Page 27 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

“I’m well aware.” His jaw hardens, and his eyes burn with something like anger, but I can tell it’s not directed at me. “Sit down, sweetheart, before you fall down.”

“For your information, I’m not so drunk or hurt that I can’t stand on my own two feet. You should stop trying to control me. I like being the one in charge.”

“How about in the bedroom?” His voice is low, teasing. “Do you like taking charge there? Or do you prefer giving the power to someone else for a while?”

“That’s a suggestive comment. I should kill you for it.” I lower myself slowly back to the floor and lean against the cabinets with a sigh. “You’re lucky I’m tired. To answer your question, I don’t trust men enough for that kind of control.”

“Suppose you could trust someone enough. What then?”

“What then?” I try to imagine what it would be like to quit planning and striving and scheming and thinking, to just let myself exist as a helpless toy for someone powerful and gentle, brutal and kind, someone I could trust with my own pleasure as well as theirs.

“I want that scenario to be possible,” I say softly. Then I meet his eyes. “But it could never be you.”

Maybe it’s a challenge, or a test, or both. Maybe I want to see if those blue, burning eyes will scorch me, inflame me, incinerate my body and bones while I scream. Maybe I need to burn, to ignite and explode under his skillful fingers.

But he only smiles. “I guess you’ll never know unless you give me a chance.”

“A chance to be the best fuck of my life, like you said when we first met in the Puzzled Coin?” I scoff. “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“Then why say it to me?”

He eases himself onto his back with a sigh that tells me despite the wine, he’s still in pain.

“The night we met, I thought you were the prettiest woman I’d ever seen.

But it wasn’t only your beauty that I liked—it was the way you moved, the way you watched people.

The way you spoke, charming and careful, but with this intensity underneath—goddamn.

I wanted it. I wanted everything that you were, just for one night.

” He chuckles. “I got too desperate, too eager. I came on too strong, and you rejected me, as you should. Good thing, too, seeing how this turned out. If we’d fucked that evening, this whole thing might have been worse. Messier. More painful.”

Hearing him talk about seeing me for the first time—it renders me speechless. I take another sip of wine, trying to process what he said and how I feel about it.

“I didn’t really see you that night,” I tell him. “I thought you were just some asshole. And you are, but…”

He’s purposefully not looking at me, but by the tension of his broad frame, I can tell he’s listening with all his might.

“You’re not just an asshole,” I say quietly.

“Oh my gods.” He presses a hand to his heart. “Thank you. I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

I shove my foot vindictively against his hip.

He grabs my ankle, chuckling. “Don’t make me laugh, Devilry. It hurts.”

But I don’t reply. I’m staring at my ankle, trapped in his big, bruised hand. He looks at me questioningly, and somehow he reads me, when I don’t even know what I’m thinking.

The energy between us changes as his grip turns tantalizingly gentle. He strokes upward, along my leg, to the arch of my knee, and then down my thigh with the backs of his fingers.

“Remember how much you wanted the ring you stole?” he says softly. “I want you like that, only worse.”

“Maybe it’s like stealing the ring,” I murmur, scooting a little nearer to him. “Once it’s done, the urge is gone. Satisfied.”

He glances away, chewing his lip for a second. “Might not be that way for me. If we fuck, I can’t promise you I won’t get more obsessed. Just being honest here, love.”

That should make me hesitate. But I want him. I think I might want him as badly as he wants me. “I suppose that’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

His gaze whips back to mine, a shocked hope in his eyes. “Then… we’re doing this?”

“Fuck yes.” I move as if to climb on top of him, but the pain in my breastbone makes me wince. “Gods, this is going to hurt.”

“You lie down.” He sits up and hastily arranges some of the linens for me to recline on. “I’ll be on top.”

I hesitate, remaining where I am. “Your shoulder,” I protest. “Your ribs—”

“Your pussy,” he says, with that crinkling grin. “Believe me, I won’t care about the pain if I can be inside you.”

I draw a quick, shallow breath at the nakedness of his statement, the raw need in it. Why did I ever think he was nondescript, or only mildly attractive? The me of the past was an oblivious fool, because right now, looking at him, I’m convinced I’ve never seen a more handsome man.

I lean toward him, my swollen lips alive with the need to touch his mouth, no matter how much it might sting. He meets me halfway, warm breath mingling with mine. I lick the sore place on my lower lip, and he exhales raggedly, watching the path of my tongue.

There’s a magnetic masochism in the way we hover, lips parted but not touching. Despite the chill of the air, I’m warm all over, cursed and burning as surely as if I’d stepped into a Fae-Hunter’s snare… and he’s the only cure.

I shift my face aside, skimming along his cheek, and I kiss the bruise on his cheekbone. He turns, snatching at my mouth with his, but I toy with him, not letting him close the gap just yet. There’s a feather-brush of soft skin, and my lips tingle with the need to taste him.

I lace my fingers at the back of his neck and stroke his throat with my thumb, right where I teased it with the edge of my knife. I love how long and dark his lashes are.

“We’re both fucking insane,” I whisper.

“You’re not wrong.” He gives a faint chuckle, a half-smile, and that’s when I kiss him. That’s when I can’t help it.

A flood of pain pulses through my sore lip, but I barely care. Though his lips are dry and salty, the inside of his mouth is wine-wet. He tastes like cherries and honeyed alcohol and savory spice.

My body reacts to the taste of him instantly, with a wicked flush all over my skin and a bloom of sweet warmth between my legs. I release a startled, pleased little sound at the surge of arousal.

A sliver of space opens between our mouths, and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue between my lips. I open wide for him, tilting my head so we can both go deeper into each other.

My tongue travels the points of his canines, especially the one that juts out farther than the others. I caress it, claiming it. It’s mine now. His smile is mine. I shape it with my tongue, memorizing the curvature of his teeth.

My eyes have been closed since the kiss began, but I want to see his face, and I should probably breathe, so I reluctantly separate my lips from his.

“Goddamn,” he says. He’s flushed, his eyes brilliant.

“I see what you mean about forgetting the pain,” I whisper.

I settle into his lap, and he waits for me to arrange myself so the cuts on my thighs aren’t being pulled. I take care not to push against his side, where the bruises are. The place where he stabbed me twinges, a reminder of how close he came to piercing my heart.

If I hadn’t yielded to that moment of weakness and collapsed against him, would he have killed me? If I hadn’t softened and succumbed, would I be dead now?

Will I be dead tomorrow?

“Your mind is wandering,” he says against my swollen mouth.

“How did you know?”

“The tension, the distraction. You’re overthinking something. Think about it later, love.”

A twinge of resistance thrums in my chest at the request.

“You just tensed up more,” he says, not angry, not mocking me, but reading my mental state as easily as if we’ve known each other for years. “Look at me, Devilry.”

There’s a note of command in his voice this time, a firm authority that won’t be denied. My body responds automatically, my gaze snapping to his.

“You’re going to forget everything except you and me,” he says. “You’ll obey me in this, because it’s what you need. Understand?”

I quiver on the edge of resistance—and then, with a sigh, I submit.

It’s a conscious gift to him and to myself, a temporary surrender of my authority. And I’ve never felt such sweet relief.

“I will obey,” I answer.

The air between us has shifted again, like we’re pieces of a puzzle box moving into new places, finding new configurations, none of which are wrong, all of which eventually lead to what we crave.

Ravager doesn’t smile when he looks at me now. His eyes are molten blue steel, relentless and dominant. “Lie back, Devilry, and open your legs. Show me your pussy.”

My breathing turns fragile as I drape myself on the linens and spread my knees.

“Wider,” he orders. “I want to be able to look right inside you, into this pretty pink vault I’m about to enter.”

Clenching my teeth, I open my thighs as wide as I can. I can feel myself parting for him wetly.

“Does that hurt the cuts on your thighs?” he asks.

“A little.” It hurts more than I’m letting on, but I suspect as my arousal grows, that pain will be sublimated, like he said. I’m already warm and wet and tingling… aching to be touched.

“Stay just like that for me, unless it gets too painful.”

When I nod, he reaches out one thick finger and strokes between the lips of my sex. Then he takes both sides of my pussy and pins them back, looking deep inside me.

No one I’ve been with has taken the time to really look at me like this. With the others, sex was quick, with maybe a grunted compliment or two. Ravager is exploring me, studying me like he’d study a map before a job.