In Flames - Elise Faber Page 0,5

a woman and not an asexual creature whose only purpose was to patch up broken bones and deliver babies.

Of course, maybe she felt like everyone saw her that way because she saw herself that way.

“Second thoughts?” he asked, brushing her hand aside, his rasping voice sliding over her skin, raising goose bumps, making her shiver.

“No.”

A chuckle that had her thighs clenching around his waist. “Just no?”

“Yup.”

Fingers brushing along her jaw. “Then why the sad?”

Why was he pushing this? They were both nearly naked, and she was wet and aching and . . . she wanted him to be kissing her again, for him to make her forget where she was, her name, her loneliness. But she was Suz. She was the head healer, and that meant she was supposed to be strong and capable and certainly not unfeeling, but at least in control of her emotions at all times. Which is why she lifted her chin and told him, “The only reason I’m sad is because I haven’t had an orgasm in way too long, and we’re wasting an eternity talking instead of fucking.”

His lips curved into a cocky smile.

“What do you know about fucking?” One finger trailing down her chest, so close to her breasts that she was absolutely desperate for him to touch, to cup, to stroke.

And he was asking her what she knew about fucking.

Delaying.

Making her feel like a child when she’d been a grown woman for ages.

Irritation flooded through her. “I know plenty,” she snapped. “And maybe I know that I should get dressed and go find someone else.”

That smile didn’t fade.

That hand slid to the side, cupped her breast, and if she hadn’t been sitting on the edge of the desk, her knees would have wobbled and, okay, would have probably given way. “Hmm. I know you won’t do that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Because she knew about sex and fucking and even making sweet love, but she didn’t know about this.

The draw. The absolute desperation that had pushed its way inside her, gripped her tightly between its canines and was shaking her fiercely. She wanted his cock thrusting home. She wanted to push him away and to run screaming from the room. She wanted completion. She wanted to release her magic, wrap him up in it, and hold him close. She wanted—

Graham.

More in this moment than she ever had before.

“And I know I want you to stop talking.” She hissed out a breath when his thumb stroked her nipple through the lace. “And take me.” His golden eyes flared with desire. “Or I will find someone else.”

“Stop talking about another man when I’m about to fuck you.” He nipped her throat.

“And yet, more talking,” she said cuttingly. “But still, no fucking.”

A growl that raised the hairs on her nape. “I’m trying to make sure you want to do this.”

“No. You want me pissed off and muddled, so I fight with you,” she snapped. “Because you love nothing more than to make me lose my temper.”

He froze, irritation leaving his face, that cocky grin making a reappearance. “Maybe.”

She made a noise in outrage. His admission wasn’t a surprise exactly—she’d known what she said was the truth—but she was still annoyed by the easy way he’d admitted it. “Why do you live to torment me?” she groaned, head tipping back, gaze on the ceiling.

“Because”—hot breath on her skin—“you’ve tormented me from the day you came back. Because you’re tormenting me with golden skin and lavender lace. Because you smell like oranges and spice, and I want to taste every inch of you.” A flick of his tongue across a sensitive spot on her neck. “Yes, I like teasing you. Yes, I like pissing you off. But it’s mostly because I think you’re fucking beautiful when you’re furious.”

Her chest heaved as though she’d run a marathon—and she despised marathons and running and . . . well, all forms of exercise—but that wasn’t why she couldn’t form words.

It was because his words were . . .

What?

More than she’d expected from the man who seemed to torment and avoid her in equal terms.

Yes. That.

But also . . . so much more than she’d ever expected a man to say about her in particular. Because, putting aside his aims to piss her off, she didn’t inspire pretty speeches about golden skin or her scent.

She was Suz.

Doctor first. Friend second. Daughter third. Woman . . . a dismal forth.

“I never would have allowed myself to do this,” he said, dropping demanding lips onto hers,