Page 264 of Fractured Allegiance
Her eyes flash. “You think I want to be held like that? Caged like that?”
I lean closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. “No. You want to know what it feels like to make someone lose control like that. To make them burn for you.”
Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t deny it.
Her knife is still in her hand, and when I close my fingers around her wrist, she doesn’t pull away.
Her wrist is caught in my grip, her pulse hammering against my palm. The knife glints between her fingers, but she doesn’t raise it. She doesn’t need to. The threat is in her eyes, not the blade.
“You think you know me,” she says, her tone flat, almost bored, though I see the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Youthink you can read me like you’ve got the manual. Like I’m really so transparent and basic, huh?”
I squeeze her wrist tighter, press her hand back against the wall until the knife handle digs into plaster. “I don’t think. I know you. It has nothing to do with transparency. I simply see you, Lydia.”
Her chin tips higher. “Then tell me, Agent Ward, what am I?”
The word agent is a dagger.
“You’re a woman who can’t stand to be overlooked,” I say. “You want control so badly you’d choke on it before you’d let it slip. You watched Elias with Mara tonight and hated him for it, because it reminded you that all your sharp edges can’t buy that kind of devotion.”
Her eyes darken, and for a second, I think she’ll spit in my face. Instead, she laughs. A sharp, humorless sound. “Devotion looks like slavery to me.”
I lean closer, my body pinning hers against the wall, the space between us vanishing. “And yet here you are. Letting me hold you. Letting me see you.”
Her free hand fists in my hair, pulling my head so that our eyes lock. “Don’t mistake my interest for weakness,” she hisses.
My lips curve. “I wouldn’t survive you if I did.”
The knife clatters to the floor between us. She lets it fall, because what we’re doing now is more dangerous than any blade.
Her mouth crashes into mine, violent, teeth clashing, lips bruising. She tastes like whiskey and iron, fury coating every kiss. I shove her harder into the wall, one hand gripping herthroat, not tight enough to stop her air, but enough to claim space, to demand she feels it.
She bites my lip hard enough to draw blood. I growl against her mouth, the sound vibrating through both of us. She pulls back just enough to whisper, “You want to own me?”
My hand tightens at her throat, my eyes locked on hers. “No. I want you to choose me.”
Her breath comes fast, chest rising against mine, heat pouring off her in waves. She laughs again, softer this time, but it carries more menace. “Then take me, Ward. Take what you think I won’t give.”
I drag her mouth back to mine, swallowing the challenge. The kiss is a fight, each of us pushing, each of us daring the other to surrender. Her nails rake down my chest, tearing across the raw wound in my shoulder, pain sparking white-hot, but I don’t pull back.
Her hips grind against me, reckless, as though proving she can set the pace even with my hand still at her throat. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch. Every move is defiance wrapped in desire.
And I know, this isn’t about surrender. Not yet. This is about her proving she can ride the storm instead of being consumed by it.
Her nails rake down my chest again, dragging across the cut on my shoulder, as though he’s intentionally pulling my strings, pain blooming sharp and hot. It doesn’t slow me. It drives me harder against her, my hand braced against the wall by her head, the other pinning her hip. She tilts her chin higher, eyes locked on mine, daring me to break first.
Our mouths fuse together again, rougher this time, teeth clashing, tongues tangling. There’s no masterful rhythm to it,and no patience either. Our mouths make love like it’s war. And that exactly what it is: a war where our tongues battle for dominance. She tastes like liquor and adrenaline, like a woman who refuses to be tamed. Like heaven and hell, all in one.
I bite down on her bottom lip until she gasps, then slide my mouth along her jaw, down to her throat. I don’t kiss gently. I drag my teeth against her skin, feeling the tremor that runs through her as I nip at the edge of her pulse. Her fingers twist in my hair, yanking me closer, hard enough to sting.
“Don’t hold back,” she breathes, the words hot against my ear. “If you’re going to ruin me, do it properly.”
I grip her thigh, dragging it up against my hip, pressing into her until there’s no mistaking what she does to me. “Careful, Lydia,” I growl against her skin. “You’ll find I don’t stop once I start.”
She grins, feral, lips parted, breath ragged. “Good. Don’t.”
I drag my hand down her side, cupping her ass, pulling her tighter against me. She grinds her hips forward, friction sparking through the thin barrier of fabric between us. A hiss escapes my teeth. She feels it, revels in it. Her smirk widens, as if she’s already winning.
I shove her harder into the wall, my mouth trailing lower—collarbone, the top swell of her breast. I don’t ask permission when I yank her shirt down far enough to taste skin, to bite lightly where lace meets flesh. She arches into me, a sharp gasp slipping free before she bites it back.
