Boom.
Patter-patter.
Boom.
Patter-patter.
Boom.
“I didn’t frighten you, did I?”
I lift my chin. “No, this is actually perfect.”
I don’t step away from him when he times his movements to match mine. When his strong arms weave around my front. Instead, I let myself enjoy the closeness of having a body surge tomybeat for a change, with not a thought in my head but the next roll of my hips.
When his lips brush the side of my neck, I tip my head and give him better access, letting him lave at me like it means something.
Likewemean something.
I turn, take in his tall, broad physique, his face flushed with a roguish grin and eyes stained with cosmic lust.
A bloom of something beautifully selfish sparks low in my belly—an ember throbbing to life. And I don’t want it to dim. I don’t want to douse it in thoughts of what’s right and wrong and what’sexpectedof me.I don’t want to think about what I’ve promised. Who Iowemyself to.
I certainly don’t want to think about the hideous consequences of this rebellious thought I’m suddenly transfixed with.
My heart smashes a brand-new rhythm when I realize I want this. To take back the power I’ve lost over my body simply because two powerful men can’t play nicely with each other.
For once in my life—for this tiny, selfish moment—I want to bleed formyself.
His eyes widen in shock as I grab his hand and pull him through the crowd, leading him past fruit-laden trees and mossy boulders, across the gurgling stream and into a shadowed nose of the cave, its low ceiling riddled with glowing stalactites.
Turning, I fist his shirt and pull him forward, taking his mouth in a desperate kiss that first makes him pause before his deep moan pours into me.
I rip at his shirt buttons, slide my hands beneath the fabric, palms skating over lean muscles as I shove the shirt off his shoulders.
“Slow down,” he mumbles against my mouth.
I undo my own buttons with the same frantic veracity. “I don’t want slow,” I bite out, ripping it away, my bare skin licked by swirling humidity.
I just want to be free.
His hands cup my naked breasts. “Fucking hell.”
I eat up his words with a kiss that swallows his resonating moan, taking him by the wrist and threading his hand down the flat of my stomach.
“My Gods,” he grates, flicking the buttons on my waistband.
Weaving beneath my panties, his fingers delve through me, coaxing that delicious throb as I grind against him, forcing them deeper.
Deeper …
“I need more,” I murmur, hands slamming back to tangle with the vines cushioning the walls. He pulls my pants and underwear down my legs. Pauses when his fingers brush over my blade.
“What’s th—”
“Leave it,” I gasp, and he plants a kiss against my leg, murmuring something about being full of surprises as my pants are tossed aside—more kisses peppered up the inside of my widening thighs.
I grip his hair and yank his head back seconds before his mouth can make contact withthatpart of me, because that feels too intimate.
