He adds, "Lord knows you're just as hot as Wonder Woman."
A tiny giggle escapes my lips.
His lips twitch. "Ok. Maybe even a tad hotter."
I take a shaky breath.
His eyes search mine like he's trying to stitch me back together with nothing but his gaze. He asks, "You know what I keep thinking?"
I swallow hard. "What?"
"That I've never seen anyone walk through that much hell and still look like they could boss the world around with one raised eyebrow." His mouth tugs up at one corner.
I bite on my lip, gaining better control of my breath.
He declares, "You terrify them, Minx. So they can try to take you down, but they never will."
Warmth wraps around my ribs from the inside. I blurt out, "They can eliminate me at any time."
His thumb makes lazy circles near my ear. "Nah. You're too valuable to them."
"Why would you say that?" I question.
He leans in, his nose brushing mine. His breath becomes a ghost over my lips, hot and steady. He answers, "You've survived their torture. Most others wouldn't have."
My pulse thumps hard in my neck.
His gaze drops to my mouth. He murmurs, "Wonder Woman was always my favorite hero."
My heart trips. "Brax?—"
He closes the distance, stealing my breath.
The first press of his lips is careful, almost reverent. It's a question, not a demand, testing if he should or shouldn't continue.
Sparks fly down my spine. My fingers curl into the silk between us.
He tilts his head, kissing me again, slow and unhurried, like he has all morning and he's going to use every second.
I sigh into him, my body betraying me, melting into his chest. He pulls me closer, anchoring me to him. His other hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair.
I whimper.
He deepens the kiss. His tongue teases the seam of my lips, a gentle flick that sends a pulse pounding between my legs. I part them without thinking.
He groans, low and rough, and the sound vibrates straight through me as his tongue slides against mine.
Heat explodes under my skin. I clutch at his shirt, needing to hold onto something as he coaxes me into the rhythm he sets. Every slow, intoxicating stroke makes my toes curl under the sheets. Each flick glides deliberately. There's nothing rushed or greedy.
It's the opposite of the night we fucked on stage. He kisses me like I'm precious, like he's ready to wreck me but willing to do it one piece at a time.
My thighs press together, an ache building, sharp and insistent.
His chest rises and falls faster against mine.
I press closer, desperate for more, lifting onto my knees, angling to get nearer.
His shirt brushes my scarred skin.
