He kissed her.
Hard. Frustrated. Desperate enough that Sabine felt it in her ribs.
She kissed him back just as hard, her hands going into his coat, dragging him closer. The mark burned where their bodies met.
Lucien backed her against the desk, his mouth moving from her lips to her jaw to her throat. His hand slid to her waist, then lower, gripping her thigh and lifting her slightly so she was half-sitting on the desk edge with him pressed between her legs.
Sabine gasped and pulled him down again, biting his lower lip hard enough that he groaned.
“I trust you,” he said roughly against her mouth. “I do not trust the palace. I do not trust Serast. And I do not trust myself when you are in danger because the bond pulls at me and I want to burn this place down before I let it take you the way it took Isolde.”
“Then help me hunt it instead of trying to shield me from it.”
His hand tightened on her thigh. “You are asking me to watch you walk into traps.”
“I am asking you to trust that I know how to set them.”
He kissed her again, and this time his control fractured completely.
His hand moved higher, fingers pressing against the inside of her thigh, and Sabine’s breath caught because the touch was deliberate, possessive, and exactly what she wanted.
She pulled at the fastenings of his coat, then his shirt, needing skin, needing him closer.
Lucien’s mouth moved down her throat, kissing along her collarbone, then lower. His hands worked the lacing of her gown with quick efficiency, loosening the bodice enough to pull it down.
He kissed the curve of her breast, then lower still, his breath hot against her skin.
Sabine’s fingers tightened in his hair.
“Lucien.”
He looked up at her, his eyes dark, his breathing ragged. “Tell me to stop.”
“No.”
He pulled her forward, sliding her gown higher, his hands gripping her hips as he knelt.
The first touch of his mouth made Sabine bite down on her own hand to keep from crying out.
He worked her with deliberate intensity, tongue and lips and the scrape of teeth, until her thighs were shaking and the bond was flaring so hot she could barely breathe.
When she came, the mark burned white-hot and she had to press her face against her arm to muffle the sound.
Lucien rose slowly, his hands still gripping her hips, his mouth wet.
For three seconds they stayed like that, breathing hard, the bond pulsing between them like a live flame.
Then he stepped back carefully and helped her straighten her gown with shaking hands.
“If I stay,” he said roughly, “I will ruin your plan and then you, and right now I am not certain which one I want more.”
Sabine’s pulse was still racing. “Hide nearby if you cannot trust yourself to leave.”
“I trust you. I do not trust the palace.” He touched her face briefly. “Set your trap. Catch whoever comes. But if they hurt you, I will finish what you started and the temple will learn exactly how dangerous the bond makes me.”
He left through the hidden passage.
Sabine sat on the edge of her desk, still trembling, her body remembering his mouth and the way the bond had surged when she fell apart under his hands.
