Am I worried, though? Worried that actions I didn’t even realize I was taking could have caused Evander harm?
“You’re sure?” I ask again.
“Absolutely.” With a light touch, he runs a finger from my ear down my jaw.
My chest freezes, my breath refusing to leave my lungs. I lock eyes with his crystal-blue gaze, and then his lips are on mine. He tastes of sugar, but his familiar scent of mahogany and sage surrounds me. Zings of excitement travel through my body, and my head’s nestled to his chest. His height is a tall girl’s dream. Not that I mind short guys, it’s just they have to be really secure in their confidence. The guy I dated before Jeff not only didn’t walk next to the street, protectingme from cars, he liked me to walk on the street while he was on the sidewalk so he could “see me better.” He only lasted half a date. I have some standards. Standards that are never going to be the same after Roark and Evander. Kieren too. At least, I think about him too.
Roark brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “I’ve never...”
I look up at him and wait for him to finish, but he shakes his head. “Never what?”
“When the bodyguards called to tell Evander that you were missing... I was scared.”
“But I was okay. I am okay.”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “I know. But then, when we picked up the scent of the Firesteds, Evander shifted through his clothes first. Fuck. If I’d have done it, I would have destroyed the treaty. They’d have been nothing but two spots of grease on the road outside the pub.”
“Well, it’s a good thing he did. Because there’s no reason to break a treaty over me. I’m not Helen of Troy. I’m not worth going to war over.”
Roark glares at me like he thinks he can tell me I’m wrong. “You’re my Helen of Troy.”
“I’m—”
He cuts me off with his kiss. A toe-curling kiss. My hands wrap around his neck, and I’m lost in his lips on mine. Color zips through me like a Picasso. Reds, pinks, blues. Roark’s tongue makes me clench my legs together. His hands trail down my back to my butt. A tug and he has me in his arms, my butt in his hands. He takes firm steps backward, and I’m no longer in the doorway of his suite but inside it.
He spins me around, pressing me against the door as his kisses trail down my neck. Every touch, every caress, sendsshivers down my spine as I lose myself in the intensity of our connection. Roark’s hands move with purpose, exploring every curve of my body like he’s trying to memorize it.
Desire pulses through my veins, and my heart pounds as Roark’s lips travel along my skin. The air in the room crackles with electricity, our bodies moving together. Each touch unravels me more. I want him more. I grind into him.
He lowers me to the bed, and when my head hits the duvet, I reach up for him. I need him. My pajamas find their way to the floor in quick order, and my fingers fumble so long with the tie on Roark’s sweatpants that it has him tilting his neck back.
“Fuck, Raine. You’re driving me crazy. I need a taste of you first.” He steps away but is quickly back. With one of my ankles in each hand, he flips me. It’s sudden and rough. And I’m learning a lot about myself because I really like it.
When his tongue hits my core, my neck snaps back. He’s got one arm around my leg, holding me up, giving him better access, and the fingers on his free hand are doing dastardly things in sync with his tongue. I’m moaning. He’s relentless. I know he’s not reading my thoughts, but it feels like it. He knows just how to touch me, where to touch me, and when to touch me. My body arches to his rhythm. My breath hitches in anticipation of his next move. There’s a bundle of energy building beneath his skilled mouth.
Roark’s tongue dances around my clit. Then he stops abruptly, leaving me hanging.
“Roark, please. I’m begging.”
“Tell me you’re worth starting a war over.”
I grit my teeth.
“Say it, Raine.” His fingers draw circles over my upper thigh. I’m not, but I want his mouth back on me. “Say it,” he growls.
“I’m sexy.”
“Damn straight, but that’s not what I told you to say.” He runs his fingers down my sides. There’s a quick crack of his hand on my ass.
“Ow,” I say, though it didn’t hurt, just stung.
He grabs my ankles and I’m back on my back.
“I’m worth going to war over.”
His mouth is back on me. Now there’s a hand under my butt massaging the sting. And his fingers are working overtime with his tongue. A ball of charged air zings through my body until I’m screaming my release, bouncing on the mattress. He’s chuckling lightly against the warm skin of my leg.
I reach for him.
