Road To Fire (Broken Crown Trilogy #1) - Maria Luis Page 0,84
if I’ve ever felt one. His devil eyes narrowed and spitting fire, the entry point to hell, if I dared to look long enough.
At my startled gasp, he snarls, “Do you have any idea what it felt like to enter that room and see a knife only centimeters away from your neck? Do you?”
I can hardly breathe, not with him overwhelming my senses. I feel his heat, his tension, his wrath radiating like a life source all of its own. “I didn’t crack.” Digging my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, I coil the material like that alone will keep him at bay. It won’t. He knows it; I know it too. One misstep, and he’ll flay me alive. “You saw for yourself. I did what I had to do.”
“You were impulsive.” He drives me backward, step by step, until my calves collide with soft fabric and unyielding structure. The sofa. His hand never leaves my nape. “Reckless. Foolish. And when I saw blood on you, you fed that recklessness to me. I would have killed anyone just to reach you in time. And I did. I slaughtered every last one. Because I would rather burn in the pits of hell for all eternity than see you die.”
Shock widens my gaze.
It’s not an admission of love.
No, his words are curt and brutish and more than a little frightening, given the ferocity with which he spits them, but they feel important. A once-in-a-lifetime sort of declaration from a man who would sooner manipulate someone to do his bidding than reveal even an ounce of compassion.
I lick my lips.
His gaze zeroes in on my mouth, unwavering.
“I’m alive,” I whisper.
I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive. Within Saxon’s arms, I finally know what the word means in its truest definition. The excited rush of my pulse. The pounding of my heart. The nerves that tangle in my belly, like captured butterflies intent on escape. It has nothing to do with survival and everything to do with seizing the moment.
His throat works with a rough swallow. “I’m aware.”
“Are you?” Ignoring my trembling knees, I play bold. Confident. A warrior. “You’ve avoided me since that night in your room. Treated me like I’m nothing more than a ghost.”
He says nothing.
But his expression shutters, revealing more in this moment than he probably has in a lifetime. And then, gruffly, “If you think I’ve avoided you, then you simply weren’t looking hard enough.”
“Then why haven’t you—”
“Because us fucking again will lead to nowhere good.”
I know, deep in my soul, that he isn’t talking about orgasms.
So softly that I can barely hear myself speak over the roar of anticipation thundering through me, I tip my head back. “You care too much.”
“You’re wrong,” he grunts, but his eyes remain entranced by my lips, “I don’t care at all.”
Kiss me.
Want me.
Touch me.
I rub my lips together, just to tempt him further, before parting them to utter a challenge that will bring us both to our knees: “Then prove it.”
28
Saxon
Trouble, trouble, trouble.
With each word that tumbles from Isla’s mouth, my resolve to stay away cracks a little more. She’s purposely baiting me, her blue eyes wide with false innocence, my shirt fisted in her grip, keeping me close. So close that there’s no ignoring her dilated pupils and the blush warming her cheeks. Beneath my fingers, her neck quivers.
She likes it.
The cast of fear.
The chase of being caught, then submitting to my every demand.
She admitted as much that night in my car, and I can’t deny the effect that her lust has on me. My hard cock strains the confines of my joggers and my heart—the damned thing that’s done me no good since I first laid eyes on this woman—thumps erratically in my chest.
I want this.
No matter how I promised Guy that I would be done with her for Holyrood’s sake.
For once in my miserable, gray-stained life, I plan to keep something for myself.
I want to be selfish.
I graze my thumb down the length of her throat before sweeping it back up, in a caress that tantalizes more than it soothes. Her breath hitches. Satisfaction curls through me, a black ribbon of pleasure wrought from the darkest depths of hell. I press closer until it’s only my grip on her neck that’s keeping her from collapsing to the sofa.
“Prove it,” I scoff, mocking her. “You’re a total glutton for punishment.”
Her fingers tighten their grip on my shirt. “Or maybe I’m just a glutton for you.”