Page 90 of Her Name in Red

“You don't have to say it back,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over our ragged breathing. “I just needed you to know.”

“I know,” she whispers, and I notice how hoarse her voice sounds. “I've always known, I think. Even when I didn't want to.”

Something shifts in my chest. It’s not quite hope, but something close. Something dangerous. My hands slide up to cup her face, tilting it so I can see her eyes. Those storm-gray eyes have haunted me from the first moment I saw them.

I didn't plan to say it like that. Not with soapy dishes in my hands and water dripping onto her kitchen floor. Not after a night of violence and blood. But, I don’t fucking regret it. The words have been living in my chest for so long, growing and expanding until they were too big to contain anymore.

I love her.

No, that's not even enough. I worship her. I'm consumed by her. She's in my bloodstream, my nervous system, rewiring everything I thought I knew about myself.

“What are you thinking?” Maren asks, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw.

I could lie. Could give her some watered-down version of what's happening in my head. But we're past that now.

“That I've never meant anything more in my life,” I tell her, watching her pupils dilate slightly. “That loving you isn't just some feeling. It's who I am now.” My thumb brushes across her bottom lip. “That I'd burn down the whole fucking world if you asked me to.”

She shivers, and I feel it travel through her body into mine where we're pressed together.

“You shouldn't say things like that,” she whispers, but her eyes are hungry.

“Why not?”

“Because I might have you do it.”

I lean in closer, my lips a breath away from hers. “Good.”

Neither God, the angels, nor the Devil could keep from this woman.

“Take me to bed,” she says, and it's not a request.

Like a worshipper obeying their deity, I listen.

Chapter 31

Maren

Iwrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me from the counter, my legs still locked around his waist. The weight of me doesn't slow him down as he carries me toward my bedroom, his mouth never leaving mine.

My back hits the mattress with a soft thud. Riggs stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. His hands remove my shirt before I can even blink.

The cool air raises goosebumps across my skin as he tosses it somewhere behind him.

“You're so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his eyes taking in every inch of me.

I almost laugh but the reverence in his eyes stops the sound in my throat.

He kneels at the foot of the bed, his hands gently wrapping around my ankles. His touch is feather-light as he lifts one foot, pressing his lips to the inside of my ankle. My pulse jumps at the unexpected tenderness.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

His eyes flick up to mine, dark with desire. “Worshipping you.”

Something sharp and sweet twists in my chest at his words. I've been called many things in my life. Dangerous, broken, psychotic but never something worthy of worship. Not until him.

His lips trace a path up my calf, each kiss deliberate and unhurried. When he reaches the sensitive spot behind my knee, I can't help the small gasp that escapes me. He smiles against my skin, lingering there a moment longer before continuing his journey.

By the time he reaches my inner thighs, I'm trembling. Not from cold or fear, but from the restraint it takes not to grab him by the hair and direct him where I want him.