Page 81 of Bite The Terror That Feeds

“Then how about I throw your ass back in the cell and revoke the whole deal altogether?” He didn’t come near me again, but his anger made his presence press right up against me.

“The only way I’m fucking you is if you make me.”

He remained rooted to the spot, staring at me with angry eyes.

“You shouldn’t have sent your woman away.”

“She’s not my woman. For the next week, you are.”

“If that’s what you wanted, you should have specified.”

He slowly came around the edge of the bed and approached me, his muscles his armor, his eyes his blade. I refused to step back, but he wasn’t deterred by the power in my eyes. He halted and stared, eyes shifting back and forth between mine. Then he turned his head and looked at the doorway.

The energy changed between us. I held my breath, surprised that he was smart enough to piece that together.

He looked at me again, and then slowly, that smile returned. “Now I understand.”

I gave nothing away, wearing the best poker face in the world.

His stare penetrated straight through it. “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“I didn’t eavesdrop—”

“You’re afraid.”

Now he pushed my buttons.

“You’re afraid I’ll be right.” His grin widened. “You’re afraid you’ll come all over my dick so many times that you’ll never want to leave. You should be afraid—because that’s exactly what will happen.”

“I’m disgusted by your arrogance—”

“It turns you on, and you know it.”

“Fuck you—”

“I can feel your heartbeat without touching you. I know exactly when it speeds up and when it slows. And right now, your heart is beating so fast it’s on the verge of collapse.” He pivoted his body slightly, forcing my back toward the bed. “Now stop this torture so I can make you whisper my name and beg for more.”

I slapped him across the face.

He turned with the hit and looked both furious and aroused at the same time.

Then I pulled out the knife that I’d taken from the dinner table. He’d been so focused on brushing his fingers against my thigh that he didn’t notice when I took his steak knife from his other side after I passed. I stabbed it into his chest, several inches above the location of his heart. Blood immediately gushed and dripped down his hard body.

Now he would kill me for breaking the rules of our deal.

But instead, he looked like he’d never wanted me more.

He picked me up and tossed me onto the bed like I weighed nothing. As he moved to climb on top of me, he grabbed the knife by the hilt and tugged it free, more blood oozing down his chest. He tossed it aside, the metal tapping against the hardwood floor, before he climbed on top of me. “You’re only making me want you more, baby.” His fingers gripped my neck, and he squeezed as he dipped his head to kiss me.

The kiss was demanding, his mouth claiming mine and making it belong to him. It was hot and fast, his head moving one way then the other, his tongue diving into my mouth to invite mine to play.

My body accepted the invitation even when my mind didn’t, and my tongue moved into his mouth to feel his warm breath, to feel that heat travel from my mouth all the way down my spine.

Once he had me in his grasp, he slowed the kiss, making it leisurely and purposeful, feeling my lips and treasuring them. He filled my lungs with his breath and accepted mine in return. Back and forth we went, his blood dripping onto my shirt, his fingers loosening on my neck.

He didn’t try to remove my shirt or pull down my panties. The kiss was too intoxicating to stop. He focused on my lips and nothing else, holding his powerful body on top of mine. His fingers eventually moved into my hair, and he fisted it as his thumb brushed my cheek.

My hand went to his chest, and my palm was immediately soaked in his blood. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. My fingers migrated elsewhere, realizing he felt as strong as he looked. Instead of feeling flesh and bone, I felt stone.