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His hands fan out boldly over my hips, drawing me into him. Warm lips nudge my earlobe and I shudder. He’s turned the tables already.
“You want power, Little Rose? I’ll show you where it lies…”
The pad of his thumb traces a path down my belly, ghosting the flesh of my inner thigh before drifting even lower. Too low. Finger by finger, he cups me fully, forcing my legs apart. A low groan betrays his satisfaction as I resist my body’s natural inclination to flinch.
“What men have killed for,” he grates through clenched teeth. “Died for. And you don’t even fucking know…”
All at once, he shoves me toward the bed. I throw my hands out in front of me, bracing myself over the lumpy mattress. Before I can regain my bearings, he’s behind me, grasping my waist and flipping me over.
“I won’t feed you the same lies he has,” he tells me, sinking to his knees like a man before an altar. The altar of a despised deity he serves unwillingly.
Dark eyes flit over my naked skin, settling on my scars. My barely healed injuries. My eyes. He meets them directly, boring through me like a missile through paper.
“What lies?” I rasp when he hasn’t elaborated.
He scoffs and my knees tremble as his breath scorches the flesh between them. One of his hands settles on my thigh, using it as an anchor to drag me close.
“The lies he used to keep you, Little Rose,” he taunts, but the mocking smile shaping his lips falls flat. “You are beautiful. More than most women—even despite this.” He gestures to my scarred limbs. “But that is not why he hunts you. Why he obsesses over you. Why, even now, the bastard is thinking of you. Dreaming of you…” A devious smile contorts his lips; he relishes that fact.
At the same time, it irritates him.
He slides his hand beneath my knee and tugs, opening me up to him further. “Ask me why,” he murmurs as his gaze tracks a tortuous path down my neck, over my chest and lower… “Ask me.”
Air wheezes in and out of my throat in pathetic bursts. I have to inhale deeply to find the strength to obey. “Why?”
“Because of your heart, Little Rose,” he replies, sounding bitter.
Callused fingers inch along my skin, creating a numbing rhythm of sensation and friction. Up, up to my waist. Across. Down.
“Your eyes. You look at a man without the foolish hopes and dreams most women do. Or the greed.” He sighs: a harsh sound between a growl and a laugh. “You look at a man…and you tempt him, Rose. You’re naked and open, and you show him what he is back. Like a mirror. And some stupid men, like your husband… They believe that they can change that reflection. All they have to do is make you moan.”
Wet heat explodes through my core, paralyzing me. Only vaguely do I realize what he’s done as I watch his head move, crowned by wild, blond hair: use his tongue.There. Slowly and unhurriedly, without a goddamn care for the foreign sensations crashing through my body.
“If he can make you cry, Rose. Scream his name. Whimper.” He speaks each word into me and my eyes flutter, threatening to roll. “Then he can…shape that reflection… He won’t be a monster. Not anymore.”
A cry chokes from my throat, drowning him out. All I can do is feel and writhe and reach for him. Push him away—I want to push him away. But my fingers disobey me, clenching through his hair, dragging him closer. Deeper. More. More more.
I’m on the brink, so close to going over the edge. One more flick of his tongue will get me there—I know it. So does he, because he draws back just as the sparks ignite and it’s like dumping water onto a newborn fire.
“Like that,” he tells me, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and unfocused. “You trick your men like that.”
He makes it sound so evil. I tempt him. I torture him.I’mthe one with the power, not him.
“Now…” He shoves his hands beneath me, cupping my ass, his nails drawn. “I’m going to—”
“No.” I prop myself upright on my elbows and shove him off. Every movement takes twice the usual effort. It’s like I’m drunk. His promise of power echoes in my head, drowning out all logic.
“Taking back your offer already?” he snarls.
“I want to taste you.” Where did the words come from? I don’t know. Unbidden and dirty—something I’ve never spoken before.
Taste. Only he makes it sound anything but degrading. It’s a weapon. To learn and incapacitate your victim. To understand.
And I want to tastehim.
His eyes narrow at the request. “I thoughtyourbody was the bargain?”
I can’t think—so I don’t. He doesn’t expect me to buck free of his grip. His shock buys me seconds to slip from the mattress and grasp the front of his jeans. He stiffens like stone and it’s nearly impossible to maneuver my fingers enough to undo the zipper.
