Page 28 of Forbidden Empire (Sinful Gods #1)

Fifteen

A IDON

I should have felt better. Esme was alive, back under my protection, and according to my doctor, she was on the road to recovery. Thank god for small favors.

The on-call doctor approved her for light activity and prescribed pain medication. I remained cautious while moving around her, interpreting every wince as a warning to proceed carefully.

Except…every time she so much as winced, guilt sucker-punched me all over again. Logic told me it was bullshit to blame myself.

She was the one who’d decided to go to Rhea’s in the first place, without bothering to so much as send me a damn text.

She was the one who refused to stay put and let me handle the resistance. She was the one who decided to play kamikaze with Rhea’s guards.

If she’d just stayed in the room I’d locked her in, she wouldn’t have been shot. If she’d never gone to Rhea’s warehouse at all, she wouldn’t have gotten herself locked up. But she had.

Every step of the way, she’d done the opposite of what I’d told her to do.

Which meant, of course, I got to be the lucky bastard who dragged her through the firestorm. And that was where I’d fucked up.

She got shot. Right in front of me. On my watch.

Now, she was in pain, thanks to me.

I was so pissed off, I couldn’t see straight. Furious at her for making my life difficult, angry at myself for not keeping her safe, and just pissed in general at the universe for serving up this particular brand of hell.

I kept leaving the room to get my shit together because there was no way I’d let her see how much she got under my skin.

Not after everything. Not even now.

Most of all, though? I was just fucking furious.

So, there I was, pacing in and out of the room she was resting in like some rabid yo-yo, totally failing to bottle my temper and ignoring every other feeling clawing its way up from the pit of my stomach.

Knowing I needed to get my shit together, I decided to walk around the perimeter of the building and inspect the security.

When I stepped back into Esme’s room, she jumped and sent the book she was reading tumbling to the floor.

She tried to reach it and then yelped and winced like an injured puppy.

“Stop,” I grumbled, squatting to grab the book and dumping it back in her lap.

Her eyes locked on mine, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. There was a whole hurricane of emotion in her stare, and all of it was directed right at me.

I hadn’t even considered how she might feel.

I’d been so wrapped up in my own mess, staggering under the weight of it, that I never paused to think about what she was dealing with.

Now, we were locked in this silent standoff, both of us stubborn as hell, both refusing to blink first. But underneath all that attitude, some part of us was just relieved.

We were safe.

At least for now.

Not that I’d put it past her to pull some reckless stunt and drag us right back into a shitstorm.

I didn’t trust her one bit.

And judging by the suspicion and hostility lurking behind her eyes, she didn’t trust me either.

A flicker of guilt stabbed through my chest.

Still, she’d screwed up, and she needed to hear it.

“You could have died,” I snapped, the words sharp, my tone as cold as I could make it.

I wanted her to understand just how close it had been. Inches, maybe less, between her and being gone forever. And I wanted her to know what that would have done to me.

She neither flinched nor blinked, giving no indication whether she heard the accusation in my voice.

“So could you,” she said, with a shrug, like we weren’t talking about life and death. Like it was nothing.

That just pissed me off even more, a rush of anger burning in my chest.

“Do you think you’re invincible?” I shot back, not bothering to hide the fury anymore.

She looked at me, chin up, eyes stubborn.

“You don’t get to decide when I fight,” she said, another shrug, full of attitude.

I stared at her, shaking my head.

This was what I was up against.

A woman-child, stubborn, impossible, convinced she already knew it all.

A brat who refused to listen to reason.

I closed the distance, leaned in, and stared into those defiant, flashing eyes. “You disobeyed me, Esme.”

“You don’t own me.”

I shook my head and exhaled hard. The whole mess inside me—the worries, the anger, the urge to shake her, hug her, lock her away.

All of it started to drain out, like maybe I remembered it didn’t matter. She thought she knew everything. And maybe, in her mind, she did. It wouldn’t matter how much I argued or yelled, Esme Theodorus would always do what she wanted.

Endless battle of wills. Tiring as hell.

I let my forehead fall against hers and exhaled a long sigh.

She froze. Her body was still, like a deer caught cold in headlights.

She probably figured all I had left was rage. Then, her shoulders dropped. She inhaled a shaky breath.

I took her face, making sure to remain gentle and careful of the fresh bruises, the swelling, the angry red cuts.

Rhea was going to pay for every single mark on Esme. That much was certain.

I ran my thumb over the cut on her cheek and shook my head again.

“I almost lost you,” I said. “But you’re mine, Esme.”

She melted beneath my touch, caving in, pressing closer, letting go.

Something in me snapped, wide open, right there, all raw and exposed by her softness.

My thing for Esme went deep. Way deeper than I liked. I had no clue what to do about it, but just for a second, I stopped fighting it. I let it hit me.

All of it.

My lips crashed into hers, hungry.

The heat of it slammed into me. There was nothing soft about it.

It soared through us, all that we wanted, like a freight train. By the time our mouths met, there was no space for tenderness, only gasping breaths, raw and jagged.

The kiss turned frantic, desperate, alive, like it was the only thing left in the world. Underneath, the anger festered, simmered, just hidden under the push and pull of our lips.

I tore my mouth from hers, chest heaving, pulse roaring in my ears.

Her eyes, wild and dark, locked onto mine, pupils blown wide.

There was something electric simmering between us, something nameless and hungry, and it threatened to swallow both of us whole.

My fingers gripped her hips, hard, maybe hard enough to bruise, but I couldn't let go.

"Fuck this," I stated. My hands shook against her skin. "Fuck the games. Fuck the lies."

She arched an eyebrow, lips curling into that maddening, defiant smirk even now, even as her mouth was red and swollen from how hard I'd kissed her.

She was daring me, always daring me.

My blood pounded hot as I crashed my mouth onto hers, teeth clashing, her intoxicating taste on my tongue.

She bit back, nails raking down my neck, and I hissed, the sound torn from somewhere deep.

I broke away, gasping, lungs burning.

"I can't fucking sleep. Can't think. Can't breathe when you're not—" I couldn't finish, because she rolled her hips against mine, silencing me with that single motion.

With a surge, I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist, as if she'd always belonged there.

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.