And he was the reason I could look Rían in his searching blue eyes and say with all honesty, “I have.”
The way his gaze drifted to my heaving chest then slowly slid back to my mouth left heat pooling low in my stomach. And then he smiled and said, “Will I unravel now or wait until you finish that tart?”
19
His darkness sangto my own, calling it forth. Urging me to give in.
I wanted him.
All I had to do was move the words from my mind to my tongue.
The cherry tart could wait.
“Now, please.”
Like a wild beast released from its tether, he caught me by the back of the head, and slammed his lips to mine. The intoxicating taste of wine and magic left my head reeling. My body clung to his, forming and molding. I clutched his collar with the last bit of strength I possessed.Too much space separated us, and I closed the distance, climbing onto his lap, straddling his hips.
With one kiss he stole every reason I shouldn’t want him, leaving only the darkness and an unbiddable yearning growing deep in my soul.
He pulled away, his curved knife appearing in his hand. My stuttering heart thundered when he brought the blade to my throat.
“Do you fear me?” he asked.
“No.” I wasn’t afraid. Not of him. Not of anything. Not tonight.
Icy steel flattened against my neck, sliding it until it reached the swell of my breast.
And nicked me.
“You should,” he whispered, transfixed by the blood welling from my broken skin. Searing heat burned through his fingertip as he drew it along the length of the wound, smearing deep red onto the neck of my dress. He brought his finger to his mouth and licked it off.
“What are you doing?” The fae didn’t drink blood.
Rían’s eyes were no longer blue, but black. “I’m only half fae,” he confessed, red still on his lips as he adjusted his grip on the dagger, sliding the sharp point down my breastbone, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to leave a white line on my skin. Against the shell of my ear, he said, “My mother is a witch.”
He dragged the blade down the bodice of my gown, slicing the fabric like it had been made of spiderwebs.
“Tell me where he touched you so that I may burn his memory from your skin.” Rían drew down the sleeves of my shift. “Here?” he whispered against my bare shoulder.
My breathing caught. “Yes.”
Lips of flame dragged along my collarbone. His tongue traced the neckline, dipping between my breasts.
When he moved away, I whimpered.
His hands cupped my chest. “Did he touch you here?”
Magic slipped up my shift like a thousand phantom fingers, dancing along my legs, my thighs. His head dipped to sample the peak of my breast through the fabric.
My back arched, thrusting my chest deeper into his grasp.
Every glance felt like an intimate caress. Every brush of his heated breath an experience in and of itself. Every touch igniting, driving me to the point of insanity.
I opened my mouth to cry out, felt a whimper leave my throat, but there was no sound.
The way his tongue swirled and teeth scraped were my undoing.
He caught the hem of my shift, dragging the garment up and off. Embarrassment warmed my cheeks. Seeing the way his black eyes drank in the sight of me tore it all away.