A hand drew up my thigh, yanking my black dress over my backside with a croon of appreciation. I yelled and threw a punch, dislodging the touch. Hands spun me around, and faces moved in. They hooted at their capture, the game morphing into something hostile. Dangerous.
All of a sudden, this had gone wrong. I wasn’t enjoying it anymore. It was the mansion again with gross dudes touching anyone they pleased.
“Get off me,” I bit out.
From behind, someone covered my mouth with a big palm. Panic consumed me.
Just as quickly as he’d silenced me, the hand was gone and so was the man. I whipped around to find him on the floor, clutching his jaw.
Edward stood over him. “Don’t touch my future wife.”
He yanked me behind him with a snarl and launched himself at the second man. They hit the floor hard. The other man swung, but Edward dodged, grabbed his wrist, and twisted until there was a crack and a scream.
He leapt to his feet, one hand out towards me.
The last two of my attackers hesitated.
Edward’s gaze pinned them down. “I recommend you don’t.”
The men backed off, panting, and disappeared into the fog of heat and sex.
I stood, frozen, too stunned to do anything but stare. My ankle throbbed, and my breath came in sharp pants. I kicked off my broken shoe.
Edward faced me, his lip split. He’d saved me, but I only saw red.
“I said no.” I shook my head.
“Try denying me some more. See where that gets you.”
I slipped off my remaining shoe and hurled it at him. It hit his chest, the spiked heel slicing his skin. A welt of red formed.
He didn’t flinch, only came forward, slow and hungry.
I backed up until my spine hit the wall.
“My name is Elijah Westwood. You should know it because you’ll need it from now on.”
Elijah. He’d corrected the nickname I’d given him, but all I heard was arrogance.
“I do not consent.”
“Good thing you don’t get a choice.”
“You don’t get to do this,” I tried again, my voice too breathy to sound brave.
“I’m not asking. I’m claiming.”
His mouth was on mine before I could fire back. Not gentle or cruel but all-consuming.One hand pressed to my hip, the other cupped my cheek. Every hard line of his body pressed againstmine, the heat and tension boiling between us. I wanted to fight. I should have fought.
Instead, I kissed him back as if he were the only man alive.
Elijah—damn, I hated that I loved his real name—picked me up and curled my legs around his waist, our kiss never-ending. His taste broke something inside me, an addiction rising fast. I couldn’t get enough. The sense overwhelmed me so much that I almost missed his rough grunt of need when he discovered no underwear beneath my dress. But I couldn’t lose track of his hand opening his soft jeans, or the jutting length of him hitting me between the legs.
I burned for him. In a flash, I went from loathing to pure need and desperation. If anything stopped us now, I’d die.
Even if he was the one who bled.
Chapter 8
