Page 61 of Scarlet Mark
The hand on my hip slid beneath my dress, his bare touch eliciting a hiss from deep within me. I threaded my fingers in his hair, holding him to me, begging him with my mouth to do more.
And by some measure of a miracle, he gave in to me.
His palm slid from my throat to my breast, cupping it through the fabric and tweaking my nipple. “I want you naked, kitten. Now.” He knelt between my legs, forcing me to widen them to accommodate.
I gazed up at him beneath hooded eyes. “I want you naked, too.”
He tsked, a knife somehow magically appearing in his hand.
Where does he keep those?
No, better question: What is he doing?
Killian
Amara’s gaze darkened with intrigue, her arousal an addictive scent. One I wanted to explore with my tongue. But she needed to let go, to lose herself to my touch, to remember it was me who knelt between her legs.
And I required her trust.
She went to her elbows, her gaze holding a demand that made me smile.
“I’m in charge now, sweetheart. Not you.” I pressed the blade to her thigh, drawing the razor edge upward. She shivered, a tantalizing line of goose bumps trailing behind my sharp touch. “Do you like the danger, kitten? The very real prospect that I could accidentally—or purposely—slice your gorgeous skin?”
Her chest rose and fell, the rest of her remaining beautifully still. “You won’t,” she breathed.
“I won’t?” I repeated, pressing the tip into her hip, right at the pressure point. “Are you sure about that?”
She licked her lips, her pupils flaring. “Do it.” A dare. A provocation. A woman trying to top from the bottom.
I tsked again, sliding my dagger across her pelvis beneath the dress. “Are you wet for me, darling?”
“Yes,” she hissed, her lips parting.
“Mmm…” I slipped the metal through her damp folds, the action hidden by the fabric of her dress. It’d pooled around her waist, with pieces hiding the part of her I wanted most.
So fucking hot.
It increased the risk, heightened the moment, and elicited a shudder from her that oozed temptation.
There was the trust I desired.
Even being taunting, my weapon pressed against her pretty cunt, she was aroused and wanting. My perfect partner. My beautiful Amara.
I leaned in to kiss the top of her thigh, thanking her for her faith in me. She moaned, my blade resting against her mound.
“Don’t move,” I whispered, licking a path upward, beneath her dress.
“Killian…” Her head fell back, her arms shaking as she fought to hold her position up on her elbows.
So much discipline.
I adored it.
And she needed it.
Her episode before revealed a great deal about her headspace. She harbored an incredible amount of strength and a resolve I admired, but her past threatened her spirit. The panic in her gaze had chilled me to my very soul, calling on me to heal her, forcing me to engage her in this sexual game of limits. Because it was what she needed to let go, to move on, to work through the pain.
I understood her in a manner few others ever would. Maybe because I lived in a world of death and she flirted with the realm daily throughout her life. Maybe because we were meant to find each other. Maybe because we offered each other an escape from reality.
