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Yet again, she didn’t even make it to the second syllable before Mordred cut her off.
“Enough!” He stormed up to her suddenly, backing her knees against the edge of her bed. In one movement, he grasped her by the jaw, tilting her head up to him.
For a moment, she worried he was going to snap her neck.
But it seemed he wanted to take his rage out on her in a different way.
She never got to say those three words. This time, because he was kissing her with a fury that threatened to devour her.
And damn her to hell, she wanted all of it.
Part of her wanted to surrender to it instantly—to give in to him, to let him just have whatever he was here to take. She loved the warlord and everything that came along with him.
The other part of her was pissed. Yeah, sure, fine. She had betrayed his trust, or at least not told him the whole truth twice now. But she hadn’t had any other good options at the time that didn’t wind up with her stuck in the Iron Crystal or used as bait for a demon.
It left her with anger and love, in equal measure, both at the same time. Two very different emotions merged and formed into one. She snarled in frustration and pushed on his chest, but the iron of his armor might have been the wall behind her. He wasn’t going to budge. So she did the only thing she could think of—she bit his tongue.
Not hard.
But enough.
He pulled his head back in surprise. She expected him to be angry—but instead, his lips turned up into a grin and he chuckled. As if she had just done something extremely silly and didn’t quite understand the ramifications of it.
If there was one skill in life that Gwen didn’t have, it was knowing when to stop digging a hole she had found herself in. Glaring at him, she decided that if he was going to rip her to shreds, she might as well make it count.
She slapped him.
His face barely moved, and she was certain it had hurt her palm way more than it had hurt his face. When he only laughed again, she went to repeat the motion. He caught her wrist before she could land the strike and quickly pinned it to the wall over her head. When she struggled and tried to push him away with her other hand, it quickly met the first, both wrists pinned under his single hand.
“How dare you, you—” She went to lay into him. But another searing, desperate, furious kiss cut her off again, swallowing her words and robbing her of her breath. God, it felt so good.
She moaned. She couldn’t help it. Need and desire lit in her instantly like she was still a fire elemental, sending all her nerves crackling to life.
She knew if she screamed or if she demanded he stop—he would. He wasn’t that kind of monster. She was ultimately in charge of this dance of theirs.
Maybe she should. It would be the intelligent thing to do.
The really intelligent thing to do.
But she needed him—needed this. Needed to feel his wrath and needed to take her own out on him in return. Needed to feel him one last time.
Even if she wanted to beat him with a baseball bat at the same time.
When they parted, her head was swimming, and her chest was heaving in a desperate attempt to catch her breath. He watched her, waiting for her to protest. Waiting for her to strike him again or tell him to stop.
It was the farthest thing from her mind. Reaching up, she dragged him back down into another kiss, needing to feel him against her. Needing him to understand that he couldn’t be serious. Not when they had each other.
Mordred broke the kiss before he slid his hand to her throat. He tightened his grasp, restricting her air just enough to send another dangerous thrill through her body. “I have come to procure an apology, Gwendolyn.”
“I said sorry,” she squeaked out. God, he was so painfully hot when he was scary.
“Not like that.” He smirked.
She should try to pretend that this didn’t turn her on. She really should. And she did her best to continue to glare. But when he tightened his hand just a little bit more, she let out a whimper that must have told him everything he needed to know.
She squeaked as he suddenly grabbed her by the hair and half threw her across the room, sending her staggering. She caught herself on the bedpost, her head spinning.
“Kneel.”
