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“I will ask you one more question, firefly.” His voice was like the boom of thunder on the horizon. A quiet rumble that promised a storm. “And in this, I need you to speak the truth.” One of his hands slid to her stomach, the points of his claws scraping at her skin, sending another shiver of electricity through every nerve in her body. He splayed his fingers wide. “Will you join the demon to seek my downfall? Do you wish to see me destroyed?”
“No.” In that, she was absolutely certain. “Never. I—” She didn’t know how to say it. She didn’t know how to tell him how she felt. Everything was too complicated. Too heavy. Too messy.
Thankfully, he didn’t wait for her to finish. He turned her head to his and captured her lips in a kiss. It was full of fire. Of frustration. Of anger. And ofneed.He was rightfully furious with her. And if this was how he wanted to vent it…she wouldn’t argue. His hand twisted in her hair again, yanking her head back.
She cried out, her lips parting, and his tongue danced with hers, invading her mouth like the warlord that he was. She moaned, unable to help it, her eyes sliding closed as he simply took over.
God, it felt so good.
Claws trailed up her stomach, making her moan again as he grasped her breast and kneaded it harshly. Firm, but not painful. Rough, but not cruel. This wasn’t a fight she could win. This wasn’t a fight shewantedto win.
He parted from her, finally allowing her to desperately fill her lungs with air. Those molten, rusted eyes met hers. He waited in silence for her to protest again—to tell him to stop.
She trusted him.
He might kill her when he learned the truth, but damn it, shetrustedhim. And more importantly than that—she needed him. And deep down, somewhere in a place she didn’t know how to admit existed…she cared deeply about him.
Shutting her eyes, she surrendered.
Mordred pressed her face down onto the table, the cold of the metal surface redoubling her goosebumps. His hands roamed her slowly before finding the circular scar on her back where the arrow had gone through her. He hesitated.
It should have killed me, but it didn’t.
He’ll see that.
No words were said, though, as he undid the clasp of her chainmail skirt and let it slide to the floor at her ankles, leaving her naked and bent over his table—her cheeks were hot from embarrassment at the sight she must make.
He grasped her ass in his hands and squeezed it hard enough to draw a mewl from her, though she tried to swallow it back. He wasn’t her knight in shining armor. And she didn’t want him to treat her like one.
There was a moment of hesitation as he stepped an inch away from her. She tried to turn her head to look back at him, but a fist caught her hair and pinned her down again.
“Stay.”
She wouldn’t argue. Pressing her cheek against the cold metal surface of the table, she waited. She didn’t have to wait long. He pressed against her again, and she felt him there at her core. She groaned quietly, shutting her eyes and biting her lip as the pressure began to build.
With one harsh movement, he filled her. If this was how he wanted to punish her, she’d thank him and ask for another.
She cried out, pleasure arcing through her as the wonderful ache that came with his size somehow only added to it all. She whacked her fist into the table. He snarled over her, using a fist in her hair to both keep her down and balance his weight as he gripped her hip with his other hand, claws digging into her skin.
He was angry with her.
And it showed.
And she loved every goddamn second of it.
With him, nothing mattered. There were no demons. No war. No nothing. It was just him, and her, and what they were like when they were together.
He was relentless. Inhuman. And God, between breathless cries and gasps for air, she was begging him for more.
Free.
She wasfreewhen she was with him. Even wearing iron chains.
Pleasure crested and built into a crescendo for them both. The snarl that left him was almost animalistic as he buried himself to the hilt and stayed there. He doubled over her, kissing her shoulder as he shuddered from the aftermath of his own bliss.
She was going to be bruised. And he might have broken the skin on her hip with his claws. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care in the slightest. She was shivering as he slowly pulled himself away from her, gathering up her chainmail clothes and redressing her. She was too shaky to do it herself.
He tilted her head up to him and kissed her one more time, his touch tender and gentle. When he broke away, his expression finally held something in it other than cold rage—sadness. Perhaps regret. But for what?
