Page 77 of Scarlet Mark

Until we reached the main hall, where it was abuzz with energy.

The cops had definitely arrived.

Thinking quickly, I pulled her into an alcove near the side and clasped her hands between my palms. “Do you trust me?” I asked, my gaze burning into hers.

Her eyes answered me before her mouth did. “I do.”

“Good. I need to kiss you. Someone will interrupt us soon; pretend to be drunk and dazed.” I wrapped my palm around the back of her neck, holding her where I wanted her. “Okay?”

She nodded quickly, her hurried exhale feathering over my lips.

This was the last thing I should be doing after her episode in the other room, but it was our best chance at an alibi.

I took her mouth with mine, careful not to unleash all my pent-up frustration and aggression onto her. Gentle and tender were enough to trick an onlooker. Especially with Amara in this stunning dress.

She returned the embrace, her lips tentative beneath mine, her hands curling into my sides. It wasn’t so much awkward as it was sweet, something I didn’t usually do but was what she needed. After everything she’d endured, Amara deserved someone who could be kind to her, cherish her, give her a normal life.

A man who definitely wasn’t me.

I preferred violence, blood, revenge. I thrived on chaos. I enjoyed hurting others, like Hampton and Franklin.

Delivering punishments was my livelihood.

Amara required a future away from this world. Away from me.

She bit my lower lip, hard, causing my eyes to lift to hers. The warrior I adored glowered up at me. “Kiss. Me.”

“I am.”

She shook her head, her nails digging into my side, her pupils narrowing even more. “It’s not the same.”

Yeah, because I didn’t want to hurt her. Obviously. “Amara—”

“Ineedyou to touch me.” The plea in her voice startled me. “Please, Killian. I’m not broken. I don’t want pity. I… I need you to prove that I’m not…Please. I don’t…” She trailed off, her lips lifting to mine. Tentative. Soft. Imploring.

I opened my mouth to receive her tongue, allowing her to take charge in my confusion. She thought I pitied her? That I considered her broken?

No.

She was one of the strongest women I’d ever met, her will to survive a heady presence I longed to be closer to. Amara continued to floor me, her reactions nothing like I anticipated, always throwing me off my game.

Just like she did now as she demanded my reciprocation, her teeth chastising me with bites along my lip for not giving her what she wanted. Her body arched into mine, my jacket falling from her shoulders to the floor as she wrapped her arms around my neck and tugged me down to her. Claiming me. Owning me. Possessing me.

What started as a need for an alibi blossomed into so much more.

Amara was hurting.

And she required my brand of healing.

Fuck tender.

She wanted passion.

Pain mingled with pleasure.

A reminder of how to feelgood.

I tangled my fingers in her hair, not caring at all that she’d styled it for the evening, and tugged her head back to a better angle. And let myself go, giving her what she requested and swallowing her responding whimper.