “Tasted you.”
He flings the dagger out of my grasp effortlessly, and the weapon skitters pathetically across the floor. He tosses his own, never breaking eye contact, his green eyes heated with desire.
He grabs me under the chin, brushing his thumb across my lower lip. “Touched you.”
Then he leans in, slowly, eyes fluttering nearly closed. His lips so near and yet too far from mine. “Kissed…you,” he breathes.
Subconsciously, I tip my head back to brush my nose to his, wetting my lips in anticipation.
His lips tease mine as he says an inch away, “Tell me, do you think about me, as much as I think about you?” He drops his hand from my face and, instead, grazes the back of his finger down my side to my hip.
“No. I don’t.”
“I don’t believe you,” he hisses against my ear and edges closer. His hand cups my hip and pauses, his fingers tightening on me. “Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his voice hot against my neck.
And yet, I don’t want to utter the words. I don’t want to make myself vulnerable by admitting how bad I want him. That I do think of him. Often. And that part of me is eager to touch and taste him again. Despite the danger of it.
I remember to breathe before I can black out. “I…”
Ican’t.Can’t tell him to stop. His hands are on me. The perfect distraction.
His voice is tight with strain, pained and desperate. “Fuck…show me some mercy, you ruthless woman. Tell me to stop. Rid me of this endless torture of wanting you but not having you. Tell me not to touch you. Tell me you don’t feel good with me. Tell me you don’t want?—”
Me.
