Road To Fire (Broken Crown Trilogy #1) - Maria Luis Page 0,62

stomach and detour left, to my hip, which Saxon makes me squeeze, as though, through my touch, he’s memorizing every line and contour of my body. Seemingly satisfied, he continues our downward path, over the waistband and metal tab of my trousers, past where I’m throbbing and needy, to my thigh.

“Squeeze,” he commands roughly, and I do. I clutch my inner thigh, letting his fingers slip between mine to graze the denim. It’s wet, painted to my skin from all the rain we trudged through. I can’t find it in myself to care, not when I’m hanging on by a thread, following Saxon’s every move.

I’ve lost my damn mind, is what this is.

And, as if he’s actually read my mind, he drags our hands up, centimeter by painstaking centimeter, until we’re covering the triangle between my legs and I’m shaking so hard that I might combust. He curls my hand, allowing me to cup myself. The slight pressure is everything and somehow not enough, all at once, and I throw my head back, ignoring the bite of the brick wall colliding with my skull because I need more. Right now, right here. I need more.

“Your will.”

Saliva gathers in my mouth. “What?”

He molds my hand within his, guiding me into a rocking motion that aligns the seam of my trousers with my clit. He’s manipulating my body, putting me exactly where he wants me, and the pleasure is so sharp, so acute, that all words take a hike and I simply exist. Here, with him, for as long as it’ll last.

“Just like that,” he grits out, “just like this. I’d make you want me, Isla. I’d make you beg. I’d make you so hard up to come that you’d do anything I demanded. And you would, no questions asked, because you’d get this in return.”

Pleasure slices through me, the orgasm so close that I ride my hand—Saxon’s hand—hard, fast, needy.

Please, please, please.

His hot breath fans over my temple. “I’d grab your hair, like sunshine captured in my fist, and fold you over my lap. Spread your legs, wide, to make room for my cock, your pussy so wet you’d take me in one thrust. And I would fuck you, Isla. I’d fuck you so hard that you’d always remember that it was me who did this to you, me who made you come undone. The man with no heart. The man you vowed that you would never, ever fuck. But you did, with my name on your lips—a prayer, penance—and—”

I come, as promised.

With his name on my tongue and our hands sandwiched between my legs, in a building that was meant to be a safe haven from the police but has become something else entirely. Something that I fear will be the death of me as I know myself.

“Tell me, Isla.”

My chest heaves raggedly. “You want me to beg.”

He removes our hands, keeping them clasped as he shifts them back to the wall. “I want to fuck you.”

“I thought you’d never sleep with a woman like me.”

“Ruthless. Broken.” His voice turns darker, grittier. “It’s what I see whenever I look in the mirror—today, I saw it in you.”

Is that how he sees himself? Misshapen? Broken? Ruthless? A lump grows in my throat. “Saxon, you can’t—”

“Let me steal that too.” His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there. “I’m not gentle. I break everything I touch, but maybe—with you—I’d piece all the fractures back together. And, if not, then at least we’d be ruined together.”

Everything in me shouts to walk away.

He made me come, yes, but we could go back to our version of normal if we stop now. Right?

Except that I don’t want to stop.

I want to feel the ice chip away from his emotional armor. I want to feel his cock slam into me. I want him to take me, his soulless eyes locked on my face when he crashes his scarred mouth down on mine. I want all of him—the savior, the devil, and everything in between.

Even now, I feel myself growing wetter just at the thought.

“Yes.”

The obedient word slips out and Saxon smiles. It’s slow and not particularly kind but it’s laced with expectation and hunger, and if he were to demand that I get down on my knees, right now, I’d do it.

Except he doesn’t ask me to beg and he doesn’t ask me to get down on my knees. He only watches, trailing his heated gaze from my damp hair to my equally damp clothes, and