Page 47 of Spark of Madness

He’s on the brink of immorality—closer than he should be to that edge—and dangerously near sin.

My first instinct is to push him back, to remind him of his faith, to encourage him to stay right and true, and to wait until the full moon to seek service for his needs. But something stronger than that takes hold of me, something warm and wild, like sparks threatening to ignite.

It feels wrong.

It feels dirty.

It feels good and necessary.

A true sinner’s thoughts.

I try to swallow my desire, but there’s something stronger within me, something evil that wants to unleash and take his soul, blend it with what’s left of mine.

I dare to speak the words that should only ever be spoken in service. “How can I serve you?”

He pulls back with a snap, his head jerking to look at me as his arms drop from the wall and fall heavily to his sides. “What did you just say to me?”

“I asked how I can serve you?” Shame wells in my gut for offering service here, now, withhim.

“It’s not a full moon, and you’re no longer a servant. You’re asinner.”

“Then perhaps it’s not a sin to purge with me.”

What amI saying?

I’m out of my mind with this begging sensation that lies heavily between my legs. “If I’m not a servant, and I’m not a domestic, then I’m really not anything, am I?”

He flinches, and I hang my head, feeling overcome with guilt, shame, disgust for losing myself within a moment’s lust when I should be fighting, demanding forgiveness for myself...for Delle. I should be focused on the reason why he dragged me from the dining room in the first place. I should be focused on fighting to save Delle if my fate is already sealed.

I let my eyes flutter shut to block out my senses, to try to recenter myself. Yet as soon as I see darkness, I’m swept up, arms wrapped around my back, body dragged away from the wall, and lips landing heavily on mine.

Lips.

Soft, but bruising lips…

My eyes snap open.

Arlo Rainn iskissing me?

I lift my bound hands, press my fists to his chest, and shove. He stutters backward, catching himself on the arm of the chair behind him as he quickly lowers to sit. His hand comes up to swipe across his short beard as he watches me with disbelief.

Before I can think, before I can process, my feet move, stepping toward him. As I move, so does he. We crash somewhere in the middle of the space between us, and our lips collide with furious, sparking passion. His tongue presses to the seam of my lips, begging me to open for him, and in service, I do.

He needs my service, and I want to give it to him.

I never wanted to give my service—I always gave it with reluctance and out of necessity for my own survival.

So why do I want to give itnow? To Arlo?

What is happening to me?

My tongue is timid where his is eager, swiping across mine, tasting me fully as his arms close around me again. It’s like he forces desire into my mouth with the swipe of his tongue, and I swallow it down, letting it sink heavily, making my stomach clench and my back arch as my body sways against him.

He shoves me back against the wall, breaking our kiss for but a moment to grab my bound wrists, to lift them high above my head and slam them to the wall before descending again.

I gasp into his mouth at the shock of his force—shock that he’s kissing me, touching me at all. This is beyond inappropriate—especially for a man in his position—and the rumbling voice of the servant that’s still buried somewhere deep within me tells me how wrong this is, that he’s misusing his position of power, that he’s doing something he should be condemned for.

But my rebellious spirit is strong, engaged, eager for this connection with a man I only know in passing...eager for so much more.

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