The burning feeling in my chest that lingers when I’m around him spreads through my entire body, making me catch my breath and gasp as I orgasm again. He braced himself against the headboard, muttering a stream of curses like he couldn’tbelieve what just happened, like he was feeling the same connection.
Then, like gravity claimed him, he collapsed on top of me, chest heaving, face buried in my neck.
“Jesus,” his lips brushed against my skin. “I’ve never come so hard in my life.” He carried on grinding against me, my clit sensitive.
I let out a breath of laughter.
Still buried inside me, he rolled onto his side, dragging me with him. I pressed closer without thinking, craving every inch of him against me. His arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, and when that smile hit—blue eyes shining—I was completely lost.
Whatever happens next, I’m ready for it as long as I have him and the others by my side.
Chapter 18
KIERAN
Finding Darian wasn’t hard. The guys are about as predictable as hangovers after tequila. He will be at the gym, trying to beat his anger into a punching bag… or some poor bastard dumb enough to take him on. Happens every time he’s pissed, but this time it’s over a girl.
Temptress.
She came into our lives like she had always belonged there, and it almost felt natural, even if I didn’t speak a lot to her. But I always watched.
Ronan is completely gone for her, like she’s the only person he sees now.
I get it. Hell, I feel it. She’s gorgeous, trouble in the kind of body that men lose sleep over. And that scent… cherries and vanilla. It hits me every time she’s near, and it gets under my skin, makes my chest tighten like I’ve been chain-smoking.
I needed to drink, but I couldn’t, and usually I would take the edge off between someone’s legs. But now the thought repulsed me, because the only legs I wanted to be between were hers.
It makes no fucking sense.
But she’s forbidden. Was forbidden.
I don’t fucking know.
The blood mage had clearly staked his claim on her, but that wouldn’t stop Ronan. Darian, on the other hand, can’t stand her, hence why he’s currently trying to murder that poor punchingbag in the corner. Two others already lie dead on the floor, ripped clean off the chain.
He has one hell of a temper, that one.
From what I could tell, he knew Temptress, and something had gone wrong between them. But every time her name came up—or his gaze lingered on her—his eyes betrayed him. I know him well enough to see the difference between real hate and the kind of hate he forces himself to feel.
As I got closer, ignoring everyone else who was loitering around, Darian was throwing punch after punch. Just gym shorts on, tattoos out, hair tied back with a few strands clinging to his sweat-slicked skin.
Every punch was sharp. Measured. Controlled—because that’s just who he is. Even when he’s seething, he still counts under his breath.
“You let all that anger out yet?” I called, my tone edged with amusement.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even glance my way, his knuckles already raw. He just wiped the sweat from his brow and kept his eyes locked on the bag like it had personally wronged him.
I leaned against the wall in front of him, arms crossed, waiting. My fingers twitched ever so slightly, and my mouth was dry.
Whisky. Alcohol. Something.
Darian wasn’t the type to spill his feelings, but as I said, I know him better than most.
“Let me guess,” I drawled. “You’re pissed because a certain little witch is still breathing.” His jaw tightened, but he didn’t react.
I pushed off the wall, stepping closer to him and lowering my voice. “Or maybe, just maybe, you don’t actually hate her. You hate that you can’t hate her.”
That did it. His fists clenched at his sides, his breathing a little sharper.
