Page 82 of Female Fantasy
As if reading my mind, Ryke pulls my body flush against his. His hot breath ghosts across my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
“I ought to take you again, fast and hard, to show my gratitude,” he growls. “But we must wait.”
“Why?” I protest, wanting that every bit as much as he does.
“We will wait until you are well, and that is final, Merriah,” he says, kissing my collarbone. “I will not put you in harm’s way again. Although I must say, it is a funny thing…”
“A funny thing?” I repeat.
He nods. “All this energy pulsing through my veins—it elevates every single one of my urges. My anger. My hunger.” His eyes trail over my body. “My want.”
My face falls. Is Ryke’s desire for me fueled entirely by my energy flowing through his body? If I hadn’t shared power with him, would he still be speaking to me in this manner?
Is it me he truly wants?
Or is it my blood?
“I can see now,” he continues, “why the sirens convinced so many to trade their lives for just a taste.”
I offer him a weak smile, but my heart nosedives to the very bottom of my chest until I am truly shipwrecked.
Chapter Sixteen
Sunlight pours through the window of Angel’s Brooklyn enclave. In our hurry to get to bed, Nico and I must have forgotten to close the curtains. I let out a small groan. From the way the sun’s positioned, barely peeking over the rooftops and fire escapes, it can’t be later than 6 a.m.
Then all the details of last night come flooding back, destroying my brain’s dental dam of denial.
Nico.
Nico touching me.
Nico touching me and feeling me and filling me—
I feel his breath, heavy against the back of my neck, before I see him.
He’s partially on top of me, his arm thrown over my waist and a leg sprawled over my thighs, holding me tightly against him in his sleep. Our night on the roof feels hazy, like a storyI read when I was a child. The glow of the skyscrapers lighting our dilated pupils.
Nico’s tongue against my pulse points.
My hands locked in his hair.
You have no idea, do you?
Absolutely fucking perfect.
I bite my tongue.
He had to have been exaggerating, right? There’s no way Nico—grumpy, cynical, disaster-obsessed Nico—has been harboring an actual crush on me for a little less than a decade.
I mean, I would have noticed if he was.
But then again, they say the line between love and hate is thinner than a G-string.
Although Nico doesn’t believe in love.
Just like that, my heart takes a back seat while my head takes the wheel. I need to be practical about this. Forward-thinking. I can’t fall for Nico’s dirty words or earnest promises, whispered like a quiet prayer after a few glasses of wine and some minor trauma bonding, and under the cover of night to boot. Our emotions were heightened, along with our stress levels. One night of good—okay, fine, incredible, best I’ve ever had, is that what you want to hear?!—sex with a man who practically brags about his commitment to not committing cannot derail my plans. After all, Nico is here to chase some woman, not spend time with me. And I’m here for one reason and one reason only: to meet Ryan Mare. The real-life Ryke.
The potential love of my life.
