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“Do not tease me. If you tempt me, witch, I will unleash all my unfulfilled desire on you. Consider that, in fifteen centuries, I learned a thousand ways to fuck you. Nothing will stop me from taking you to my bed, tying you down, and demonstrating each and every one.”
Oh, god.
His words zip straight between my legs. I clench and gush as a fresh wave of lust hits me.
I mean to tell him no. I do…but it’s as if I can’t refuse him.
What the hell is happening? This is more than chemistry.
This feels like fate.
Marrok grips my chin. “Why go through the elaborate charade of arranging a meeting through Bram? You knew where to find me. What game do you play?”
“No game.” Well, that’s not entirely true. When my fingertips brush the nearby angel, I remember that I have a plan. A semisane one that might get me free.
Once I find the willpower to use it.
He raises a black brow. “From frightened maiden to seductress in the span of a heartbeat? You underestimate me, Morgana. Sorely.”
“No. I’ve just stopped fighting this pull between us.”
“Liar.”
I blink up at him. “What can I do to make you believe me?”
Marrok grunts as his gaze traces my mouth, then dips lower, burning my nipples before he captures my gaze again.
I’m getting to him.
My fingers tremble as I settle my hand against his inferno of a chest. The need to tear off his thin black T-shirt and press myself against him almost overwhelms me. He stiffens. I’m convinced he feels the same sexual jolt. His heart beats furiously beneath my tingling palm. His erection, even through our clothes, burns me like a brand.
His body is on board, but his harsh stare says his head isn’t buying my act.
I have to get more persuasive.
“You feel it, too.” I rise on my tiptoes and drag my lips up the solid column of his neck. “Don’t you?”
He says nothing, but his sharp inhalation tells me everything.
“If you don’t let me touch you, if you don’t touch me back, this burning need is going to eat me alive,” I whisper. “I’m dying to know how good we can make each other feel.”
He grinds out a curse. His eyes slide shut. “Morgana, cease your torment, and release me from this hell.”
Grab the carving. Hit him now!
But I can’t make myself do it. His anguish, even if it’s in his head, feels so real. It becomes mine. And I hurt for him.
“Marrok, look at me.”
He does. Another spark shoots between us, hot and bright.
“How are you more accursedly beautiful than ever?” His bitter words aren’t a compliment.
Still, I drink them in. Tears sting my eyes.
No one has ever called me beautiful. And his expression says he’s not lying.
That means more to me than it should.
