“Say it.” His other hand comes up, not quite touching my face. “Just once, Nova. Say what we are.”
The word sits on my tongue, heavy and dangerous. Mate. The thing I’ve been running from. The thing he’s been waiting for me to acknowledge.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
His fingers tighten fractionally on my wrist. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
We stand too close, sharing the same heated air. My free hand reaches up, almost of its own volition, fingers brushing the front of his shirt. His muscles tense under my touch.
His usually tousled hair is completely disheveled from running his hands through it, and those steel-gray eyes have gone nearly black. I can see every scar that maps his forearms, every line of tension in his jaw. When my fingers brush the front of his shirt, I feel the rapid hammer of his heartbeat through the fabric. The heat radiating from his body makes my skin feel electric.
Something changes in his eyes, the last thread of restraint snapping. I feel the shift in him, primal and raw, seconds before he moves.
His mouth crashes into mine, hungry and unyielding. I bite his lower lip, drawing a growl from deep in his chest. His hands gripmy waist, fingers digging into flesh as he walks me backward until my spine hits the wall.
“Tell me to stop,” he says against my mouth, voice ragged.
I answer by ripping open his shirt, buttons scattering across the floor. The fabric parts to reveal scarred muscle and warm skin stretched over a chest built for violence. My nails rake down from his collarbone to his sternum, leaving red trails that make him hiss. His muscles jump under my touch, abs contracting as I map the brutal geography of old wounds and hard-earned strength.
“Don’t you dare stop,” I hiss.
He yanks my shirt over my head, impatient and rough. His eyes darken at the sight of my bare skin, pupils blown wide with desire. I reach for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle as his mouth descends to my neck, teeth scraping sensitive flesh.
“I am going to make you scream,” he says, his voice a dangerous rumble against my throat.
I push his jeans down his hips, shoving my hand inside to grip his hard length. He’s thick and hot in my palm. “Then do it,” I challenge.
He growls and spins me around, pressing me face-first against the wall. His hands are everywhere at once—unclasping my bra, shoving my pants down my thighs, cupping my ass. I kick the fabric away, now completely naked under his hungry gaze.
When he turns me back to face him, his eyes burn gold at the edges. I’m completely bare before him now. Skin flushed with heat and arousal.
My hair tumbles over my shoulders in waves, and when he looks at me like I’m something he wants to devour, fae luminescence flickers to life beneath my skin.
He drops to his knees in front of me, hands gripping my thighs.
“Spread your legs,” he commands.
I widen my stance, bracing my palms against the wall behind me. He looks up at me, one hand sliding up my inner thigh.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, his breath hot against my skin.
“Your mouth,” I gasp. “I want your mouth on me.”
His fingers find me first, tracing through slick folds. “You’re soaking,” he murmurs, sliding one finger inside me. The intrusion makes me cry out, my hips bucking involuntarily.
He adds a second finger, stretching me as his thumb circles my clit with deliberate pressure. My head falls back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure builds.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze as he withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his mouth. The first hot slide of his tongue makes my knees buckle. His hands grip my thighs harder, holding me upright as he tastes me.
“Fuck,” I breathe, one hand tangling in his hair.
He growls against me, the vibration sending shocks through my body. His tongue finds my clit, circling the sensitive bud before sucking gently. My fingers tighten in his hair, holding him against me.
“Don’t stop,” I beg. “Right there.”
