Page 32 of Silent Schemes
I should use this moment to strike.
Instead, I press the knife harder, warning him.
"Careful," I breathe.
"I'm never careful,Ruin."
I almost don’t register what he’s calling me before he kisses me.
And, it's nothing like the calculated seductions I've performed before.
This is raw hunger, desperate need, two predators trying to devour each other.
His teeth catch my lower lip, biting down just hard enough to sting, and I respond by dragging my nails down his back, feeling skin break beneath them.
The knife stays between us, a reminder of what we are, whatthisis.
But when his hand slides down to grip my thigh, hiking it up around his waist, I forget about the mission.
Forget about my father.
Forget everything except the feeling of being pressed between cold glass and burning heat.
His mouth moves to my throat, and I know he's going to leave marks.
Evidence.
Proof that I let him this close.
My father will see them and know I've compromised myself.
The thought should stop me.
Instead, it makes me grip his hair harder, hold him there, let him brand me with his mouth while I mark him with my nails.
"You're going to be the death of me," he says against my skin, and it should sound like surrender, but somehow sounds like victory.
"That's the plan," I gasp as his hand slides higher up my thigh.
"Liar." He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his eyes are black with want. "If you wanted me dead, I'd already be bleeding out. That knife? You're holding it wrong for a kill shot. You shifted your grip thirty seconds ago."
He's right.
Ihatethat he's right.
Somewhere between the first kiss and now, I stopped holding the knife to kill and started holding it to warn.
To play.
To keep this dangerous dance going.
"Maybe I want to take my time," I challenge.
"Maybe you want something else entirely."
The hand in my hair tightens, pulling my head back further, and his mouth returns to my throat, moving lower.
The shirt I'm wearing—his shirt—has buttons.
