Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,88

I trailed off when she licked her lips, hurriedly at first, then slowly for the next rush of blood, locking eyes with me.

Oh.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

“Don’t say you’re sorry, Rafe,” she murmured. “I… I’m not.”

Those two words were my undoing. I lunged just as she pounced, and we collided with the force of two charging armies meeting in battle, this kiss more furious than the first. All raw, undying passion, months of pent-up need exploding between us. I raked my hands through her hair, fingers tangling, twining, yanking as they had yearned to do from the very first week. Her delectable little squeak of shock, perhaps even pain, at one of my harder tugs had me grinning savagely against her mouth, and I swallowed every sound greedily, hungrily, her surprise the perfect seasoning to her blood.

B-negative.

A rare and exquisite elixir.

Dangerous—for I had been starved in here. While I allowed my restraint to falter, my hands everywhere, fingers bruising her hips as I steered her onto my lap, I had to keep the true bloodlust in check. Tamed.

Or I might drain her dry.

Elijah would never forgive me.

I would never forgive myself.

She fit so perfectly, straddling my thighs, looming over me with her hands planted firmly on my shoulders. For such a little thing, quiet and pensive to the rest of the prison, an outright delight during our nightly conversations, Katja Fox proved she could be brutal. She was a predator in her own right, a hunter in the highest regard, snapping at my lips, my tongue, marking me even as her life force trickled down my throat. Her nails raked up my neck and over the collar, the slight nudging of the leather paired with a jolt of panic; I had seen what happened when inmates tried to remove their collars.

Snarling, I snared her wrists and wrenched them away, bringing those cruel hands to my cheeks, desperate to feel the sting of her claws. Katja allowed some manipulation, our kiss deep and binding, but she dropped her hands to my chest an instant later, fingers fumbling over the buttons. I bucked up, cock rigid and needy, and she shivered in my arms. As soon as she’d conquered half my buttons, she hastily attacked her own, parting the purple fabric and revealing herself to me—creamy skin and gorgeous cleavage, the perfect palmful of breast hidden away beneath an unflattering prison-issued brassiere.

When I tore my mouth from hers, the witch sucked down a few gasping breaths, her chest rising and falling in hard beats. Heavy-lidded sapphires gazed down at me, and I paused, allowing a moment of tenderness as I brushed the staticky hair from her face, mapped the lines of her nose, her cheekbones, her chin. Still trembling, still chasing her breath, Katja did the same, dragging a finger over the harsh black stubble along my jaw, the hard edges of my features of particular interest. Silence reigned outside my cell door, and behind her, Tully had melted into the shadows.

Did that mean he approved of this?

Eyes locked, an upspoken question stretched between us. Do we want to stop?

We should.

Logically, yes, I ought to lift her off my thighs, my raging hard-on, and call it a day. Go back to whispering through a mousehole and savoring every second as I had all these long months.

I kissed her instead. Katja kissed me back, falling easily into the softness that was like a balm for her bruised mouth, for my tormented mind. It was fleeting, the gentle brush of lips, turning harder by the moment, fiercer, and then the firestorm was back, her hips rocking over my erection, grinding down in search of her own pleasure. Her little moans spurred me, damned me, but even as I succumbed to vice and sin, one succinct, coherent thought stood out.

It felt right to hold her.

Not sexually—although that was exceptional too. Images of driving her squealing into the cot, over and over again, the springs screaming as she came undone beneath me, tempted my inner monster, made my cock even harder.

But beyond that, it felt right to just hold her, touch her. Even a chaste embrace would satisfy me.

Of course, this was anything but.

Her fingers twined in my hair, wrenching hard when I dragged a harsh, openmouthed kiss along her jaw and down her neck.

That was my undoing.

The hammer of her heart thump-thumping in her throat. The rush of blood through her veins, charging faster and brighter, so fucking tempting. Hadn’t fed in months. In too long. Hadn’t properly consumed