Page 34 of Hell Hath No Fury
He was wearing clothes. Provided by the house, I guessed. And the house was really on my side if the gray sweatpants and fitted white tee were anything to go by.
I swallowed hard under the weight of his stare. Never had I felt so consumed by a gaze. A male one at that.
“Do you want a coffee?” I asked, gesturing to the French press.
His eyes darted there for a moment before gluing themselves back on me. His head moved in a barely perceptible nod.
I moved quickly, thankful for something to do. He watched me reach for a mug and pour the coffee. Every step. Every breath, I could feel him. My body sang for him.
I didn’t let any of this show as I worked purposefully without fear or hesitation, stopping in front of him closer than was polite.
But I wasn’t polite. And I needed to be close to him, needed to smell him, feel the energy from his body.
He tensed as I came close with the coffee, eyes swirling with threat and promise.
My hand shook with the coffee, and my knees felt unsteady, but I stood my ground.
When his hand raised to grab the coffee, our fingers brushed, and both of our bodies jerked with the contact.
The mug slammed onto the kitchen counter beside us, and he grabbed onto my hip, yanking me so I was flush to his body.
My response was instantaneous and powerful. My skin turned hot as the wind whipped around us, sweet and sultry. My hip burned under his grip.
“What is this?” he growled, his mouth inches from mine.
My heart beat rapidly, and my skin burned with need. With something primal. Something old.
The unseeable thread between us pulsated like a living thing. But surely he couldn’t feel it. Mortals had no connection to the magickal world.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whispered.
His brows pinched together, and his gaze darkened. “I don’t know you, but I know you’re lyin’,” he murmured. His hand moved up to push a hair from my face. “And I know I want more than my next fuckin’ breath to be inside you. To taste you. Every inch of you. To fill you up with me.”
Holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
Now, I’d never been one for any kind of dirty talk. I’d always found it corny, overrated and insincere.
But consider me a convert.
I wanted more than anything in this world to throw caution, sense and reason to the wind and let that happen. Let him take me right here.
But I had to hold onto something.
This was not normal. And having sex with him could be dangerous.
My first thought was some kind of spell. Likely Ridley trying to manipulate me by using a man to distract me, destroy me,control me. But it wasn’t that. I only wished it was. Whatever the fuck this was was something pure. Something born, not made. Something connected to my magick.
“Tell me who the fuck you are and why I feel like I know you,” he demanded, his voice rough.
“You first,” I returned, my own voice breathless and much too delicate for my taste.
His brows furrowed, and his grip fastened tighter still at my hip. “My name…” he trailed off suddenly.
His grip loosened as I watched that feral need leave his face, making way to confusion.
