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That doesn’t seem possible.
But Marrok described everything almost perfectly, except he seduced me—with his glittering eyes, with his hard body, with the unspoken temptation of his lust. I smiled for him. I ached for him, torn between protecting the odd red book and succumbing to Marrok. When he tumbled me to my back, desire won out. I begged him to love me. I promised him everything he desired.
He only cared about the book.
How does he know so much about my dream…unless he had it, too?
Everything weird just got weirder.
Panicked, I try to lurch from his grip. He clutches my blouse in his fist and yanks, ripping it to the top of my underbust corset. He exposes the lacy cups of my bra. His blazing stare roams every visible inch of my skin. Thorough. Intent. Possessive.
I should be afraid. Terror should be galvanizing me to fight him off.
Fear isn’t what crashes to the pit of my stomach.
What he’s doing, what I’m feeling—both are wrong on so many levels. I have to stop him and get free.
“Let go, you bastard!”
Marrok does the opposite, wrapping his free hand around my throat. Then he maneuvers me against the door. “Not until you give me what I want.”
My heart revs. The ache coiling between my legs is mind-boggling, humiliating…and undeniable. My body behaves as if it belongs solely to Marrok.
I don’t understand.
His rough exhalations fall across my lips as he fixes his stare on my cleavage. Excitement lumps in my throat. I can’t speak. My breaths feel trapped in my chest, victims of the unbearable sizzle his touch sparks.
The lust I saw on his face earlier has returned.
With a vengeance.
I lower my lashes to skim the front of his jeans. Yep. He’s definitely aroused.
“Does it amuse you to know my body reacts to you?”
“No.” But I’m flustered and excited against my will. Why does he want me?
That doesn’t matter. Neither does this crazy attraction. I have to GTFO of here—before he does something unhinged. Or I do something stupid…like give in.
Shifting my weight to one foot, I watch his dark face. His stare never leaves my breasts. Hell, he never blinks.
My head tells me he’s predatory and dangerous. That any minute, he’s going to attack me and force himself on me.
My body completely disagrees. My nipples pucker. My pussy aches. My will to resist evaporates.
I ignore my inappropriate responses and silently count to three. Then I ram my knee straight toward Marrok’s balls.
He’s faster, catching my thigh in his grip and swinging it over his hip while lifting my skirt out of his way.
Suddenly, he’s between my legs, and I’m open wide to him. Vulnerable. He doesn’t hesitate to press his denim-covered erection against my pussy, covered only by damp panties.
I gasp. His heat scorches me. Without any conscious thought, my eyes slide shut in surrender.
When I grip his shoulders, he groans, his low rumble igniting every nerve ending between my legs. Need burns. The more he touches me, the more I crave.
“Aye,” he breathes in my ear.
I shudder—and lose the last of my free will.
