Page 92 of Taste of Thorns

For a moment my light hitting his shadows causes a beautiful fracturing of light and darkness, so beautiful it leaves me stunned, and then the professor is stumbling backwards, his shoulders heaving.

“Don’t ever tell me what I can and cannot do, Fox Tudor!” I say.

He snorts, then shakes his head. “You’re such a fucking brat.” I scowl at him. “All this ‘evidence’ you have against the Madame, Briony, is nothing but conjecture.”

“Well, this is evidence.” I pull out the necklace I’ve been hiding in my pocket all day and let it dangle from my fist.

Fox strides back towards me, taking the necklace in his hand. “What is it?”

“It’s Esme Jones’ necklace.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. And like I said, there were other mementos too. Jewelry mostly.”

“She might have confiscated it. It might be a coincidence–”

“Fox Tudor,” I snap, slamming both my fists against his hard chest.

“I’m simply trying to consider the counterarguments. The retorts she will come back at you with. The excuses she’ll use to explain all this away. She’s smart.”

“Stop saying that!” I yell. “I don’t want to know how smart and clever and beautiful she is! I just want you to help me!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he growls.

“You’re not! You’re being damn infuriating.” I push at him. He scowls back at me, all thunderous brows and darkened eyes. “Really damn infuriating!” I breathe, pushing at him again, this time hard enough to make him move. He shoots me a warning look and I keep right on pushing and pushing until his back hits the wall. “You make me so angry!”

So angry and frustrated. Really damn frustrated. So frustrated I want to …

I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him; he groans and I bite down hard on his lip.

This time he pushes me away. Our gazes lock, both full of heat and annoyance.

“Shit,” he pants.

Then he’s swinging me around and crushing me against the wall. He kisses me hard, pinning my wrists against the wall with one hand and scrabbling at my skirt with the other. He rips away my panties and the noise of the material tearing is loud in the classroom.

“Fox,” I moan as he frees his cock and hitches up my leg.

“Fuck, sweetheart. The things you do to me.” His fangs are long and pointed and his voice comes out lisped. It sends a shiver of desire running down my spine, especially when he scrapes his fangs down my throat, slowly and with enough pressure to mark my skin. I moan, writhing in his arms.

I don’t know what it is about him, but even when I’m angry as hell at him, I want him so badly.

He licks his tongue up the mark he’s made, then tilts back to look at me, my hands still pinned by the wrists against the wall.

He takes his cock in his free hand and glides it up and down his shaft languidly, running the tip of his tongue over his fangs.

“Fox,” I plead.

“Not yet,” he growls. He bends forward to suck on my throat again and his shadows entwine us, this time brushing against my skin and making me shiver. They pluck at the buttons of my shirt, letting it fall open and Fox glides his mouth down my neck, over my clavicle and to my cleavage.

“Shit,” he mutters, before yanking down the cups of my bra with his teeth and spinning his tongue around the nipple of my right breast. It crinkles and stiffens against his tongue and he captures the stiff peaks between his teeth.

I let out a little whimper – part pleasure, part frustration. While it feels good to be touched here, I want him totouchme touch me. I want him to fuck me.

But he’s hell-bent on making me wait, switching his attention to my other breast as he continues to pump his cock. He’s punishing me with this torture and I tell him what I think of him in no uncertain language.

“That dirty mouth again,” he murmurs against my nipple, before capturing more of my curse words with his mouth and kissing me hard. As he does, he pushes his way inside me.