Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men #6) - Giana Darling Page 0,43
low growl rose from his throat to be lost on the wind.
“I am not afraid of you,” I told him, my voice ironclad, the words tossed down between us like a gauntlet. “You can try to scare me all you want, Priest. I like it.”
I gasped softly as his other hand banded over my low back and hauled me up against him. I could feel every hard inch of his upper thighs and the thick bulge at his groin that was hard just for me.
He bent down to me, his face looming and dark as storm clouds rolling in. “Don’t tempt me. I’m not some untrained boy wrapped around your little finger. I’m not even a man. I kill for sport, I love pain and fuckin’ court death daily. You play with me, Bea, you knowingly play with a monster, something more dead than alive. I’ll ruin you,” he promised.
I arched my neck into the point of the blades, felt them catch and pull sharply at my skin. My heart beat fast and strong, a staccato beat on the tight skin of a drum, but my voice was sure as I breathed, “So, ruin me.”
The night was cold and metallic on my tongue as I inhaled sharply when Priest jarred me closer still and then the only thing I could taste was him.
Hot enough to burn, the edges of my tongue curling into the heat, my inhibitions disintegrating to ash he ate out of my mouth. His groan rolled through me, dark and deep like a great dragon claiming his treasure. He curled me closer as he plundered, careful only with the hand that held the knives, angled with precise pressure at the side of my neck so I could feel the threat, but know no true pain. The feel of the steel there and the iron pressed thickly to my belly scorched like dragon’s breath down my throat to warm the apex of my thighs.
“The things I want to do to you,” he growled as he pulled back only enough to run his nose along my jaw, down the line of my throat to the place his blades met my flesh.
I gasped when he minutely flicked the knife as he drew it away. A warm bead of blood welled up, trembled over the wound then began to slide down my neck. The hot lash of Priest’s tongue was there, dashing away the blood and its trail, his lips vibrating deliciously against my skin as he hummed his approval.
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he murmured as he sucked at my neck hard enough to leave a bruise. I shivered when his teeth scraped over the sensitive, slick flesh. “Feels too fuckin’ good havin’ someone like an angel in these bloody hands.” He pulled back to grin menacingly. “Feels like blasphemy to hold you like this.”
I pressed my hips against his erection, blushing at my wantonness even as I said, “Either that’s a knife in your pocket or blasphemy turns you on.”
I felt his gravelly laughter against my lips as he kissed me hard like a punctuation mark at the end of his statement. “Fuck yeah, it does.”
My giggle died as he opened his mouth over mine and stole the noise from my throat. We kissed there on that night dark beach as dawn bleached the stars from the sky and turned the water dull and grey as lead. I was so aroused I could feel the slick of it seep down my thigh. My nipples were furled into tight buds that ached for hard, plucking fingers. There was an eloquence in the sexual demands of my body I didn’t know how to give voice to with words, so I just moaned inarticulately as I gyrated lightly against Priest’s long, hard body.
A hand threaded through the back of my hair and tugged hard enough for my eyes to smart. I looked up at him, damp lips parted for my panting breath, fixed in position by his control and my own demanding desire.
He gazed down at me hungrily with a question in the quirk of his brow. “I don’t know how you do this to me.”
“Do what?”
“Make me feel,” he said, as if that in itself wasn’t tragic. “I’d thought I hunted down all emotion to extinction.”
“No,” I argued, softening in his hold to show just how much I trusted him even if he didn’t trust the goodness in himself. The roots of my hair stung and the knife at my throat