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The look in his eyes as he watched me, mouth quirking … I could almost taste the smouldering heat. ‘Are you saying you’re not thinking of my cock right now?’
‘Of course I’m not,’ I lied. My voice had gone infuriatingly hoarse. ‘Don’t know why you’d think I’d do any such thing.’
‘You don’t?’ His hand on my back sank a few inches, cupping my bottom and shoving me tight against him – tight against the unmistakable hardness pressing into my belly. A gasp escaped my lips, and his grin widened. ‘Liar.’
I squeezed my eyes shut so as not to see that dangerous gleam in his dark pupils – another mistake. With my sight gone, my other senses seemed twice as aware, the autumn scent of his body, the thinly veiled desire of his fingers clawing into my sensitive flesh … His rock-hard erection, most of all, demanding my notice, my attention.
‘I could be wrong, of course,’ he whispered, lips brushing my earlobe as he spoke, sending a shudder down my spine. ‘You might be occupied with entirely innocent thoughts. Just tell me what you’re thinking of, love – I’m most eager to hear.’
Eager– gods have mercy, did hehaveto speak that word with such suggestive sweetness, igniting sparks in all the places I wished he’d touch? It took every last drop of willpower to suck in a cool breath and grind out a deeply unconvincing, ‘Architecture. I … I’m thinking about architecture.’
‘Oh no, you aren’t.’ His purring voice grew even more syrupy, fingers crawling down, down, down, over my thigh, towards the hem of his own coat on my shoulders. ‘Try again.’
The flaming blush rising on my face had to be visible even in the moonlight. ‘What do we have for breakfast?’
‘Depends,’ he muttered. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’
Hell take me. The memory of him in my mouth immediately sprang to life, the thick and rigid feel of him, the musky taste of his flesh vivid on my tongue … A stab of heat burned through me, and he laughed out loud, a sound of pure indulgence scattering through the deserted garden.
‘I still feel what you feel, Em.’ His fingers slipped beneath his coat, beneath my dress, then slid up over my bare thigh in ripples of pleasure. Too close to the damp heat soaking my underwear. Far too close to the truth. ‘And architecture or breakfast are the last things on your mind now – admit it.’
Zera help me. It would be so, so easy to admit it.
But I was nothing if not stubborn – and damn him, did he really think I would be defeated that easily? I wouldn’t let myself be reduced to prey without a fight. If he wanted to turn these games into a hunt …
To hell with it. He could go ahead and earn it.
‘Make me,’ I breathed.
And ran.
The surprise was my only advantage – a single heartbeat of motionlessness behind me as I sprinted over the uneven garden path, willing my wobbly knees to behave. Then, like a predator unleashed, he bolted after me. His laughter and the sound of my racing heartbeat blended into the night – the moonlit hedges and crumbled statues blurring around me, the world narrowing to nothing but the ruins rising from the earth a hundred feet away. Thorns slashed my legs. Tiles cracked beneath my feet. But Creon was laughing behind me, the soundpromising revenge of the most pleasurable sort, and through the smouldering of my body, I barely felt the pain.
There, before me, an open doorway beckoned …
To my right, the faint glow of the bindings lit up the walls and arches, thousands of gleaming orbs I would have to deal with in the years to come. But before me, all was dark, and I didn’t hesitate as I barrelled through that gaping hole, into the tempting shadows beyond. Into the maze of corridors I would soon know even with my eyes shut – surprises around every corner now, hiding place and hunting ground at once.
I ducked through the first doorway I found, tiptoeing into the weed-covered room beyond with my back against the wall. Behind me, Creon’s voice echoed through the ruins, laced with laughter – ‘Want to tell me what you’re thinking of now, cactus?’
Your hands– the answer rose in my mind without hesitation. Those strong, graceful hands and the way they would soon be stripping every inch of clothing off me, would soon be wrapping around the inside of my thighs and spreading me wide for—
I swallowed loudly, resting my head against the cold stone behind my back. Next to me, the wall had cracked open, giving access to what must once have been a luxurious atrium.
‘Cross-stitching,’ I yelled. ‘Why?’
Long, purposeful strides moved my way, and I quickly scurried through the breach, suppressing a giggle. Uneven pillars loomed over me, silver in the moonlight – a muddy basin at the centre of the open space, headless, armless statues on either side of the entrances. Above my head, the starry sky stretched over the ruins, twinkling down at me with what almost looked like amusement.
Was that the swift slap of a wing to my left?
I scrambled to move, every sense on high alert, every nerve in my body tingling with white-hot anticipation. What if he was standing there, right around the nearest doorway, waiting for meto walk into his merciless arms? What if I found myself pinned to the wall in two steps, the way he’d pinned me to the wall in Lyn’s wardrobe and—
A soft chuckle, far too close. ‘Still cross-stitching?’
Oh, fuck.
He could feel those flares of arousal, couldn’t he?
‘Clearly,’ I said haughtily, tiptoeing backwards to the other exit of the atrium, ‘you have not the faintest idea how exciting specialty stitches can be.’
