A muscle ticked in his jaw. “What are you good with, then?”
“Breaking that chiseled jaw of yours if you keep trying my patience.”
“Then I’ll do my best not to irk you.”
I shifted, which only seemed to make everything worse. His arms tightened, and I felt every line of him underneath me. Hard muscle. Lean strength. Heat that should be illegal.
And his cock. I wiggled just a bit, testing. Long. Thick. If only I hadn’t noticed.
He leaned close enough his lips brushed my jaw. “Thisistorture.”
“For you or me?” I asked, breathless and aching for something I desperately tried to deny.
“Both.”
The word landed low in my belly, spreading like fire.
If I was a wise woman, I’d flail until he released me and then show him what happened toirksomemen when they tried to take advantage.
I must not be wise, because I remained where I was. Maybe because the way he held me, possessive but careful, made it hard to think.
“You enjoy driving me mad,” he drawled. “Do you realize what you do to me?”
“I hope it’s painful.”
“Oh,agonizing.”
I managed a smirk and said sweetly, “Good.”
Then I twisted, using a pivot I’d learned from Commander Thorne. My elbow jammed into his shoulder, my knee bracing against his thigh, and I slipped free in one swift motion, almost tumbling to the floor before finding my feet. I stood over him, waiting for him to strike back.
Pain flashed across his face.
I froze. “What was that?”
“Just my pride, shattering.” But he didn’t meet my eyes.
I narrowed my gaze, dragging it down his body. His posture appeared too careful, his jaw clenched too tight. “What’s wrong?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
I climbed onto his lap, straddling him and started hauling up his tunic.
“If you want to touch my body, minx,” he rasped, “you only need to ask.”
My sharp reply died when I bared his chest.
Claw marks. Deep and red and clearly painful. They started at his back and curved around to the front, like something had tried to carve its way in to pluck out his heart. The raw skin had been torn open, and angry red blazed around the slashes, with deeper threads of bruising spreading beyond.
I stared, my belly twitching with dismay. “How long have you been walking around like this?”
He shrugged, wincing from the gesture. “It’s not fatal.”
“Yet.”
My fingers hovered over the wounds, but I was unsure where to touch. “You need salve. Stitches. Something.”
“You’re fussing.”
