“Fuck me,” he said, and the sound ofhimbegging lit something wild in me.
“I like you like this,” I murmured. “Under me. Needing me.”
I grabbed his wrists, pushed them above his head, pinning them to the mattress. His biceps flexed, but he didn’t move. Didn’t try to take control back.
I leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
His breath stuttered. “Lark?”
A wicked thrill danced through me. I kissed him again, slower now—dragging my tongue along the edge of his mouth, down his neck, across his chest. I took my time with him, biting, tasting, making him twitch and curse and strain beneath me.
When I finally lined us up and sank down on him, we both gasped—but I didn’t let him thrust. I held him down with my thighs, rocking slow, makinghimtake it the wayIwanted.
His eyes fluttered shut. “Fuck, Lark, you feel—shit, you feel so good—”
“Look at me,” I said, and when he obeyed, I rode him harder, faster, chasing my own pleasure and using every movement of my body toownhim.
The bed rocked beneath us. My hands pressed to his chest as I ground against him, using him like he was mine—because right now, hewas.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered, breath hitching. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Don’t want to,” he said, voice breaking. “You’ve got me, darlin’.Fuck—I’m yours.”
And I felt it—that sharp, hot coil inside me snapping loose, spilling over as my body clamped around him. I rode it out with a cry, nails digging into his skin as I pulsed around him, pleasure crashing like a wave.
He followed me seconds later, hips jerking up into mine, voice raw and wrecked, eyes locked on mine as he gave in—completely.
When I collapsed onto his chest, both of us soaked in sweat and breathless, he wrapped his arms around me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.
“Holy shit,” he said softly. “You’re dangerous.”
I smiled against his skin. “Only if you’re lucky.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
MY THOUGHTS SLIPPEDto earlier, to the moment Icrept in through the service door after the noise had died down, a shadow among shadows, unseen and watching. High Voltage reeked of beer, sweat, and sin—nothing holy left in it. Just the dying breath of neon and the low murmur of voices clinging to corners best left in the dark.
I hadn’t come to interfere. Told myself that. Just a glance. Just a look. Just to see how far she’d fallen.
Then I heard her.
Her voice, soft and clear, drifted through the office door, threading through the dark like smoke. It struck something in me, something raw. The blood under my skin went hot. Not rage—not yet. This was slower. A thick, suffocating heat that burnedbehind my ribs and spread like oil catching fire. Her words reached me, too close to the man inside with her. Too steady. Too damn comfortable.
She didn’t sound lost.
She sounded like she didn’t need saving.
She sounded like she’d forgotten every vow I placed on her tongue, every truth I carved into her soul. She told him yes like it mattered, like that word was hers to give. Held her head high, voice proud, unshaken, like she hadn’t once trembled at my feet, begging for grace she didn’t deserve.
And then she laughed.
That sound tore through me like a whip. Bright. Free. It didn’t belong to her. Not anymore. It wasn’t the sound of a woman mourning her fall. It was the sound of a woman who believed she’d risen.
I pressed my palm flat to the wood. It was cool under my skin, but I could feel them through it. Hear them. Their voices low, threaded with intimacy, each syllable another turn of the blade.
I imagined his hand on her back, his breath against her neck, her body leaning in, mouth parting, eyes closing.
My jaw locked until I tasted copper. The fury that rose in me didn’t come from the Flame. Not at first. It came from someplace older. Something buried beneath ash and prayer. She was mine. The Flame had chosen her. I had tended her soul, burned away the rot, molded her in light. And now she dared offer that sanctified skin to another.
