Page 91

I’d left my hair out, which I recently had one of the servants cut for me. It’s still a crinkly mess from trying to dry it quickly with a towel. I wonder if I look tired. Because I am tired. Deep into my bones and the darkest depths inside me.

I’m frozen in place. I can’t decide what I want to do as the rage dances around my ribs. Do I run to him, or walk and take a seat by Eryn’s window? Do I reach for him, or ask him how he is? Do I miss him, or do I miss what could have been? Do I hate him or only want to hate him?

The decision turns out to not be entirely mine as he races forward, picking me up with one hand by the meat of my ass, so I am forced to wrap my legs around his waist while his other arm wraps around my back. The momentum of the action has us spinning, or maybe it just feels like it.

I’ve tangled my arms around his neck and over his shoulders while burying my face down by his ear. I’m not sure how long we stay like this, clinging to each other. It may be hours or no time at all.

“I thought you were…again,” he murmurs into my neck. “I had to see for myself that it was really you.”

“I’m okay.”

I unwind my arms from around his neck, releasing us both so I can face him. I stop when he turns as I pull back, and our lips graze. He looks my face over as if trying to commit every corner to memory, stopping on my lips a few times. He’s breathing as hard as I am.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers in question, tightening his grip enough that I dip closer to his face.

“Ye—” But before I can get the full word out, my mouth is already on his. It’s a hurried, frantic, desperate kind of kiss. Both searching with our lips, exploring with our tongues—he tastes so good. I miss his touch so much it hurts, my rage hurtling inside of me so violently I’m dizzy with it. When we stop for air, our breaths are heavy, lips bruised.

He’s walking, carrying me, and I look to see that we’re almost on the far side of the room, away from the door to where Eryn is. When we reach the wall, he adjusts his grip from around my back so he can press me into it and cups my face. I close my eyes and turn into his hand, ignoring my rage still battling to be free. I just want to feel him.

His thumb brushes over my swollen lips and he leans in for another kiss. This time it’s slow, as he presses his body into mine. The kiss is soft, but his hardness rubbing between my legs is sending heated signals all over my body. Grinding into me, swapping soft moans, the kisses turn rough and demanding before becoming slow and delicate again.

I’m almost shuddering at how much I need his touch. The hand cradling my face slides down to hold the side of my neck as he begins to kiss down the other side to my collarbone.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice what you’re wearing,” he says huskily between each slow, tiny kiss. “I like it.”

My hands, still tangled in his hair, pull his head back roughly. “What I’m wearing has nothing to do with you.”

It only makes him grin.

But it disappears just as quickly, and I remember our last interaction, what I tried to make him promise, and the way he refused.

I don’t care that I can’t have more than his touch, that he can’t give me more than this. I reach down and fumble to undo his pants. His confusion and then realization is apparent when he almost drops me.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a quick whisper.

“Obviously, I want you to fuck me, Riley,” I say with an edge of exasperation, getting frustrated that I can’t undo his pants fast enough. I want to do this before I remember all of the reasons why I shouldn’t. Maybe if I get this out of my system, I’ll feel as dirty and debased as I usually do after sex. And then I won’t crave his touch anymore.

Despite the hesitation and the confusion on his face, he helps me to undo his pants, and I look between us as his erection springs free. I grip him firmly, and he shudders as I stroke him. He whispers my name. My name. Not Firecat. Mika. It sounds like a promise on his lips, one I might want him to keep. Forever.

Something about hearing my name on his lips tips me over the edge, and I guide him between my legs, moving the stupid scrap of lace out of the way.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, as he tries to make me look him in the eye.

Refusing to answer or look him in the eye, I slide the head of his hard cock up and down my slit, coating him in my wetness. He exhales hard, whispering my name again. I finally look at him, a needy moan escaping me as I continue to stroke myself with his cock.

“Kiss me instead of making that sound.”

So I do, because I cannot wait any longer. I nudge him only slightly inside me, and light on fire. Slowly, he begins to ease himself deeper, my entrance stretching to accommodate his cock that’s as big as I’d feared it would be. I whimper into his mouth, my fists clenching around his collar.

He stops. “Are you okay?” he whispers while concerned eyes search my face.

I nod a yes and grab his hips to thrust him toward me as I buck into him. But he doesn’t budge. “Slowly, or I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” I growl.

“I do.”

He moves slowly, edging in only a fraction more. Again, I try to force him deeper, knowing that even now he is stretching me painfully. But the rage is screaming, and I need to drown it out.