My voice comes out dark and rough. I don’t bother hiding the threat in it. We’re past that.
“What are you going to do about it?” she says, like I’m not big enough to swallow her whole. Isn’t she aware of how tiny she is? How big I am?
How hungry I am for her?
"Keep it up and I'll put you over my knee and spank that cute round ass of yours until it's bright red."
She gasps, and for a moment, I think I've shocked her into backing down. Then the most alluring, intoxicating smell rises between us in the small space. Shit. I know where this scent comes from. It comes from her. From that sweet, sweet pussy I know she’s hiding between her legs.
A wicked little smile blossoms across her lips, and her pupils dilate.
"Is that a promise?"
I break.
I put my hand on the back of her head, fingers tangling in all that soft hair as my mouth crashes down on hers. The soft feel of her lips under mine goes straight to my head like whiskey. She rises on her toes with a soft sound of surprise and pleasure, her hands fisting in the fabric of my shirt.
Fuck.
Her lips are perfect, soft and warm and fitting between my tusks like she was made for this. Made for me. She opens them beneath my mouth with a little sigh that nearly brings me to my knees. I don’t hesitate. My tongue invades her mouth as I take advantage of my position of absolute power, deepening the kiss until I'm drowning in her. She answers eagerly, her tongue meeting mine stroke for stroke until we’re melting into each other.
My cock pulses between us, lust coiling in a tight spot just below my navel. Her small hands reach up, flatteningon my chest.
Mine.
The thought hits me like lightning, bright and dangerous and so fucking right it scares me sober.
I tear myself away, breathing hard, hands raised like I'm surrendering. She stares up at me with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, her lips swollen from my kiss, and it nearly undoes me all over again.
"Be ready in an hour," I manage, my voice rough as gravel. "We're going to town. You need winter clothes."
Then I'm out the door before I do something we'll both regret. I don’t even bother with a winter coat. Cold air hits my overheated skin like a slap.
I need to work. Need to move. Need to do something physical to burn off the madness coursing through my veins before I march back in there and finish what we started.
I need to break something. I need to rampage.
I settle on chopping wood.
My hands shake as I reach for the ax leaning against the side of the cabin. I drop a round of wood on the stump and bring it down in a clean stroke, the satisfying crack of splitting timber echoing through the clearing. Another round. Another swing. The rhythm helps, the burn in my shoulders and back giving me something to focus on besides the taste of her mouth and the way she felt pressed against me.
But nothing I do can cool the blood boiling in my veins or erase the word that keeps echoing in my head.
Mine.
I'm in so much fucking trouble.
Chapter Seven
Rona
SaltfordBayturnedoutto be an exquisite little town.
We’ve been shopping for about two hours, going from one shop to the next to purchase winter-appropriate clothing. Turns out, the bitter cold of Maine in January is quite enjoyable when one is not freezing to death.
As I walk on the salt-covered sidewalk, my breath fogging, snow squeaking under my brand-new winter boots, toasty in my brand-new puffy coat, I feel giddy despiteeverything that's happened in the past few days. The cozy beauty of the small coastal town spreads before me like a winter postcard, complete with snow-covered rooftops and snowmen draped in red scarves guarding front lawns.
In contrast with my good disposition is Darhg. The ogre looms behind me, massive and scowling, his arms loaded like a very irritated pack mule. Boot boxes swing from his left hand, four bags full of warm sweaters, socks, thermal leggings, and toiletries hang from his right arm, and one bakery bag swings from his pinkie finger like it personally offended him.
