Page 160 of Sorrow & Strangers

He looks at me again. “Too fucking bad.”

I shake my head. “Why do you continue to want someone who will never want you?” I ask, but there is no anger behind the words. Maybe I am just tired, or maybe it’s that glimpse of vulnerability in him again, but there is no spark to ignite the everflame of anger burning within me.

“Because you dream of me,” he says, turning back to face me. “You do want me. If not, then why the dreams?”

“I can’t control my dreams,” I say, swallowing hard.

“Or your desires?”

“I have no idea why I have these . . .” I rub my hands over my face, the anger finally flaring inside me. But it’s not directed at him. It’s with myself. “Sexual needs, but I can promise you it has nothing to do with you, and it never will.”

He’s back on me in a flash, pressing my back to the wall again. “It will always have everything to do with me. I am your beginning and end. I am your first breath and your last,” he snarls in frustration. “You are mine.”

“Stranger . . .” I hate you. I despise you. The words evade me, and I just stare at him, trying to force them out.

He grabs my jaw and leans closer, his lips hovering over mine. “I could kiss you,” he says, and my breath grows shallow. “No avatar. No glamours. I would prove you a liar.”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” I say, but even I can’t deny that it almost sounds like an invitation.

He moves his hand to cover my eyes. The darkness envelops me, and then I feel ‌his hand turn solid, his body turn solid, and his breath tickles my lips.

“Wouldn’t I?” He breathes the words against my lips, and then he leans in, his soft, pillowy lips pressing against the corner of my mouth.

My breath hitches, and I whimper. “Please don’t.” I can’t take it. I can’t take it. Not now.

He moans, and the deep sound turns my insides to liquid. “Fuck, I love the sound of you begging,” he says. It is nearly a taunt, but then he slides his lips to my jaw to press another kiss there.

I bite my lip to hold back my moan, to stop myself from reaching out to him and brushing my fingers over him. I fight the good fight, resisting until his stubble-­roughened cheek brushes against mine, and his sinfully soft lips rest near my ear.

“Stranger. Please . . .” I gasp, grabbing his shirt and clenching the material in my fist.

“Gods, my cock aches when you beg. Dangerous to have such control over me with such an easy tactic . . .” he growls against my ear. He knees my thighs open and fits his body close, letting me feel his pulsing need as he rocks his hard cock against me. I wonder if this is causing pain, but the only discomfort he seems to feel is the burn of his desire. I wonder if the words of the oath become void if I touch him too.

I need to stop this because I’m about to turn into complete putty in his arms.

He bites my earlobe, and my eyes roll beneath his hand, the pleasure completely indecent. My core practically quakes in need. Even from this, I feel more pleasure than I’ve ever felt combined. How does he do this?

“Please . . .” I say again, but I’m not even sure what I’m begging for anymore. He moans again, and his hips buck against my stomach. His lips trail down to my neck, and I moan loudly in surprise when he bites me hard. Helplessly, my body arches, sliding against his in offering.

The stranger pulls back, but I can still feel the heat of his body and the rush of his breath. He brushes a single finger over his bite, painting thick, warm liquid over my neck. He leans back in, pressing a soft kiss to his mark, making it throb deliciously.

“Next time you dream of my cock, ask me to come to make sure it is accurate.”

I tighten my fingers in his shirt, trying to get some purchase on my thoughts, but they’re so jumbled thanks to my desire-addled state that I have no hope.

He nudges my jaw, lifting my chin, making room for him to slide his tongue over my throat. “You taste like . . .”—he groans, low and feral—“a paradise I’ll never deserve, but I’ll take instead.”

I hear a soft rustling from the forest, and his body goes rigid against me. He growls low and predatory, a warning for whatever is out there. Then his warmth is gone, and he pulls his hand away. I blink, looking at his avatar, which is now snarling at something in the distance.

“We’re being watched,” he says.

I clear my throat. “I should get back inside.”

He reaches out and wraps his hand around my wrist, holding me in place as he stares into the darkness. I know he is casting out all his senses, and I stay quiet, letting him concentrate. I don’t know what he finds, but he must decide we’re not in imminent danger because he turns and cups my cheek, dragging his thumb along my bottom lip.

“You’re flushed,” he says, and I stare up at him, still entranced.

“It’s . . . hot,” I say, my lips moving against his thumb in a near kiss.