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“You sure that’s what you heard?”
I drop the bottle, letting it slip from my fingers and fall to the floor with a thump. “I have no clue.”
I push out of my chair, the flimsy thing toppling backward with the force. Rhys does the same, maybe even before I have a chance to move. He’s around the desk with his hands clutching my head in the next second.
“I’ve been dying for a chance to kiss you again.” Our bodies are flush, and I can feel every hard, muscled inch of him pressed against me. He’s holding my head in place and I’m at the mercy of his grip, my chin tipped up so that I can look at him.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Nothing, apparently, because in the next moment Rhys’s mouth is on mine. It's a consuming, fierce need, as his kiss claims my mouth as his. It’s a violent clash of lips and tongues, our desperation too great to slow down and have any finesse. In the past, I’ve felt like Rhys has kept himself on a leash, fearing that I’m somehow too delicate or fragile to fully let go. Not now. He’s an animal that’s been held from a meal for so long that he’s starving for it. I feel it in the way his hands grip my face. They move to my waist, squeezing before gliding down to cup my ass and pull me against him.
He’s hard, so hard, and the press of his erection makes me moan into his mouth. He devours the sound like it’s a snack that’s simply teasing his appetite. He’s not alone. I’ve never felt this hunger before, the greedy desire that makes me want to rip all his clothes off and lay down and submit to him at the same time.
The need to feel his skin wins out and my fingers scrabble at his shirt, grasping the hem and yanking up. Rhys breaks our kiss only long enough to oblige my need to get the offending fabric off him. Then I’m struck dumb. His body is all chiseled muscles and cut planes. Tattoos are scattered over his skin, some on his arms, some on his ribs. Every inch of uncovered flesh has my mouth watering. I want to drag my lips over each golden inch.
There’s a light smattering of dark hair on his chest, and I run my hands over it, before letting them drift down his stomach to the trail below his belly button that disappears beneath his pants. My hands make quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans. The sound Rhys makes when I dip my hand inside to find his hard, hot length makes my knees grow weak.
“You have too many damn clothes on.” Rhys gathers up my hair in both his hands, tugging on my head until he’s kissing me again. I sag into him, practically held up by that grip alone. Everything in my body is boneless, a molten liquid that’s spilling down my thighs.
“Is that door locked?” I gasp as his tongue and lips find a spot on my neck that makes goosebumps break out everywhere.
“If anyone comes back here, I’ll kill them.”
“Good enough.” I moan as his hands make their way down my back. My shirt is off my body in the next instant, and Rhys groans at the sight.
“Do you ever wear a bra? Fuck, don’t answer that. Never wear one when I’m around.”
I chuckle. “No problem.”
There’s a small couch shoved into the corner of the room and Rhys picks me up and carries me to it, his head buried in the crook of my neck. He sets me down like I’m breakable and it makes me want to push back, to show him how much I can handle. But then his mouth is on my breast, and I don’t care anymore. He can treat me like glass if he keeps doing that with his tongue.
He lavishes attention to one breast first, flicking his tongue over my nipple and rasping his teeth over the sensitive flesh before sucking on it. I’m squirming, legs shifting and spreading so he can settle between them. I try to rock my hips against him, but he has me pinned as he moves his attention to my other breast.
“Get your damn pants off,” I hiss as his teeth nip at me and then mewl at the pleasure that comes after with his attentive tongue.
Rhys lifts his head long enough to grin at me. “I didn’t know you could swear.”
“Fuck, shit, asshole, cocksucker. Ruby’s been teaching me. Get your damn dick out right now.”
I can feel Rhys’s laughter rumbling against my chest, and it’s contagious.
“How can I resist a request like that?” Rhys’s grin is absolutely sinful when he sits up. I moan at the loss of his weight, wanting to pull him back down on top of me. But we can’t get our pants off if he’s laying on me.
Rhys slowly tugs my shoes and socks off and only then gets to work peeling my pants off, making me groan. I thought we were both on the same page and ready to rip the rest of our clothing off.
“Hurry up,” I demand, trying to shove his jeans down over his hips and running into trouble because he’s too far away.
“You’re way bossier than I ever would have imagined.”
“You like it,” I counter, and the devilish look he gives me tells me I’m right.
“I do like that sassy mouth of yours. Make sure you tell me all the things I’m doing right when I’m fucking you.”
My head falls back, and my hands give up trying to get his pants down as I groan at his words. Rhys hums with pleasure when my pants disappear, and he gets a look at how aroused I am.
“No more playing. Please. I need you inside me,” I beg, not too proud to do whatever it takes to get him moving.
“Shit.” Rhys stands, and I whimper. Something shifts in the air that turns the mood from playful to unadulterated need. He kicks off his shoes, shoving down his pants, boxers, and socks in one go. I’m breathless, speechless, trapped by the sight of his beautiful body. This man can’t be human. He’s not Fae either. He’s a god brought to earth. His side is marked with scars, but it doesn’t detract from his perfection. He’s battle hardened and fierce. A modern warrior fighting monsters that others don’t even know exist.
