If she didn’t agree to let him bed her, he was going to be inconsolable. He was already furious—already past the breaking point. He had shattered a good deal of furniture and glassware in his rage.
Viktor had almost ruined everything.
But here she was, shivering in his grasp, arching into him. Her head was turned away from him. Not to hide…but to beg for more. Now he didn’t know whether he should be angry at the East Wind or grateful, because it seemed Nero’s darker side was what had finally pushed Hope over the edge.
Oh, fates, that damned dress she was wearing almost made him lose his mind the moment he saw her. He looked down at the swell of her breasts beneath the silk draped over them, and he moaned. It was so perfect. She was so perfect.
“Hope…” he growled. He felt like one of Hugo’s beasts. Like an animal. Like he was going to throw her down to the floor and rut her right there. “Tell me I can have you. Tell me I can take you to my bed. Please…I think I’ll finally go insane if I can’t.”
He wouldn’t force her.
He had a hard line about that. For damnably good reasons. The nightmares still plagued him from time to time. He wouldn’t do anything if she didn’t tell him that he could.
Not that he wasn’t sorely tempted.
She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. She tilted her head to him and chased his lips with hers. She kissed him. How he loved it when she did that. It was one thing to let him kiss her—it was another thing to seek it out on her own. It meant she wanted him. It meant he might mean something to her.
Her kiss was shy at first, as if she was still scared. A little fear never hurt—a little fear could be a wonderful thing. But then something changed. Something in her seemed to shift. She bit down on his lower lip.
Not hard.
But hard enough.
He growled and shuddered at the sensation. It ran through him like molten lava. He wondered if he might not just peak from that alone. He caught her chin in his hand and tilted her head back. She opened those emerald and unseeing eyes of hers. Sometimes, he wondered if she didn’t see straight through to his soul instead. “Naughty girl…”
“Let go of my wrists, Nero.”
Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, but the command was clear. He chuckled but obeyed. He wondered if she was going to push him away—or slap him again, which would make that lucky number thirteen. But instead, she trailed her hands over his chest, sliding over his throat, then ran through his hair, combing the strands, her nails scraping his scalp.
He moaned quietly and pressed his hips into her again, wishing he was already buried deep. But this dance was wonderful, and he would let it last as long as he could. He had never wanted a woman as badly as he did right now, and he wondered how much worse it could get.
When she tugged his head down to her, he placed his elbow on the wall to balance himself. She seemed intent on something, and he was eager to find out what. When she bit into his shoulder, he howled. He couldn’t help it. She repeated the same thing he did to her, sucking the tender skin in between her teeth. He’d have a mark. The vicious little thing was taking no prisoners.
When she finally let go, he was twitching at the pleasure that ran through him. She hadn’t even touched him—he hadn’t touched her—and he was already at the brink. “You evil little vixen…”
“If you’re going to make me walk around with a bruise on my neck, so are you.”
That was it. That was the end. He couldn’t keep going. He grabbed her by the wrist and began dragging her through the house. She was digging in her heels, but she wasn’t really fighting him. The servants and slaves got out of the way as he made a beeline to his room.
“Anyone who disturbs us will be set on fire before they can get the first word out of their mouths. Do you understand?” He barked the order at the two servants nearby. They bowed and scampered off to give the warning to everyone else.
He stormed into his room, pushed her in front of him, and slammed the door behind him. He threw the bolts.