Page 50 of Scarred
She cocks a brow. “One could say the same about you.”
“Who ever saidIwas good?”
She fidgets, biting her lower lip. The movement is a straight shot to my groin, aching to feel her flesh betweenmyteeth instead, wondering what it would taste like to have her blood on my tongue.
She sighs, running a hand over her face. “You won’t… you won’t tell anyone I was here, will you?”
“That depends.” I move closer. “What’s in it for me?”
Her mouth pops open. “I… what do you want?”
I take another step, and then another, until the tips of my boots touch hers. I’m so close I see the muscles in her neck work as she swallows, and my fingers tense against the urge to reach out and feel her pulse, just to see how quickly I can make it beat.
“Tell me a secret,ma petite menteuse,” I whisper.
The flame of my candle flashes in her eyes, and she cranes her neck to meet my stare. “I don’t have any secrets.”
I chuckle. “We all have secrets.”
“So what’s one of yours?” Her head tilts.
“Mine are a burden I wouldn’t wish on anyone, even you.”
She scoffs. “So tell me what you’re calling me then.”
I lift a brow.
“The French,” she presses. “What is it?”
Tsking, I shake my head. “Always so many questions.”
“And never any answers,” she bites back. “At least tell me what you’re doing here at three in the morning.”
Now, I do lift my hand, unable to stifle the urge, resting my fingers around the side of her throat until I feel the steady rhythm of her heart. She sucks in a breath, and it races under my touch.
“Maybe I’m following you.”
“Are you?”
“Would you like me to?”
She groans. “Do you answer everything with another question? It’s infuriating.”
Something warm expands in my chest, and it hits me that here in the tunnels, we’re completely alone.
I could take her, and fuck her, andbreakher, and no one would be the wiser.
The temptation is so strong, my fingers twitch, my cock jerking wildly as I imagine her naked and flush against the cold stone of the wall, her body shivering as I thrust inside her until she screams. I press my body to hers, wanting her to feel what she’s done.
Her eyes widen at my movement, her fingers gripping the small lamp tighter.
“Do you react this way tohim?” I ask, my stomach churning at the thought.
“What?”
“When my brother touches you.” I skim my hand from her neck up to her jaw, coasting across the sharp angles until I’m tracing the lines of her face. “Does your breathing grow shallow, and your skin blush pink?”
“That’s none of your business,” she breathes.
