Page 34 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

Farrow’s chest was heaving slightly, as if she had just run up a mountain. She watched him, holding herself perfectly still, but not moving away from his touch, as a good girl would.

There were a thousand reasons not to kiss her. He did not wish to ruin her, and he feared the vulnerability he felt when she was near.

But he bent close enough to brush his lips against hers anyway, and paused.

Pull back. Slap me. Scream for your parents. Stop me…

But she licked her lips instead, her pert pink tongue tracing a path his longed to follow.

He groaned in surrender, wrapping his hands around her shoulders, as if to hold her still as he pressed his mouth to hers.

She froze for an instant, then she was kissing him back, tentatively at first.

He drank in her sweet innocence, rewarding her efforts with herculean patience. He took small sips of her, nearly shaking with need for more.

But when she sighed as soft as the flutter of a dove’s wings, he lost control and fed hungrily at her mouth, teaching her to crave his tongue.

Oh, but she will crave it everywhere.

His wickedness felt like nothing. Farrow’s goodness turned his ravenous kisses into a benediction. It was not heresy - he worshipped the old goddesses at her mouth.

She tasted like she smelled - sunshine and fresh bread.

His ancient, restless soul was comforted, even as his body raged for more contact with her innocent flesh.

Her sleeping gown slipped down her shoulder, revealing more of her softness, and he followed with his lips, abandoning her mouth to nuzzle her neck.

“Blackthorn,” she whispered, trembling under his touch.

He could feel her heartbeat, taste the budding desire that frightened her, even as she craved more of his touch.

“Hush,” he crooned. “I’ll make it better.”

Chapter 16

Farrow

Farrow closed her eyes, trying to absorb the sensation of Blackthorn’s lips trailing down her neck.

Her mind knew she should try to stop him, but her body disagreed.

Magic gathered just under her skin, rising like the bubbles of a stream, rushing up to meet his mouth wherever it touched her. She had never felt so alive, so much herself.

This wasn’t just the heated, ticklish feeling she got when she lay in bed, thinking of the faceless handsome man who would one day be her husband.

It was a celebration of herself, of her magic and the man who desired to know it instead of fearing it.

“Lie back, love,” Blackthorn murmured to her. “Let me show you how good you can feel.”

“No,” she tried to whisper, forcing herself to think of her family and their reputation. “I need to go.”

“I will ease your aching without leaving my mark on you,” he whispered. “I will take nothing. You will be just as you were when you came to me.”

She hesitated and he ran his hand gently through her hair, sending a needy shiver down her spine.

She flowed into his arms like a river meeting the sea.

He lowered her onto his blanket and kissed her again, his tongue invading her mouth, teasing and coaxing until her heart was pounding.

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