Page 59 of On Edge

He stops swirling my clit so abruptly that I have to look at him. The orgasm building threatens to fade away and die. My fists curl, gripping his hair. If he doesn’t start back up, I’m going to yank it all out.

“You don’t want it?”

My heart hammers. Every nerve feels lit up, waiting to explode. “No, I…”

I can’t say it.

He goes to pull away.

“Wait.”

“Youdowant it?”

My cheeks heat. “Yes.”

“Tell me, little finch,” he drawls.

“Please, I need—” I bite my lower lip.You.

“What do you need, little finch? Tell me.” His teeth scrape my earlobe, sending tingles down my spine, making me close my eyes.

But I really can’t say it.

“Fuck, Nell. You drive me crazy.”

Hername tears through me as his fingers stroke through my wetness one last time.

It’s all wrong.

I rip my eyes open and push him away, nails raking in a desperate attempt to get free.

But even as I do, my body doesn’t agree. Deep down, I’m memorizing the weight of him between my thighs, the taste of him on my lips, the chaos my body becomes when he touches me, storing it away for later when I’m alone.

I want…no,needhim to finish me off so badly that when he finally does pull away, as though I’ve burned him, I nearly let out a sob.

I’m panting like I’ve run a mile.

And twisted with shame.

Finding myself staring into his evergreen irises, so dark that they’re almost black.

Thin scratches mar his neck where I clawed him, bright red lines against bronze skin. His eyes tear into me, as though looking for…something. For a split second, on the dark staircase, with his breath on my skin, he seems different, raw and desperate, not so scary anymore. His pained look mirrorsthe empty feeling in my heart, and I can imagine we’re both drowning and using each other for air.

But then his gaze goes flat and shutters closed, cutting me off. Even his breathing changes, like he’s composing himself. When they open again, he’s looking at me like I’m evil incarnate.

“Hard to imagine that you’re still a virgin.”

If hate were poison, my skin would be peeling off.

Ignoring how soaking wet the silk is between my thighs, how much I want more of him, I fumble for the dinner knife. It’s fallen on the step below. The blade ends up aimed at me instead of him. He waits while I position it correctly in my hand, his lips curving when I finally press the knife into his chest.

I’m shaking so hard I might accidentally stab him. “D-Don’t ever do that again.”

Instead of looking threatened, his eyes glint with something that might be amusement (or might be contempt, I can’t tell). “You’re going to be my wife, but I can’t kiss you? That doesn’t seem very fair.”

My mind flies.That wasn’t just a kiss.But all that comes out is, “Don’t call me, Nell.”

His eyes turn glacial. “Oh, I forgot, she’s your sister.”