Her enemy.
The man who murdered her family.
Who she had sworn to kill.
The thought sent a thrill of power through her that wasintoxicating.
She tangled her fingers in his hair, tilting his head back to look at her. “How does it feel?” she asked, genuinely curious. There was no haughty ego in her voice, just a kind of breathless awe. “Not to be the one giving orders?”
“Strange,” he admitted, voice rougher than usual. “But not…unpleasant.”
Oh, she could very much get used to that. Smiling, she traced her thumb along his lower lip. Slowly, deliberately, she began to undress herself. It wasn’t a seductive performance, not in the way she might have expected herself to play the role as she had so many times for her targets.
Instead, it was methodical, almost clinical—a display of control that she knew would torment him more than any teasing ever could. When she was as bare as he was, she stepped behind him.
“You’re not allowed to move. Not until I say so.” Running her hands along his back, she hummed thoughtfully. “You do, and I sleep in another room for the rest of the night.”
After a pause, he nodded once, though his shoulders were tense.
She circled him again, trailing her fingers over his shoulders, his back, his chest. Taking her time to explore what had always been out of reach. She felt him shudder under her touch, saw the way his hands clenched at his sides as he fought to obey.
Glancing down, she was impressed. And honestly, a little surprised. “You’re enjoying this,” she observed, a hint of wonder in her voice. “You actually like not being in control?”
“I like it withyou.”He grimaced.
The distinction was the same thing he had demanded of her in the alley. Why did she enjoyhishand at her throat but not Braen’s? The admission was one she didn’t want to examine. Couldn’t examine. It was too much. Too tangled. She pushed it into a box and put it in the corner with everything else. “Get on the bed.”
He did so without question, lying on the bed flat on his back. She followed after him, straddling his lap. It was so similar to how they had been in the church, only the circumstances were so very, very different.
Shifting, she settled herself down on his upper thighs. Taking his length into her hand, she stroked him slowly, feeling him twitch and throb.
Groaning, he shut his eyes before pressing his head back into the pillow.
He wasbeautiful.A true work of art. She could admit that freely now. Lowering herself down to him, she ran her tongue up his length, just as meanderingly as she had done with the rest of her teasing, before swirling around the tip and taking him into her mouth.
“Nadi—fuck—” His hands clutched the air uselessly beside her head before fisting in the sheets in a desperate attempt to keep from losing control.
Chuckling, muffled against him, she focused on the task at hand. And it was quite the task. One now she could fully appreciate without the distraction of his bindings and overwhelming presence. She could just enjoyhim.
“Yes, ah—my little, beautiful killer, yes—” Words spilled from him, quiet and moaned, dusky with lust and need. “My fae, my perfect, deadly fae—yes, deeper—please?—”
He was begging her.
Raziel Nostrom.
Wasbegging her.
Her head spun at the bliss of it all.
And she could only oblige him. She drove him into her throat, taking him all the way again, and again, but careful and slow—never enough to bring him to a peak. Just enough to get him brutally close.
When she lifted her head from him finally, he was a sight—lips parted, fangs extended, his eyes blown out and nearly black from pure lust. His nails were dug deep into the sheets as he watched her, a sweat forming on his brow.
Licking her lips, she slid up his body. His pale, white-gray vampiric skin to her pale, green-blue fae skin. What a pair they made. And in this moment, that was what they were.
A pair.
This wasn’t about revenge anymore. It wasn’t even about the complex web they’d entangled themselves in. This was simplythem.Onlythem.
