Page 119 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

“ I wanted you! ” he bellowed. He dove his hand behind her head, taking a fistful of her hair as he drew her in close, lowering his voice.

“When are you going to get it through that fucking beautiful head of yours?” His frustrated expression was almost annoyed.

“It’s always been you. If I had a choice between you and a million things I’ve ever wanted, I would choose you . ”

She knew it was true.

But the time was gone and passed.

“There are things I should’ve done differently,” she admitted, “but this has turned into a blood sport, Tristan… We keep hurting each other, and I’m done with it.”

He let go of her, his face contorting with anger. “Then why are you here? Why even come?”

“Because your wife was worried about you,” she snapped.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Rose’s eyes fluttered, not expecting his tone to be so soft.

He closed the space between them. “You came because deep down, you still feel something for me.” His lips moved to hover over her neck, brushing them lightly against her skin.

“You came because, despite everything your lips are saying, your eyes tell me otherwise. You want me to have you, like I promised.” His arms snaked around her waist. “You want me to take you on that bed and worship you so exquisitely, you’ll forget anyone else in the world exists. ”

Tristan’s words terrified her as her siren screamed in victory—celebrating.

A wave of his desire streamed its way into her veins. The most powerful man in Cathan lusting after her not only empowered her—it fueled her.

Her siren’s claws sharpened, ready to take his soul.

Rose fought it back, throwing every chain she could at it. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right to desire someone so clearly wrong for her. Not when she had someone for whom she cared more than anyone else. It was greedy.

At that moment, Rose knew her siren would be her worst enemy.

For eternity.

Tristan saw the internal conflict in her hesitation. He lowered his lips, hovering over hers. “Admit it,” he demanded.

She shoved her siren’s lust aside.

With all her strength, she shoved Tristan so hard he fell back onto the floor—but not before he managed to grab her hand, dragging her down with him. They toppled down in an entangled mess.

She hadn’t even recovered from the fall when he climbed on top of her, pinning her hands above her head, his chest pressing down against hers.

“Stop fighting it,” he begged.

He ground his hips into hers.

A surprised gasp escaped before she could stop it.

His lips came crashing down to claim the sound.

His euphoria under her fingertips was indescribable—so powerful she had no idea if it was her or him. Her siren was clawing for its life. For its survival.

She didn’t know if she could stop it.

Rose found the willpower to cock her fist, punching him in the face, making him fall off of her.

She gave him the best detesting glare she could. “Don’t ever do that again,” she said with a scowl.

She pushed herself off the floor, making her way to the door.

In a flash, he was behind her, grabbing her arm and spinning her around. He wasted no time locking the door before shoving her against the wall.

“I’m done asking nicely,” he growled.

His lips captured hers again, his tongue invading her mouth. His hungry lips devoured hers as if he was trying to suck her siren up and out of her.

She shoved him again, but he anticipated her resistance this time. His chest crushed against hers harder, trapping her to the wall as his fierce hands ran themselves down over her hips, across her back, exploring her body.

She could fight back harder. It might not be as easy as fighting off the man at the tavern, but she knew she could escape if she willed it. She wasn’t powerless, but her siren paralyzed her limbs.

It craved him. Thirsted for him. Begged for him.

“Kiss me back,” his ragged voice demanded.

Rose made a pathetic attempt to escape his hold, giving him a fighting glare. “Go to hell.”

He ignored her, kissing her harder, prying her mouth open again. Her lips were sure to be swollen later from him.

His hips thrust themselves into hers.

She bit back her physical reaction as best as she could, but her body exposed her as a soft moan escaped her lips.

Shit .

His desire exploded—surging upward like a sunken ship resurfacing from the depths of the sea. His hand forced its way up her dress, wasting no time. He went straight between her legs.

Another gasp escaped her.

Rose kept praying he’d come to his senses. This wasn’t him. He wouldn’t do this. He’d stop. He’d see how wrong this was. He wouldn’t dare hurt her like this. He wouldn’t do this to Satin.

She bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but the gesture only fueled him.

He moaned into her mouth. His fingers found their way under her slip, gliding over her bare slick skin. He swore breathlessly at the moisture waiting for him as pride gathered within his dangerous gaze.

She swallowed hard, ashamed.

“I knew it,” he rumbled through his ragged breaths, relieved as he leaned his forehead down to hers. “I fucking knew it.”

“Tristan, don’t,” she begged. “Please don’t.”

“I promise you’ll enjoy it,” he breathed, trailing kisses along her collarbone. “You’ll beg for more by the time I’m done. I promise I’ll cherish you. I’ll worship you like I have my whole life. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I’ll never stop loving you.”

He kissed her again.

Push him! she commanded her limbs, but her siren restrained them with its vice grip. It craved all the victims it could get.

And he was such a powerful one.

“Kiss me back, dammit,” he commanded. “That’s an order from your king.”

She gave him a defiant glare as she shook her head, not ready to give in to him. Not ready to admit defeat.

Tristan’s hand rocked against her in a way that set her body squirming.

She couldn’t fight her body any longer. Another small moan escaped her beautiful lips.

His eyes practically rolled out of his head at the sound.

Without another word, he withdrew, grabbing her by her wrists and dragging her to the torn-apart bed. He threw her onto it, feathers flying from the force. She didn’t resist—not as much as she should have.

“Tristan, no,” she begged, shaking her head.

She tried to crawl to the other side, clutching at the sheets as more feathers scattered into the air, but Tristan grabbed her ankles, dragging her back to him.

“I’m not letting you escape me again,” he breathed, his voice like a wild animal. His self-control was gone, vanished without a trace. “I’ll chain you to this bed if I have to.”

Rose looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please don’t do this, Tristan. You are better than this, please. It will kill him.”

“You should’ve thought about that before coming here,” he stated without remorse. “He can come pry you from my cold, dead fingers before I let him take you back.”

It was like he was possessed—all sense of reason gone.

His lips were on hers again, this time more demanding, more feral. His hand skimmed across her throat down to her chest as he slipped into her dress, cupping her bare breast.

Her body arched as she moaned into his mouth.

He sat up and tore his shirt off, exposing his carved chest. Gods, he truly was beautiful.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered.

Rose shook her head, glaring at him, fighting off both him and her siren. “Not in a million years.”

Tristan pinned her down with his powerful thighs, his chest heaving above hers. “Do it, or I’ll rip it off your body.”

She knew he would.

She couldn’t let this happen.

She refused to.

He sighed, getting off the bed to grab his sword.

She took the opportunity to escape the bed, but he still blocked her path to the door.

He faced her with his sword in hand just as her feet hit the stone floor.

“I’m not letting you leave this room,” he warned with perilous eyes. “So I suggest you get back on that bed before I make you.”

“No.” She grabbed one of the books scattered on the floor and chucked it at him.

With ease, he dodged it, continuing his steps.

She picked up another, hurling it at him again. He dodged that one, too, unfazed by her failed attempts, holding the sword lazily at his side.

Rose raised her hand to throw another at him, but he caught her wrist with his free hand. “I wouldn’t,” he warned, his eyes taunting her mercilessly.

She dropped the book.

He grabbed her dress roughly by the skirt as his sword went down to the hem. With lethal precision, he sliced upward.

Rose flinched as her dress dropped uselessly at her feet, exposing her thin slip.

“Tristan, please,” she pleaded with him a final time, knowing she was about to lose this internal battle. “I don’t want this.”

“I’m sorry, Rose,” he breathed between her lips, his deep, lustful voice speaking to her very core. “I just don’t believe you anymore.”

He was just about to claim her when the door burst open.

To her utter relief and shame, it was Roman.

It took Roman only moments to piece together what was happening. His eyes darted throughout the wrecked room, bulging out of their sockets at the sight of her shredded dress on the floor.

Then he saw the sword in Tristan’s hand.

The pit of hell itself formed in Roman’s pupils, ready to swallow Tristan into oblivion.

Roman paused as his savage eyes went to Rose first. “Did he hurt you?” he asked in a frighteningly calm tone.

Tristan scoffed, rolling his eyes.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Did he touch you?”

Rose hesitated, shooting Tristan a fearful side glance.

“Did. He. Touch. You?” Roman hounded, louder this time.

She gulped, afraid to answer.

“Yes, I did,” Tristan replied for her, unapologetic as his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. “And she liked it.”

Rose didn’t know how Tristan could be both so brave and foolish.

Roman’s murderous gaze sliced to Tristan, then returned to Rose. He prowled towards her, his hands shaking with barely contained rage. “Do you want him?”

She still wasn’t breathing, living on borrowed breath. “What?”