Page 81 of The Reaper's Vow

Islam the door shut behind us, the sound echoing through my bedroom like a gunshot.

“Come here,” I growl, stalking toward Karina as she backs deeper into my room.

She doesn't look afraid—far from it actually.

“Damien—” she starts, but I don't let her finish.

I cross the distance between us in two strides, lifting her against me with hands that tremble from the effort of not being rough. My mouth finds hers, swallowing whatever she was about to say. The kiss is hungry, desperate. A kiss that has nothing to do with pack politics and everything to do with the recklesscourage that makes me want to worship her and shake her at the same time.

“You,” I declare against her lips, walking her backward until her spine meets the wall, “are the most infuriating woman I've ever met.”

Her legs wrap around my waist, ankles locking behind my back as I press her harder against the wall. My hands slide beneath her thighs, supporting her weight as if she's made of air instead of flesh and bone.

“I thought you'd be angrier,” she declares, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me hiss. “I am angry.”

I grind against her, letting her feel exactly how angry—and aroused—I am. The hard length of me presses against her core through the thin barrier of my jeans, drawing a soft gasp from her lips that goes straight to my cock.

“I'm furious,” I correct, my mouth moving to her throat. “You want to use yourself as bait. You want to walk into a room with a male who's been hunting you for months, and you think I should smile and nod?”

Her head falls back against the wall, exposing more of her neck to my attention. I drag my teeth along the sensitive skin, not quite biting but close enough to make her shiver.

“But you agreed,” she breathes, her hips rolling against mine in a rhythm that makes rational thought nearly impossible.

“Because you're right, and I fucking hate that you're right.” I pull back to look at her, my hands tightening on her thighs. “Do you have any idea what it does to me? Knowing you're willing to put yourself in danger?”

“It makes my wolf insane,” I continue, one hand sliding up to cup her face. “Makes me want to chain you to this bed so you can never leave my sight again.”

Her breath catches, and I feel a rush of fire through our connection that has nothing to do with fear. My mate likes the idea of being at my mercy, completely under my control.

“But that's not what you need, is it?”

“I'm tired of being afraid. Tired of letting others decide my fate.”

“Then we do this together.” I lean my forehead against hers, breathing in her scent—now permanently mixed with mine in a way that makes my wolf purr with satisfaction. “But when we walk into that club, you follow my lead. No improvising. No heroics.”

“I can handle myself. I took self-defense. I got away from you?—”

“I know you can.” My hands slide up her sides. “That's what terrifies me.”

I capture her mouth again, this kiss slower but no less consuming. She tastes like home and danger, like everything I never knew I needed. When I finally pull away, we're both breathing hard.

“I need to make some calls,” I say, though every instinct roars at me to scoop her up and take her to the bed instead.

Her fingers tighten in my shirt, preventing me from stepping away. “Wait.”

I pause, raising an eyebrow at her.

“This might be the only time we have before everything starts moving,” she says, soft but resolute. “A few moments delay won’t hurt, will it?”

A laugh nearly escapes me at the absurdity. A few minutes? As if what I want from her could be contained in that.

“You think I can take you against this wall in minutes and be satisfied?” I growl, caging her between my arms, palms braced against the plaster. “That’s almost insulting, kitten.”

Her breath stutters, pupils blown wide as I lean closer. “I didn’t mean?—”

“I know exactly what you meant.” My lips skim her ear, each word dragging heat over her skin. “You want me before the calls. Before the plan sets fire to everything. Before the world comes crashing down.”

She shivers, her silence louder than any denial. “Yes,” she breathes at last, sliding her fingers under my shirt to trace the ridges of muscle. “Is that so wrong?”