That was all.
No smug smirk or threat. Not even a mention of my vulnerability.
Somehow, that was worse.
I unbuttoned my jeans as I closed the distance, slowly and deliberate. His gaze tracked every inch of my skin like he was cataloging sins. Once I stood between his knees, I let the denim fall to the floor, stepping free of everything that covered me.
“You undress so easily for someone so hard to look at,” he murmured, tongue grazing one fang—as if fighting restraint.
I took his hand and guided it between my thighs.
His claws retracted instantly.
“Perhaps you mean the opposite of what you say,” I whispered.
He locked eyes with me as his fingers slid over me—light, exploratory. He couldn’t feel me, but gods, I still felt him. A tremor ran through me at the deliberate attention. When hefound the place that made my breath catch, he gave a soft press and flick—clinical, almost, except his gaze had turned ravenous.
Then he pulled his hand back and stared at the shine across his fingertips.
“You shouldn’t be this convincing,” he said hoarsely.
And before I could answer, he lifted his fingers to his mouth.
He couldn’t taste—but heimagined.
The thought alone painted longing across his face like a wound.
My breath stuttered. I swung myself across one of his thighs and rocked once, just to feel it.
“You can’t taste,” I said, voice breaking. “So why do you do it?”
His pupils thinned into slits of burning hunger.
“Oh, but the thought, Kitten,” he rasped. “The thought of knowing what you’d taste like...”
Heat pooled low in my stomach, a greedy tide threatening to drown me.
I braced my hands against his chest, tracing the molten patches of glowing skin. He should have repulsed me—horned, inhuman, ancient—but to me he looked like something carved for worship.
“Mine,” whispered something reckless in my bones.
His fate was to conquer the world.
Mine, apparently, was to conquerhim.
We were never aligned unless skin touched skin. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I was the only one feeling anything.
“Touch me,” I ordered, grinding down on his thigh. Sparks shot through me with every motion, bright and unrelenting.
The Dark One obeyed. His palm skimmed my spine, his claws nicking the clasp of my bra before flicking it away. His hands cupped my breasts, heavy and possessive. My breath hitched. His stare was molten—hungry in a way no mortal man could replicate. The way he looked at me alone nearly dragged me over the edge.
I couldn’t stop moving against him if I tried. I chased the friction like a starving thing, my body tightening with feverish need. Every sound I made only sharpened his focus. He leaned forward and closed his mouth over my breast—heat and pressure andclaiming.
That was all it took.
But when the wave subsided, I was still shaking—and still empty.
Still aching for something he couldn’t give me.
