Page 76 of Forbidden Empire

The weight of her was fire and absolution and every kind of sin. I kicked open the bedroom door, the slam echoing as it shut behind us.

The mattress groaned as I lay her down, hovering above, every inch of me hyper-aware of the bruises and cuts scattered across her skin.

My hands froze, suspended, caught between wanting and restraint.

Her eyes, fierce and unyielding in the half-light, never left mine.

She grabbed my wrist, fingers digging into my pulse, and yanked me down until our foreheads touched.

"Don't you dare hold back now," she whispered. "Not after everything. Not when I need to feel alive."

She reached for me with trembling fingers, nails raking over my shoulders as she dragged me down to her.

Our lips collided, brutal and hungry, not a trace of gentleness between us. The metallic taste of blood mingled with the whiskey on her tongue, and I felt her thighs clamp around my waist, hot and unyielding, her core burning through the fabric.

The groan that tore from my chest was raw, desperate, my cock straining helplessly toward her heat.

Without warning, she twisted, using every ounce of strength to flip us in one fluid, violent motion.

The room spun, and all of a sudden, she was straddling me, wild-eyed and triumphant, her hair streaming around us like a veil.

The lamplight threw the bruises on her cheekbone into stark relief, the split in her lower lip vivid and fresh, but her eyes, they blazed with hunger, with something feral that made my pulse roar in my ears.

She brushed her swollen mouth over mine, a feather-light touch that somehow scorched worse than the kiss before.

Then she moved, sliding down my body, inch by torturous inch, her breasts dragging over my chest, her teeth grazing my collarbone, ribs, the jut of my hip.

I propped myself up on my elbows, legs hanging off the mattress, as she dropped to her knees on the hardwood between them.

The sight of her there, looking up through lush, emerald eyes, lips swollen, and cheeks flushed. It stole the breath right out of my lungs.

"Esme..." Her name broke from me, hoarse and reverent, half a plea and half a curse I couldn't swallow.

The world ground to a halt when her fingers found the buttons of my jeans.

One by one, they surrendered with sharp, distinct pops that sounded in my skull like gunshots.

Her eyes never left mine. If anything, her gaze grew more intense, a silent challenge, daring me to stop her.

It was the last thing I wanted to do.

She hooked her fingers into my waistband and waited.

There was no mistaking the silent command.

My breath stuttered, caught somewhere between lungs and throat, as I lifted my hips in surrender.

The rough denim scraped down my thighs, stripping me bare, followed by the softer slide of cotton.

She settled between my legs, her breath warm against my inner thigh, close enough to make my heart stutter but still not where I needed her.

When her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, leaving them glistening in the half-light, my cock jerked, helpless and eager for whatever she planned.

Then her fingers, the same nimble, dangerous fingers that had once stolen from me, fought me, now wrapped around my shaft with deliberate, exquisite slowness.

The pressure had me throwing my head back, pleasure spiked so hard it was almost pain. A ragged sound ripped from my throat, raw and desperate.

Her hair spilled over my thighs, dark silk against pale skin, stark and startling. It made me draw a ragged breath. She glanced up at me through thick lashes, pupils blown wide so her eyes looked almost black with rings of green, all hunger and intent. Something primal clawed at my chest, breaking loose and leaving me raw.