Page 23 of Captive Bride

Isobel

His touch is like liquid fire. It warms me. Spreads through me.

It burns away until there is nothing.

No me, no Capulets, no fucking Governor.

I exist at the tips of his fingers.

His tongue slides into my mouth, caressing my own.

It sends shockwaves racing through my body.

I moan into his mouth—primal, full of desire and promise. It’s a sound I never knew myself capable of making.

His hands find my wrists, guiding my arms above my head to pin them against the wall.

I feel the strength in his grasp, the power in his hands.

My own hands in comparison feel frail. My entire being small.

This man is an absolute force.

I’ve never in my life felt so helpless as I do now, clenched in his embrace. My chest heaves against him.

The fire that is him rushes through me, burning me to within an inch of my sanity. It licks through my core. It pools between my legs.

I feel his force in every nerve. I taste his strength.

With just one kiss, I belong to him.

The thought draws me back to panic, mind racing.

I break away from him, withdrawing further into the corner, staring into his eyes. They meet me, frenzied, full of heat.

“I have to go,” I mutter, not fully committed to the idea myself.

This is too much.

He’s too much.

“Now?” he asks, incredulous.

“I—I’m sorry. I need to go back.”

He looks are me levelly. “What do you have to go back to?”

The question hits me like a punch to the gut.

I have no good answer. I have no answer at all.

“I have to go.” I say feebly, pushing past him and back towards the hall.

I expect him to call after me, to beg me to come back. I may not get out much, but even I know that kiss was something special. Something different.

He’s completely silent as I make my exit, though, brooking no further argument.

Really, what more is there to say? I have nothing to go back to.

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