But before she could answer, Deyric pulled her closer as the dress crumpled at her feet, forgotten, crushed under their steps. Looking up at him, her pulse hammered in her throat as his green hair fell loose around his face, wild and damp from the rain they’d run through to get from the castle to his small cottage. His hand found her hand, lifting it over his chest so her fingers rested above his heart. She could feel it pounding hard and fast, and something inside her stumbled to match it, like her body recognized the rhythm and had always known it.
“Yours?” Her voice cracked. It would be so easy to just take what he offered. But she couldn’t. Not yet. “Do you really want that after everything I’ve done? Because if you do, there’s no going back. It will be for always.”
He pressed her palm harder against his chest, holding it there like he was afraid she’d pull away.
“I probably shouldn’t, should I?” His lips skimmed her forehead, too soft compared to the grip around her wrist. “If I had any sense, or any real instinct for self-preservation, I’d run.” His mouth found hers,just a brush, a tease, before pulling back. “But the Goddess chose well, Emmaline.” His fingers threaded through hers. “Because even thinking about leaving you rips me apart from the inside out. My feet won’t move. My soul’s already planted.”
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Just a single uneven breath trapped halfway up her throat. How the hell was she supposed to match that?
“Damn it, woman. Just say it. Tell me you’re mine.”
“Ob—obviously,” she stammered, brows raising. “Obviously, I’m yours, you stupid man.”
The words slipped out, and her stomach dropped, like stepping off a ledge blindfolded.
His eyes darkened, heat rolling off him in waves. “Good.” His hands shot to her hips, yanking her up against him. And she jumped without thinking, her thighs wrapping tight around his waist, every inch of him ready, and pressing hard between them.
“Why are you still wearing clothes?” She tore into his shirt, wrenching it up and over his head, baring the corded muscles lining his arms and chest.
Instead of answering, he tightened his hold on her legs and spun them both, slamming her back against the nearest wall.
“Ahh!” The plaster bit into her bare skin, but his mouth was already on her throat, teeth nipping at her pounding pulse. He kicked off his boots without stopping, then pushed away from the wall, carrying her to the bed. One step, two steps, three—until the backs of his knees hit the frame.
Then he turned in a slow circle and lowered her onto the rough sheets, his touch almost careful. Bending over, his fingers traced thelength of her spine in a slow drag as she settled, like he was mapping the contours of her flesh, unable to decide whether to worship her or tear her apart.
“What’s taking so long?” She pushed up to her knees, hands already reaching for the worn cowhide belt at his hips. “Or are you planning to just stand there and stare all night?”
Fingers sliding beneath his waistband, she worked the buckle loose, knuckles brushing the rigid length of him. She didn’t bother being delicate, yanking at the buckle and the buttons at the same time, trying to strip him down and free him all in one motion.
“I’ll take as long as I want.” He pushed her back down by the shoulders.
She landed with a bounce, the mattress dipping hard beneath her, every thread steeped in the scent of leather and fire-warmed skin, wrapping her in him before he even touched her. Pushing up, her hair fell wild around her face, her mouth halfway to a snarl before she saw him. His hands rested low on his hips, and his pants were already shoved halfway down his legs as he slowly—too slowly—worked the leather further down.
Her mouth went dry as his hand closed around his cock, stroking slow from base to tip, his skin flushed dark and tight in his grip.
“Is this what you want?” His eyes locked on hers, deep emerald swallowing the whites, like the man she knew had stepped aside for something far more dangerous.
“Fuuuck.” The word slipped free, half moan, half prayer, as she sank back to the mattress.
“Such a foul mouth.” His hand moved slow, another long stroke as the pants hit the floor with a soft thud.
She started to crawl toward him again, but the look he gave her stopped her cold—a slight tilt of his head, the barest lift of his chin, an unspoken command that sent heat pouring down her spine. Whimpering, her hand slid down between her thighs, fingers already searching.
“No.” His voice snapped out. “That’s mine.”
Her fingers curled into a fist as she yanked her hand back and her thighs pressed together, soaked with need.
“What do you want?” Her breath came fast, every word ragged.
“You know.” His eyes followed the path her fingers left, heavy-lidded and dark. “Don’t make me say it.”
“You asshole.” The words ripped out between gasps. She did know. The big bastard wanted her begging.
He pursed his lips like he was considering her insult. And her punishment.
“Fine.” She ached—wet, swollen, and empty—the kind of need that turned every breath into torture. “Please, Deyric.”
“And?” His brow lifted, but his cock twitched in his grip.
