Page 35 of Forbidden Empire
My body wanted anything but normal. Heat pooled between my legs, embarrassing and impossible to hide.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
It sounded pathetic, all hoarse and shaky, since my hands reached for him anyway.
He gave no answer, just staring with eyes so dark that I couldn’t tell where the blackness stopped and the rest of the eyes started.
When he leaned down, the bed dipped, and I slid just a little toward him, like the mattress wanted me closer, too. He was hot, close enough that I could smell him, a mix of blood, sweat, and expensive cologne.
My hands acted on their own, yanking at the pearl buttons and sending them flying across the floor. The ripping sound of fabric was loud, sharp, and satisfying, filling the space between our heavy breathing.
He growled, a real, honest-to-god growl, as I shoved his ruined shirt off his shoulders.
The first touch of skin to skin, it shouldn’t have been any different than before, but somehow it was, a spark zapping straight up my arm and making me jolt.
My fingers skimmed over old scars, mapped the lines of muscle I’d already learned by heart but somehow hadn’t mastered.
Then he caught my wrist.
Hard.
Tomorrow, I’d see the marks.
He yanked my hand to his mouth, and his teeth scraped across my fingertips; his eyes never left mine, a dark dare set hard and challenging in the depths.
Heat flooded my tongue. I wasn’t bleeding, not that I could tell, but my heart hammered so hard in my chest, I thought maybe it would break loose and smack him in the face.
Every single nerve ending I had screamed at me to run, now, but my body leaned in, desperate for the very thing it shouldn’t want.
His other hand slid up, palm bracing against my throat, thumb pressing just hard enough that I remembered how easily he could snap it.
I swallowed.
He felt that, and his thumb pressed in a tiny bit more, tracking every movement. His mouth twitched up at the corner, not a smile, unless you could call something that wild a smile.
"You should be afraid of me," he said, and the way he said it made me want to laugh, or maybe scream, or perhaps melt into the bed and disappear.
He pressed his thumb to my throat. I could feel my pulse beating under his hand, fast, frantic, like a rabbit trying to escape a snare.
It was pointless to pretend I didn’t like it. My body shivered, but not from fear.
It was something worse than fear, the way his hips locked me in place, holding me so I couldn’t move. He was hard against my thigh, and I could feel every inch of him.
Then his teeth scraped my ear, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
“I can feel your heart racing,” he said, hot against my neck. “Are you scared, Esme? Or is this something else?”
The mattress dipped under us.
He was a rock, and I was…I wasn’t sure, perhaps a puddle?
I dug my nails into his shoulders, not caring if I left marks. If anything, I hoped I did.
He groaned, deep and guttural, and I tasted blood. Maybe I’d bitten my own lip.
“I hate you,” I repeated, stoic in my resolve that he was the enemy, but my body wasn’t getting the message. My thighs just opened for him.
“Liar,” he said, and his mouth was on my neck, teeth scraping, biting down just enough to make my vision go bright and fuzzy around the edges.
