Page 32 of Forbidden Empire

I leaned in, nipples grazing his chest, ignoring the warning in his eyes.

Something flickered there. Wild. Dangerous.

His knee drove upward, the pressure against my pussy. The jolt wrenched a gasp from me before I could pretend I didn’t care.

"You lost the second I found you."

He didn’t bother with the rest. His mouth crashed into mine, teeth catching, tongue everywhere. Unapologetic.

Hot. Unyielding. Starved.

His teeth caught my lip, sharp, and blood burst, mixing with the whiskey burn he carried. My vision blurred, my thoughts fuzzed, and still his mouth took more and more, until I was dizzy and shaking and boneless. He held me up anyway, hands sure and tight, like I was something rare and breakable.

Heat blossomed deep inside me, billowing into a bubble of desire that clouded my mind. His kiss was hard and painful andinvasive, like a punishment that he’d been waiting for a very long time to unleash upon me.

All the anger, all the rage, all the fury that he’d hidden behind his cool demeanor seemed to rush to the surface and flow from his prodding mouth, stealing the breath straight from my lungs.

If I weren’t careful, he’d know how much I wanted him, too.

“No!” The word ripped out of me as I jerked my head to the side.

The tendons in my arms screamed, wrists twisting, bones rubbing together under his grip. I shoved against him, every movement just grinding my hips tighter to his, my nipples hard and aching against his chest.

He was everywhere—the wall of muscle pinning me in place, the thick press of his thigh between mine, his cock hard and insistent against my stomach.

Wetness rushed between my legs, soaking through my underwear. My clit pulsed, greedy and desperate.

When he went for my mouth again, I bit him. Hard. Teeth sinking into his bottom lip until blood coated my tongue.

He jerked his head back, a drop of red beading at his lip and running down his jaw, bright and sharp. It hovered, then dripped onto his perfect white collar.

His pupils were blown wide, swallowing any color in his eyes.

I lifted my chin, still tasting him, teeth bared.

“Fuck!” The sound tore out of him, raw, rough, feral.

A vein pulsed at his temple as he pinned me harder against the wall, the pressure crushing the air from my lungs.

"You little—" His breath came in hot bursts against my face, each exhale carrying the scent of expensive whiskey and contained violence.

"Get. Off. Me." Each syllable dripped venom as I twisted against his grip. The bones in my wrists ground together beneath his fingers.

The corner of his mouth curled upward, revealing teeth stained pink with his blood.

“Look at you,” he whispered, so close his lips grazed my ear, “fighting what we both know is inevitable.”

“I’d rather die,” I shot back.

It sounded tough, but the lie tasted like battery acid, especially when my body was betraying me so hard I wanted to punch myself.

I did the only thing I could think of and slammed my body forward.

For once, it worked.

Well, for a second.

His grip slipped, but then his hands locked down again, fingers digging in so hard I was pretty sure I’d be wearing his fingerprints for days.