“We really can’t help ourselves, can we?” she whispered to him, awed, frightened, curious about what rose up in her breast. Her gaze flickered to his lips, want and desire blooming with it.
He growled again.
“Huffy male,” she whispered. She’d always thought ‘huffy’ was a funny word and she only seemed to use it when she was drunk. She wanted to laugh again, she wanted to tease him. But everything suddenly felt so serious.
To distract herself, she took another strand and she couldn’t help but run her fingers through it. Another growl from him, though it was mingled with a purr. Helikedit. Erin almost mourned what she was about to do. She wouldn’t be able to run her fingers through his hair like this again until it grew back.
She wisely chose not to linger on that thought and sliced another section of hair. It fluttered to the floor.
Then she cut another and another, all too aware that his eyes were on hers until she forced him to look away so she could reach the back sections. It was difficult to maneuver the blade around his horns. She worried that she’d accidentally nick one, especially since her fingers felt swollen from the alcohol. But she managed just fine and she couldn’t resist running her finger over the smoothness of one. It felt like ivory, cool and silky.
A ragged groan tore from his throat and Erin snatched her hand away, jolted into remembering that she was supposed to be cutting his hair, not stroking his horns. Not meeting his eyes, she went around to his other side, cutting the hair there too.
She worked in silence. She worked in rhythm with the rain, with the heartbeat under his skin she swore she could hear—or maybe it was her own—with how many times he caught her eyes when she least expected it. He seemed to like looking at her. That knowledge filled her with something she didn’t want to dwell on.
It was growing darker and darker in the cave, but she managed to make his haircut clean. She shifted until she was kneeling close to his side, her knees pressing into his outer thigh, leaning in front of him to even out the front. Goosebumps blossomed over the skin of her arms when his hand brushed her side. Her eyelids felt heavy. She swayed a little as she looked down at him. There were little hairs sprinkled across the edge of his nose and without thinking, she reached forward to brush them away, not realizing how intimate it seemed until afterwards.
The knife drifted down until it was in his line of vision. His eyes flickered to it, then flickered back to her. He hadn’t spoken this entire time—neither had she—but when he did, his voice was like rough velvet as he said, “You could cut my throat right now,rixella, and I would let you. When my only ambition in life has been to survive. That is the power ofthis.”
His voice made her feel like she’d just had another swig of the alcohol. It made herburn. His voice was almost…awed. As if he was faced with some terrible thing he couldn’t help but respect. That he couldn’t help butgive in to.
“What else would you let me do?” she asked quietly, hardly recognizing her own voice. Her head spun, her flesh felt tingly, but she didn’t think it was from the bottle. Not anymore. She felt powerful. She saw the desire in his eyes—that terrible, terrible desire—but she saw her own reflected back.
This was the male that had kidnapped her. The male who had probably ruined her chances of ever finding her way home again, of ever seeing her family again. This was the male who wouldn’t tell her what his plans were for her, and yet…
She’d never felt like this. So torn between hatred and need. That part of herself—which she’d confessed to him—wanted to hurt him for taking those things away from her, while also needing to drag him close so she could feel his heartbeat, so she could taste his tongue.
Madness.
You are as mad as I am, he’d told her. Her head swam as she looked at his lips.
“I hate you,” she breathed. “I really do.”
She didn’t know if she was talking to him or herself.
And then, before she could hesitate, she leaned forward and took the one thing she wanted but shouldn’t have. His kiss.
He’d told her to do something bad to him. This probably wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but she was just drunk enough that it didn’t matter. At least not right then.
Jaxor froze when her lips crashed onto his, but then she felt his claws pierce her tunic, coming up to drag her closer. He’d been waiting for this closeness, perhaps longer than she had, Erin realized.
The knife clattered to the stone as her hands dove into his freshly shorn hair. She gripped the strands hard, clenching her fists in deep, pulling. He growled—huffy—but finally moved his mouth against hershard. As if punishing her.
When Erin closed her eyes, she relied on him to keep her from toppling over since everything spun. She tasted the alcohol on his tongue when she met it and she pressed closer. Sounds were coming from her throat, little desperate sounds she’d never heard before, because she couldn’t get close enough.
“Vrax,” Jaxor hissed when she pushed between his thighs, placing herself in his lap. Dimly, she wondered if he was in pain from the wounds, but then his mouth was on hers again and the thought was wiped away.
His cock was hard underneath her—stillhard despite the blood he’d lost. It pushed up from his furred loincloth between them and a reckless part of Erin just wanted to shift her body over it. The reckless, dangerous part of her craved taking him into her body, feeling that thick, hot length inside her, because she knew that was the only way this desperation would lessen. Only then would he be close enough—when he was completely inside her.
Madness, she thought.
She didn’t care. This felt good. This felt like something shewantedto do for once, not something that sheshould do. This felt bad, bad, bad in the best way. Mutually hate-kissing this dangerous male. It feltgoodbecause it was something she’d never done before.
Warning bells were going off in her head, but she silenced them. Tomorrow, she would feel differently. Tomorrow, once the lust had died down and the alcohol was gone from her system, and once she didn’t feel so damnreckless, she would regret this.
Wouldn’t she?
Jaxor hissed when she ground her hips over his cock. Her tunic had ridden up her thighs, but the hem still covered her sex. It was the only barrier between them.
