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“Because you’re a sadist?” I throw the word between us like a lit match into gasoline.

Cade chokes on his drink. “What?”

“Oh, don’t play coy. I watched you kill Hector. The pain, the power . . .” More words tumble out before survival instinct can stop them. “The way you savored every second as his life drained away.”

He moves like a shadow, and suddenly he’s right between my spread legs, his hand branding my exposed thigh—thanks to the generous slit he gifted me. His touch is electric, making me shiver with both fear and desire.

“What you saw me do to Hector,” he growls, his breath fanning hot against my neck, “wasn’t about pain.”

I swallow hard, ignoring the clanging bells in my head to stop pushing him. “Riiight. You just happened to get off on it.”

His laugh carries no humor. “Princess, that wasn’t sadism.”

I blink, trying to keep my thoughts focused, but his hand on my thigh makes it impossible. His eyes—an intense, unbroken green without a single fleck of color—are like bottomless pools, pulling me in.

“Whatever it was,” I manage, struggling to keep my voice steady, “it’s beyond messed up. Twisted enough to deserve its own chapter in the DSM.”

His brows lift slightly, a flicker of surprise. “And here I was thinking you majored in sex and minored in finance,” he murmurs. “Failing spectacularly at both, from what I can tell.”

I suck in a breath, shocked. “You’re—”

“—a total dickhead. So you keep reminding me,“ he smirks.

A smile tugs at my lips but evaporates when his gaze drops to my mouth. The weight of his stare is physical, making my lips tingle as if he’s already kissing me.

When his eyes lock back on mine, the raw hunger there steals the air from my lungs. His fingers flex against my thigh, the slight pressure sending bolts of need through me.

The command in his eyes is unmistakable. Or maybe that’s just my own screaming ovaries—I don’t care anymore. All I know is I might die if he doesn’t kiss me in the next five seconds.

But all he does is watch as I shift restlessly, the bastard. His breath ghosts across my lips until they part on their own, desperate to taste it.

Something in me snaps—that last thread of self-control gives way and I surge forward, half expecting him to dodge. But his smirk only widens with a predatory satisfaction. He’s letting me come to him—like a hunter who knows his prey is already trapped.

My hands find his chest and trail upward with deliberate slowness, mapping ridges and planes of muscle, relishing the way they bunch under my touch.

When I reach his shoulders, I let myself indulge and slide my fingers into the short, silky hair at his nape. A sigh slips from me as I close the space between us and claim his mouth.

His lips are warm and so soft they make me shiver. Desire pools low in my belly, spreading outward, spurring me on. My grip tightens in his hair as I chase the taste of Scotch and sin and barely banked violence. With a moan, I swipe my tongue along his lower lip then capture it between mine and suck, drowning in the feel of him—

“What are you doing, princess?”

The words vibrate against my mouth, slicing through my haze of desire.

I jerk back, heat flooding my cheeks as I suddenly realize that while I’d been losing myself in him, he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t kissed me back.

Not even a little bit.

20

Luna

I jerk my face back from Cade’s and firmly steer my embarrassment into disdain.

I arch an eyebrow, “It’s called kissing, Tarzan. You know, that primal little dance people do when they’ve got the hots for each other?”

“No shit.” His voice stays maddeningly neutral. “Enlighten me on the mechanics.”

I fight back a smile. “Simple. When someone who makes your blood boil puts their lips on yours, you close your eyes and open your mouth.”