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I must have sighed because he spun around, instantly on alert. I pressed myself against the wall, fingers splayed. I was nervous he wouldn’t recognize me but more than that, I was thrilled. I throbbed. I ached. He was here and we could finally be fucked up together.
I couldn’t see anything but the massive silhouette of him standing above the piles of bodies. Only the shadow of his head peered at me through the darkness. The seconds he took to decide who I was were agonizing. In those seconds he watched me, though, something changed. Suddenly we weren’t breathing alone; we were sharing one breath.
He closed the distance, pushing me deeper into the wall so I felt every muscle of him and every groove and divot of the stone behind me. His hands came to my waist, ran up my sides, grazing my breasts, too short and quick before he raised my arms and pinned them above my head.
“You need to get out of here,” I whispered. “What are you doing?” It was fucking insane. We were enemies. Everyone was fighting. Even in the darkness we could get caught, but as he pushed my arms against the wall, I didn’t fight it. A smile crept to my face.
I loved it.
His lips hovered above mine and he said, “Taking what’s mine.”
Seven
Anteros devoured Frankie. Kissing. Sucking. Stealing. He swallowed the life force from her, claiming it as his. The Catacombs had been a trap; he’d lost soldiers, the upper hand—the recovery from this misstep would be fucking brutal. But there would be one goddamn victory: Frankie. Too fucking long he’d gone without the taste of her on his tongue.
“What are you doing?” she asked again through breaks in his kisses. He released his grip on her wrists, smoothed his hands over her breasts, waist—determined to completely envelope himself in her flavor, her scent.
“No talking,” he said gruffly. Even in the darkness, Frankie was stunning. Her blue eyes shone and her red lips were juicier than an apple.
“Because we were never much good at talking?” She mimicked the words that had put a chasm between them. If he’d known it would have meant so long without Frankie, he never would have said them. Fuck safety. Fuck Crazy A. Fuck everything. He needed his fix.
“Because I’ve missed you more than I can breathe and if I don’t get inside you soon I’m going to take you right now in this fucking hallway.” Before she could respond, Anteros picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and took her down to where they’d blown a hole in the wall. The walls were crumbling as if they were made of graham cracker.
He ducked through, watching Frankie’s head, and thrust her down in the old subway tunnel. Her chest slid down his and she still grasped his shirt when her feet hit the floor. That simple touch ignited a fire in his body.
“Wow,” she gasped, eyes wandering the tunnel. “What is this place?” The original City Hall subway station had been sealed up years before, but everything was more or less intact, the beautiful emerald green and ivory patterned tile work and art deco glass ceiling frozen in time.
“Subway,” Anteros grunted. He was more caveman than man at that point, and he didn’t feel like getting into a history lesson.
“Wait—” She pushed against him. “We can’t do this now, Anteros, not here.” As she protested, she reached for him. “There are too many people. We’ll get caught.”
“Say my name again,” he demanded, pushing the hair from her eyes. Frankie blinked, but acquiesced.
“Anteros.” Her voice was low, breathy—fucking musical—and he was unable to resist the muscles that lifted his cheek when his name fell from her lips. He pulled her in for a kiss before she could say another word. She was right—they didn’t have much time. All the fighting had moved upstairs, but that was only a strategic push so they could fall back.
From the moment they’d blown open the wall it had been clear it was a trap. The map Levi’s source had given them was shit. Nikolai had even double-checked the blueprints, but something had gone wrong somewhere down the line. The Catacombs were clearly not what they’d thought. This was Lucia’s fucking club, and Lucia had been waiting for them.
When they realized, the strategy shifted from offense to do as much damage as possible and get the fuck out, but Anteros didn’t want to think about that because even if he wasn’t going to gain an upper hand in the war that day, he’d at least gotten something.
Frankie.
For
weeks she’d been punishing him, teasing him, torturing him. That was finally going to end.
Anteros kissed Frankie again, and this time she didn’t object. One hand wove into his hair, tugging on the strands; the other raked nails down his shoulder. When he pulled back to breathe she followed him, lips going to his jaw and neck, biting on the cords of muscle.
He pressed her against the tunnel wall, bracketing her, keeping her still, but she squirmed underneath him.
“Poor girl,” he rumbled. “You’ve been starving, haven’t you?” When she didn’t respond, he tangled his fist in her hair and tugged her head back. What little light broke through glittered across her skin in ripples. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he growled, and she nodded. “Say it.” He tightened his grip and her eyes widened before drooping to half-mast.
“I want you to fuck me.” She angled her chin up, trying to reach his lips. “Please, I need you.”
“So polite.” He plunged his tongue into her mouth. “Such a good girl.” He separated her thighs with his knee. “But you’ve been bad, haven’t you?” Anteros drew back, grip still tight in her hair, waiting for the reply.
Frankie ignored him, sliding her hands to his neck, trying to bring him back into a kiss. In response, Anteros slapped her, free hand colliding with her soft, honey cheek. She gasped but arched into the touch, fingers at his neck groping the flesh fervently. A sigh escaped her parted lips and a small smile tilted them. Her cheek was flushed red—marked by him—and it drove Anteros fucking wild, but she still hadn’t answered his question.
“Haven’t you?”
