Page 67 of The Bastard's Lily
His jaw works once, like he’s chewing down words that might break the room apart. Then, his hand slides to the back of my neck, steady and sure.
“You’re not just my girl anymore,” he says finally, voice a low growl. “You’re my fuckingwarstrategy.”
The words settle between us like a spark catching dry tinder.
His thumb strokes the back of my neck, slow, deliberate. “You hear me?” he murmurs, eyes never leaving mine. “Every move I make tonight starts with whatyoubrought me.”
My breath shudders out. “Rook…”
He leans in until his forehead rests against mine, the weight of him anchoring me. “We do this together. No more you alone. No more me alone.”
The air around us thickens, humming with everything unspoken.
I slide my palms up his chest, feeling the hard drum of his heartbeat under my fingertips. He doesn’t move, just watches me with that dark, unwavering focus.
“Tell me you’re in,” he says, voice a low command.
“I’m in,” I whisper.
The corner of his mouth curves, fierce and proud, and he tilts my chin higher—close enough that I can taste the heat of his next breath. The table presses cold and solid against the backs of my legs as he closes the last inch between us.
His mouth crashes into mine, hard and desperate, his hand at my neck pulling me closer. I gasp against him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he kisses me like he's drowning and I'm his last breath of air. There's nothing gentle about it—all teeth and tongue and five years of longing packed into a single moment.
Rook lifts me onto the table in one fluid motion, parts and papers scattering across the surface. A blueprint crumples beneath me; metal pieces clatter to the floor. I don't care. All I can focus on is the weight of him between my thighs, the heat of his hands as they slide under my shirt.
"Fuck," he growls against my mouth, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"
I bite his lower lip in response, drawing a hiss from him that vibrates through my entire body. His hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, gripping my thighs, pushing under my clothes to find bare skin. I'm just as frantic, yanking at his belt, desperate to feel him.
He breaks the kiss to drag his mouth down my neck. Rook’s hands slide up to my throat, and for a moment our eyes lock. There's a question there—permission he's waiting for. I nod almost imperceptibly, and his fingers tighten around my neck.
The pressure is exquisite—not enough to cut off my air completely, but enough that each breath becomes deliberate, precious. My pulse throbs against his palm as his thumb strokesthe hollow of my throat. I arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping me.
"You like that?" His voice is gravel and sin. "Like feeling me control how you breathe?"
I can only nod, my hands gripping his forearms, not to pull away but to anchor myself. The edges of my vision blur slightly, everything narrowing down to the sensation of his fingers against my skin.
"That's right," he growls, leaning in to bite at my ear. "Fucking perfect like this. Taking what I give you."
His other hand works between us, unbuttoning my pants with practiced efficiency. I lift my hips to help him; the movement makes his grip on my throat tighten momentarily. The flash of light behind my eyes makes me gasp.
"Up," he commands, and I lift my arms as he pulls the top over my head in one swift motion. The air hits my skin, raising goosebumps across my shoulders and chest. I sit before him in just my bra and panties, exposed under his hungry gaze.
His eyes travel over me slowly, methodically, like he's memorizing every inch. The intensity in his stare makes me want to cover myself and spread wider all at once. I do neither, just wait, breath caught in my throat as his fingers trace the edge of my bra, following the curve where lace meets skin.
"You're fucking beautiful," he says, voice rough. "Always have been."
He unbuttons his jeans next, pushing them down his muscular thighs. The sight of him standing before me in just his boxers makes my mouth go dry. The outline of him strains against the fabric, and my body responds with a rush of heat between my legs.
"Scoot back," he orders, voice low.
I slide backward on the table as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear, dragging them down my legs in one smooth motion. The cool air hits me where I'm already wet and waiting. His eyes darken as he looks at me, spread out before him like an offering.
"Fucking beautiful," he mutters again, almost to himself.
He drops to his knees in front of me, his broad shoulders pushing my thighs wider apart. My heart hammers against my ribs as his breath ghosts over my inner thigh. He looks up at me, holding my gaze as his fingers trace lightly along my center, barely touching, teasing.
I bite my lip to keep from begging, but he sees it anyway. The corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smirk.
