I slid my fingers across her collarbone, tracing the delicate curve of her throat, then lower?—
Down to where her breast had spilled free, full and perfect, begging for my touch.
I circled one fingertip around the stiffened peak, teasing, claiming.
“That bloody war is a distant memory.”
My voice was gravel and fire, rough with need, with possession.
I leaned in, my breath hot against her skin, lips grazing the wild flutter of her pulse.
“Tonight, Olivia, the only battle I’m fighting...”
I brushed my mouth over her throat, feeling the way her breath hitched, the way her body shuddered beneath me.
“...is the one where I make you scream my name.”
Her eyes burned, her lips parted, her breath a ragged whisper?—
“I thought you died.”
Igritted my teeth. “I thought I died too.”
Then—
“But enough talking?—”
I thrust my hips against her, grinding into her softness, letting her feel just how long I had ached for her.
The bookshelf groaned behind her, shifting slightly beneath our weight.
She gasped.
“Did you feel that?” she whispered.
I didn’t care. “Yes.”
I crushed my mouth against hers, drinking in her sweet, desperate moan. My fingers found her nipple, rolling it, tugging until it tightened into a stiff, aching peak.
She arched into me, a surrendering sigh spilling between our lips.
A low growl rumbled in my chest.
I slammed my hips against her again, pressing her harder against the wood?—
The shelf shuddered.
Still, I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop.
I drove into her again?—
And the entire bookshelf gave way.
With a scream, Olivia fell backward, her skirts billowing as we tumbled through the secret passageway.
I caught her, cradling her head as we crashed to the wooden floor, twisting midair to take the brunt of the fall. Pain flared through my back and shoulders, but I didn’t care?—
Nothing mattered but her.
