Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,95
back to where her hand gripped the bedpost at her back. When his fingers closed around her hand, she tried to resist. But only for a breath. He drew her arm up between them, slender and white against his bare chest.
He uncurled her tense fingers, one after another, then turned her palm up and pressed his lips against the delicate skin of her wrist. “One,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
Nelle snatched her hand back and gripped the bedpost again, certain she’d sink to the floor if she didn’t hold fast. Her chest felt tight, and she was all too conscious of how her exposed bosom rose and fell with short, shallow breaths.
Kyriakos slid his hands along her shoulders and up her neck, his long, claw-like nails prickling her flesh with a subtle edge of danger not yet unleashed. He cupped her face with gentle firmness.
Now, she thought. Now!
But though his mouth once more hovered over hers, he shifted her head at the last and planted his second kiss on her brow.
“Two,” he said.
Nelle blinked quickly. His face seemed to swim before her vision. A little whimper vibrated in her throat. He smiled, well aware of the fire he stirred, of the effect of his voice and touch combined with the music and perfume.
“One last kiss,” he said, still holding her face. “Where shall it go?”
His gaze flitted to her mouth. His lashes were long and thick, too lush to be a man’s. Everything about him was perfect, treacherously perfect.
This was why the lyrics of so many old songs spoke of mortals succumbing to fae seducers despite all warnings, wisdom, and common sense. An intoxicating energy shimmered in those few inches of space between their bodies. One wrong move would set the air on fire.
His right hand slid around the back of her head. His fingers coiled in her hair, and he drew her head back further, tilting her face up to his. For a moment his eyes held hers, his mouth lingering just over her lips. But then he drifted down farther, farther. Her eyes closed as she felt the barest hint of teeth scraping along the skin of her neck, and her back arched in response.
The fingers of his left hand toyed with her shoulder, drifted to play with the beaded flowers along the upper edge of her corset. He planted his third kiss at the hollow of her throat.
Her blood boiled, ready to burst her throbbing veins.
“Three,” he murmured against her flesh.
Then he stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides, leaving her to grasp the bedpost desperately. His mouth still curved in that knowing, terrifying smile. She couldn’t bear to look at it, so she dropped her gaze to his broad chest. Firelight played across its contours, highlighting the powerful muscles.
“Well, sweet wife?” His voice was smooth and dark as midnight. “Would you like more kisses?”
With an effort of will, Nelle raised her gaze to meet his. A mistake. She was a mouse caught in the hypnotic stare of the viper.
She let go of the bedpost, stepped to one side, then sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back, biting her lower lip for dread of what she might say.
But she didn’t need to speak. He understood.
With a single step, he crossed to the bed. His arms were around her the next moment, drawing her down onto her back. He caressed her cheek, her neck, slid his hand along her shoulder, her bare arm, and down her waist to the exposed skin of her thigh.
“You have to say it,” he murmured, his face buried in her hair, his teeth toying with her earlobe. “You have to say you want more. It’s tradition.”
Nelle whimpered again and turned to him. His eyes were so close to hers, his breath hot on her face. His hand pressed to the small of her back, drawing her toward him, and she quickly planted her palm and spread her fingers across his bare chest. He hesitated, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes.
“I want more,” she said.
With a rumbling growl he rolled on top of her, planting a kiss hard against her mouth. She responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck, and let herself sink under his embrace. Her head whirled with danger, like leaping from a high cliff just to feel the rush of wind, the thrilling terror spiking through every limb, the plunge into darkness. For a moment, she forgot.