Page 29

Chapter twenty-nine

I lick my lips.

Llywelyn isn’t even breathing hard. He is pinning me against this wall with nothing but death in his eyes and he isn’t even sweating about it.

“You’re not going to kill me,” I drawl with false confidence. He hasn’t yet, and hesitation is always a damn good sign.

His top lip curls up in a snarl.

I smirk. “You’d miss my cock.”

As soon as I see his flash of outrage, I move. Seizing his moment of distraction. Utilising the pressure point on his wrist to make the dagger drop, then a shifting of my weight to flip us over. From one heartbeat to the next, the tables have turned.

He is now the one with his back against the wall. I’m holding his hands above his head and my thigh is pressed between his legs.

Although I’m not sure it will last. He has shown his strength and speed. I need another distraction, and I need it now.

There is only one thing I can think of. My head swoops forward and I press my lips against his. He jerks in shock. His lips are so very soft. So warm. They taste like honey.

My heart flutters. My body takes over. Now I’m kissing him, really kissing him. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. He is my oxygen. My everything.

I slip my tongue into his mouth and he whimpers. I deepen the kiss and he whines. He is kissing me back with fervour. As if he has been starving all his life and I’m the only food he has ever had.

Why have I never kissed him before? What the fuck is wrong with me?

Our kiss intensifies. I want to consume him. The sounds he is making are incredible. His muscles have gone all lax and pliant. He is melting into my kiss. Submitting to me fully. Swooning in my arms and allowing me to lead.

This omega stuff is true. Nobody could fake this. I can taste the truth of him. At the very core of him, he needs me, wants me, craves me.

His hips start to move. He rocks his erection against my thigh. Eagerly. Desperately.

I pull away from his lips. He whimpers and tries to chase me before surrendering to my will. I stare at him. Pink cheeks. Tousled hair. Swollen and wet lips.

His eyes are dark. Soft. Staring at me with yearning. His walls are down. The murderous intent is gone. All that is left is a sad, needy, broken boy who wants to take my cock and forget everything else.

“There you are,” I whisper. “There’s my sweet boy.”

He whimpers in response and grinds his cock against my thigh. I take mercy on him and claim his mouth again. I kiss him thoroughly, deeply. In all the ways that he deserves.

He should always have been taken care of. He should have been protected and cherished. Allowed to thrive. Allowed to grow into the sweet, gentle person he was meant to be.

But fate is rarely so kind. Llywelyn was twisted and forged. Battered and broken. Not permitted to flourish, but instead shaped into a vindictive snake. Forced to embrace cruelty in order to survive. Transformed into a brittle thing of jagged edges.

He has his secrets. He is keeping things from me. I will find every single one of them. And that’s fine. Llywelyn is not a bad person. I know this now. I can taste it on my tongue and feel it in my bones.

It is surprising how much a passionate kiss can tell you about a person. I know I’m not wrong. It is like our souls are connecting, not merely our lips .

I wonder what he is learning about me?

His soft little noises grow more frantic. His hips work faster. Then suddenly he is cumming. Still kissing me back urgently as he shudders and convulses through an orgasm. Making a mess inside his silk robes.

I pull back and allow him to breathe in some much needed air. His lungs are heaving. His cheeks are even pinker now. I’m still pinning his hands above his head and pressing him against the wall, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

He stares at me with wide, incredulous eyes. He sucks in yet another breath.

“You kissed me!” he exclaims.

My laugh is sudden and unexpected. Loud and shockingly merry. After everything that just happened between us, this is what is on his mind?

His puffy lips curl downwards and the light in his eyes dim.

My chest restricts painfully, and I dart forward to kiss him again. Slow and sensual this time. Tender. Coaxing and apologising.

“Sorry, sweet boy,” I say as I pull away. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

He stares at me for a moment. All wide golden eyes. Then he nods. The trust I see in his gesture feels like he has stabbed me, after all. Nobody has ever trusted me like this before. I just pray that I can live up to it.

“Was that your first kiss?” I ask hesitantly.

I hate the conclusion I’m drawing to, but it makes sense. In many ways. The fact he is so surprised, is only one clue out of dozens.

He nods again, this time with a blush racing along his cheekbones. He looks away.

My heart is pounding like crazy. My muscles are all jittery. His first kiss. His first kiss is mine. It is something to be proud of. An honour I will cherish forever .

I smile and run my gaze over him. He looks calm. Dazed and fucked out. I’m pretty sure it’s safe to release him.

“Changed your mind about murdering me?” I ask.

He nods, and I set him free. Freeing his hands and stepping back from him. Giving him space and allowing him to move.

He lowers his arms and rubs his wrist. Guilt coils through me. Was I too rough?

“Changed your mind about telling Dyfri?” he asks.

He does a good job of sounding nonchalant, but then he ruins it by swallowing nervously and glancing down.

I run my finger along his soft cheek and tuck an errant lock of golden hair behind his pointed ear.

“Yeah,” I breathe softly.

He sags in relief and I want to kiss him all over again. What he did to Dyfri is probably Llywelyn’s biggest secret. For many years, only Iestyn knew. Until Llywelyn trusted me enough to tell me. My threat must have hurt him and cut deep. It must have felt like a betrayal.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He nods again. “I’m sorry too.”

My heart does a little skip. What a rollercoaster the last couple of hours have been. I think I have experienced every emotion under the sun. I’m so frigging glad we seem to be settling on this calm, tender affection. I could get used to this.

Images of Llywelyn knitting by the fire in a cosy cottage flow through my mind. I shake my head to shoo them away.

“You are allowed to have secrets,” I say. “But not ones that affect the mission.”

He looks up at me and bites his bottom lip.

“And I need to know everything about Iestyn.”

He stares at me intensely for a long, long moment. Then he sighs heavily.

“May I have a drink first? ”

I chuckle and ruffle the top of his head, ignoring his squawk of indignation.

“Sounds like a deal.”