His amber eyes swept over the room, taking in the pastel pillows, the floral blanket, the cheerful candles. His scowl deepened. "You're making itugly."
"I'm making itlivable. You guys act like you enjoy living in a crypt."
"Darius didn't authorize this."
"Darius didn't forbid it, either." I crossed my arms, mirroring his posture. "Selene said I could explore the common areas. This is a common area. I'm exploring it. Creatively."
He took a step into the room, and the air shifted. It was subtle—a thickening of the atmosphere, a charge that made the hair on my arms stand up. His eyes never left mine, and there was something in them now that hadn't been there a moment ago. Something dark and hungry and barely leashed.
"You think you can just waltz in here and change everything," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Rearrange our home like you belong here."
"I was told I'm staying indefinitely. That makes this my home too, at least for now." I lifted my chin. "I'm not going to apologize for making it feel less like a funeral parlor."
He moved then—fast, too fast, that supernatural speed that blurred the line between standing still and beingright there. Before I could react, he had me backed against the wall, one hand braced beside my head, his body a wall of heat inches from mine.
"You don't belong here," he growled, and the sound vibrated through my chest, settled low in my belly. "You're human. Fragile. Breakable. This world will chew you up and spit you out, and you're standing here puttingpastel pillowson my furniture like it's a game."
My heart was pounding. My breath was coming fast. And beneath the fear—because yes, there was fear, he was awerewolfand he could kill me without breaking a sweat—there was something else. Something hot and liquid and utterly infuriating.
"Make me stop," I whispered.
His eyes flared. His nostrils flared. I watched himscentme, watched his pupils dilate as he caught the evidence of my arousal—because yes, I was aroused, God help me, I was soaked and aching and he could probably smell every drop of it.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he rasped.
"I know exactly what I'm asking for." I held his gaze, refusing to look away. "You've been looking at me like you want to devour me since last night. So do it. Or stop posturing and let me decorate in peace."
Something snapped.
His hand came up and wrapped around my throat. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and I felt the sharp edge of a claw barely sheathed. One wrong move and he could open my artery. Instead, he pressed closer, his hips pinning mine to the wall, and I felt the hard ridge of his erection through his jeans.
"This is what you do to me," he snarled, grinding against me once, twice. The friction sent sparks shooting through my core, and I gasped, my hands flying up to grip his shoulders. "I can smell how wet you are. I can hear your heart racing. Youwantthis."
"Yes," I breathed, because there was no point denying it. "I want this."
He made a sound—half growl, half groan—and rutted against me with a desperate, feral rhythm. His hips rolled into mine, the rough denim scraping against the thin fabric of my leggings, and I could feel every inch of him, hot and hard andbig. His hand tightened on my throat, just enough to make my head spin, and his other hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.
"Look at you," he rasped, his lips brushing my ear. "So desperate for it. So eager. You'd let me take you right here against this wall, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," I gasped again, because I would. God help me, I absolutely would.
He thrust against me harder, faster, his breathing ragged. I could feel the tension coiling in his body, the barely contained violence of his need. He was holding back—I could sense it, the way his muscles trembled with the effort of not simply tearing my clothes off andtaking—
And then, as suddenly as it started, he stopped.
He pulled back, his hand dropping from my throat, his body retreating until there was a foot of cold air between us. His chest was heaving. His eyes were wild, amber bleeding into something darker. And his jeans were visibly tented, a damp spot forming where his arousal had pressed against the denim.
"This was a mistake," he said, his voice rough and broken. "You're a mistake."
Before I could respond—before I could even catch my breath—he turned and stalked out of the room, leaving me slumped against the wall, my body trembling, my core aching, my leggings absolutely soaked.
I stood there for a long moment, trying to remember how to breathe. My throat felt warm where his hand had been. My hips throbbed where his fingers had dug in. And between my legs, I was a mess of unfulfilled need and furious frustration.
He left me like this, I thought, anger rising to mix with the arousal.He ground against me like an animal in heat and then just... walked away.
I pushed off the wall, my legs unsteady. My reflection in a nearby mirror showed a woman with flushed cheeks and eyes that were too bright, too wild. I looked thoroughly debauched, and he hadn't even touched me properly.
I was going to kill him.
