Page 25 of The Forbidden Bride He Stole

“Is it athank youthat you wish to give? Paying me back for my help? Do you thank all the men in your life that way?”

She tried to shake her head, but he held her fast.

“I don’t,” she said.

His eyes were like obsidian. Dark and without end.

“Stand up,” he said, releasing his hold on her hair.

“But I...”

“Stand up. Take your clothes off. Show me what’s mine.”

She hadn’t expected that. And she wondered if he was trying to call her bluff. If he was trying to prove that she would be too frightened to do what he asked.

This was not the guardian who had set boundaries for her these past years. This was not the man who had taken care of her, or even the one who had stormed the altar today as a method of protecting her.

This was a different side of Apollo. One she had not seen before. She had caught a glimpse of it that night at the club, but it was as if she’d been looking through a cracked window. She had the impression of it but no more.

This wasmore. It was everything.

And so was he.

So she stood, ignoring the thundering of her heartbeat, and unhooked that bra, before pushing her panties down her hips and letting them fall to the floor. She stepped out of them, remaining in her high heels.

“Turn.”

She did, in a full circle, letting him see her body, her skin burning beneath his gaze.

“You have been pushing me these past months.”

She nodded. “Yes. I have been.”

“And you think you know what is out there? You think you know that you can handle all of this. You know what waits for you. You know what men want. Come here.”

She obeyed again.

He beckoned her with his finger, and she found herself sinking down to the floor, on her knees before him, between his spread thighs. A version of what she had fantasized about that night that he had carried her out of the club.

He bent his head down, gripping her hair and pulling her head back, tilting her face up toward him. Then he leaned down and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her throat.

She gasped. And he captured her lips with his, swallowing down the sound of surprise as he slid his tongue against hers.

She was shaking. Trembling.

His lips were magic, his tongue wicked as he licked deep into her mouth, claiming her. Changing her.

Forever she would think of this. This dark room. The smell of woodsmoke, and the flavor of whiskey, and Apollo.

This would be her wedding night, forever etched into her memories. Not gauze and romance or whatever else a girl might imagine she would get on her wedding night.

But this dark, hot thing that burned between them like a living ember.

He was angry. He did not kiss her out of a sense of passion, but as a punishment. And she was too weak to deny it.

He was giving her what she wanted, but only in part. He was holding himself back, forcing her to swallow his anger down if she wanted any of his desire.

And she did. So she took it. All of it.

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