“As you like,” he rasps, at which the metal rapidly retracts, its molten form warmer than before as it slides away from my wrist—and his wrist—and away across his chest.
I catch the briefest glimpse of it returning to his black ring before he cups my cheek with his left hand and his kiss deepens again.
There’s a very clear part of my mind that tells me I’m being reckless.
Horribly reckless.
I need to keep him at a distance. I can’t let him get close to me. Not physically—not closer than this—and not emotionally.
And then there is another part of my mind that is purely calculating.
Hekissedme.
He told me I have more power over him than I ever did before.
He refuses to tell me the truth or give me the information I need, but this kiss…
Dark saints, it’s pure, desperate abandonment.
He’s pulling me so close, cupping my head so urgently that I could believe he needs this kiss so that he can keep breathing.
My head swims with the memory of the moments when my body was broken, and he healed me in the forest of Portland.
Beautiful dark magic poured from his crown-shaped ring and streamed toward me in ribbons that wound around my legs, torso, arms, neck, and head, raising me off the ground.
His power descended far beneath the surface of my skin, coursing through my body in a loop of pleasure and pain, and for the first time, I was aware that it was costing him.
Healing me came with a price, although I could never quantify it.
That was the first time I saw the face he wears now. The first time his eyes became the color of pale leaves and his hair like strands of fine, silver metal.
The shadows of this cottage engulf me in the same way now, and it feels like we could be back in his realm, the darkness forming a cage around us.
Around him.
Because within me, there is only a sense of quiet.
A tiny spark of control.
Unbidden, I hear my mother’s voice, reminding me that sex is about power and control, not pleasure.
So I let go.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It’s far easier than I thought it would be.
All I have to do is rake my claws down the side of my clothing, ripping the material so that it falls from my body the moment I pull slightly away from him.
He draws me right back to him, seeming unaware of what I’ve done until my bare skin collides with his.
He barely pauses, a groan of need rumbling through his chest as his hands tangle in my hair and then press against my back as he pulls me even closer.
“Off,” I snarl again against his lips, this time tearing through the waistband of the pants he’s wearing, shredding the material that’s holding them up.
Again, it takes only the barest separation of our bodies for the material to slither to the floor.
And still, he kisses me as he wrenches me upward, drawing my legs around his hips and turning to place me on the edge of the table.
