Absolutely, inarguably,flawless.
His torso completely naked and perfect and the most breathtaking thing I have ever seen. The sharp edges of his tattoo, the lines that are supposed to be a warning, a message tostay away.Tonottouch him.
But all I see when I look at those harsh lines cutting across his toned flesh is my every desire laid bare right before my eyes.
He doesn’t like being touched.
By anyone butme.
And I revel in that knowledge. Inhale it like it’s the air I need to breathe. I push his shoulder so he’s on his back and climb on top of him.
He takes my mouth in a brutal, savage, heart-stopping kiss.
I kiss him back with just as much need, savoring the feel of him pressed against my stomach.
But it’s not enough.
He groans, squeezing my hips, his nails digging into my skin. It’s a feeling I want, a feeling I crave. I want him to mark me, claim me, make sure no other man ever fucking touches me.
His grip tightens even more, and I’mdesperatefor it. Desperate forhim.He groans again.
If I do die today, at least it will beafterexperiencingthis.
I lick his bottom lip before nipping it gently.
“Serafina,”he moans, and I need to hear him make that sound again and again.
My lips find the soft spot between his neck and shoulder, and I suck ever so gently, knowing how sensitive to touch he is.
“How does this feel?” I ask, my voice low and laced with so much want I can barely stand it. I lick and suck his skin again, only this time, I graze his shoulder with my teeth.
He shivers before doing exactly as I wanted. He moans my name in the most delicious way.
His hand finds my hair, twisting in my thick strands and pulling my lips back to his.
“Fuck, you taste good,”he says as he takes my mouth with his.He breathes me in, pressing down on my back so his chest is flush with mine. “And you’re so gods-damned beautiful.”
He claims my lips with so much possession that I couldn’t possibly imagine any other man ever kissing me. Evertouchingme.
This is it.
Heis it.
My eyes close, and tiny suns, just like I saw the first time my lips met his, erupt behind my eyelids. Only this time, I open my eyes.
It’s not tiny suns at all. It’s Ryjax, glowing in a way that sunlight itself is seeping through his pores.
He’s a Luminarie.
A beautiful fucking beacon of hope.
He wants to end the trials.
He flips us so he’s on top. I reach for his waist, for his pants, my fingers trembling as I do.
But then he’s off the bed. I blink, and the sunlight is gone. He’s across the room, his back slamming against the dresser, his entire chest heaving with ragged pants.
“No,” he grinds out, his eyes wide. My mouth falls open, my brain unable to process, to catch up to what just happened, and I desperately miss the weight of him. “Not yet, not like this.” He shakes his head violently.
