Page 62 of Slay Me

“Exactly. You own them. You own me. Valentina was a problem because she believes you and I were sleeping together.”

“Technically, we have been, have we not?”

The heat spreads, thoughts I have no business thinking popping into my head. What would sex feel like with this man? Rough? Painful? Fucking exhilarating? Like toeing the line with death and dancing with darkness? I shake my head to clear it then return my gaze to his face. “Not the same thing.”

“Oh,” he says. “You mean she believed we were fucking.”

My mouth falls open slightly. That word leaving his lips? Fuck me if it doesn’t make me want to bend over right here. Which makes me a horrible person, given who I’m talking to. “Yes. She did. And that we are not doing.”

“No,” he replies. “We are not.”

“Then let me go home so I can get back to my life.”

“And if I do not grant your wish? What will you do then?”

“Go anyway. You may own my time, but you cannot force me to remain here.” I tip my face up to him as he steps forward. Close enough that if I were to reach out, I could touch his chest.

The tension between us has always been thick, but right now, it’s nearly unbearable.

“Fine. Tomorrow you can return to your life.” Dante leans in. “But you will not tell anyone where you’ve been. Do I make myself clear? You tell them you were with a healer. That I took you to one as soon as we knew you could travel safely.”

“Wouldn’t dream of tarnishing your monstrous reputation,” I sneer and turn away.

He grips my arm, and I’m yanked back toward him. The feeling of his bare hand on my skin is sizzling, the heat in his gaze, intoxicating.

My magic roars to life, stronger than I’ve ever felt it. And when Dante leans down, I long to close the distance and press my lips to his. Even as he whispers, “Telling them won’t tarnish a fucking thing for me. But it will ruin you.”

“You’re touching me again,” I whisper, searching his gaze for pain. He told me his flesh was tender, didn’t he? “You touched me to bring me here.”

“I had no choice.” He releases me. “If I had waited for help, you would have died.”

“I don’t understand. You told me you couldn’t touch me.” When he doesn’t respond, I press on. “That the consequences would be great if you did.”

“I’m dealing with them,” he snaps, resting both hands on the sink and dropping his head. He takes a deep breath, then another. “You have no idea the danger you’re in now, Liv. And I truly wish I could make you understand.”

This man is my captor.

My enemy.

Forgetting those two things will only end one way: with me dead…“I’ve never survived outside of danger,” I tell him honestly. Then, because he’s still very, very naked and I’m desperate to know what he feels like, I reach up and trail a finger down his spine.

Dante shivers.

“Does it hurt?”

He turns his head to me as his arm partially shifts, a multitude of colorful scales shimmering into view. “It hurts worse when you don’t touch me.”

I gasp, his words a punch of desire to my gut.

Need churns within me, and heat rushes between my legs.

Dante closes his eyes and inhales. “I can smell your arousal,” he growls. “I can taste it on my fucking tongue.”

I should pull away. Should put distance between us, because what’s happening right now is going to destroy the both of us. But even as logic dictates I run, I raise my hand again and touch his scales. They’re smooth and warm beneath my fingertips.

And—because, apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment—I lean down and press my lips to them.

Dante growls and rips me toward him. He claims my mouth, his lips feverish on mine. Every single doubt vacates my mind in a blur of passion. He lifts me and sets me on the countertop and then buries his hands in my hair, his tongue in my mouth.

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