To get far, far away from him before I either collapsed or did something that would probably get me killed.
His hand flexed around mine on the knife as his hips rocked again, his arm slipping down my waist to lock at the base of my belly, holding me rigid. His fingers spread over my hipbone, trapping me as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting me go.
A soft moan escaped me as his nose pushed my loose hair aside, grazing along my neck.
His bicep bunched against the side of my breast as he pulled me even tighter, fusing us together. The closeness knocked the air from my lungs. His breath on my skin, tattered and shallow.
My knees went weak as Whisper suddenly appeared through the door. The panther froze mid-step, his ears flattening as he glowered at both of us plastered into one. Prowling forward, he sniffed us, sneezed at whatever pheromones we were releasing, then stalked to Lucien’s bed and flopped down.
His arrival helped break the spell just enough for me to squeak. “W-What are you doing?”
Lucien’s fingers wrapped tighter over mine, bruising my palm on the dagger’s hilt.
“Teaching you valuable life lessons,” he breathed, rough and guttural.
Lessons in carnal pleasures?
Yes, please.
My mind exploded with images of him slamming me against a wall and spinning me around. Of him pressing his hips against my front instead of my back. Of him hoisting me up so I could wrap my legs around him and rock against that impressive—
“I told you the other day,” he groaned, his voice rough and intimate in my ear. “If you’re going to kill someone...the throat is the easiest and most certain.” His mouth slid across the shell of my ear, sending an electrical shock right down my spine.
Guiding the knife and my hand, he pressed the tip against my larynx.
I shuddered, ridiculously turned on considering the subject matter.
“You don’t need much strength. You can cause enough damage for them to bleed out even if you don’t manage to kill them outright.” His body curved over mine, his hips pressing against my back again.
The quick hitch of his inhale made his lips brush my ear. The scent of him—clean and sharp, faintly citrus and that lingering bite of metal.
A recipe that shouldn’t affect me yet filled me with impossible longing.
His voice turned thick as he guided my hand and the dagger down the hollow of my throat, down and down, following the swell of my left breast.
The tip pressed against the fabric of my dress but didn’t puncture it. Didn’t do anything apart from deliver the softest, wickedest kiss, following the rapid rise and fall of my breath.
I turned hot. Dizzy. Achy.
Part fear, part pain, part somethingelsethat left me raw and trembly and very,veryhungry.
My fingers squirmed beneath his, trying to get free. The knife thrummed between us, a conduit for all our desire.
“Stop,” I whispered, needing air, needing my heart back. “You’ve already shown me. Let me go.”
His hand twitched as if to obey but then his arm swept up the length of my body. His palm skated over my skin, deliberately, possessively cupping my breast.
I jolted in his hold.
My eyes snapped closed.
He grunted as if touching that part of me—straying past his rules never to touch a woman—physically hurt him.
The softest beep from the piece of metal on his chest. A hiss of air between his teeth as his pain magnified. But his hand didn’t loosen, it tightened. Kneading me as if he couldn’t stop himself.
“You want me to admit it?” he murmured against my ear. “Admit that I touched you here last night?” His thumb brushed over my nipple, slow and deliberate. “I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t touch you now. But if this all goes spectacularly wrong then...I don’t want to die without knowing what you feel like.” His hand flexed, possessive and hot. “Are you shaking because you’re afraid or...” His mouth brushed my ear again. “Because you’re as fucked up as I am?”
He was going to knock me unconscious again.
