“What can I do, then? Name it. I’ll do anything,” he said, the words earnest in a way that made his stomach twist. Because he would. He would do anything for a taste of her that he didn’t deserve.
She was right. She couldn’t trust him. Not because he would betray her, but because he had done nothing for her. How could he claim to be on her side, helping and fighting for her, when so far everything he’d tried had failed? And now he couldn’t even rejoin the king’s men to gather information. As far as she was concerned, he was useless to her.
“Drop your dagger and get on your knees.”
The words echoed in his chest, familiar, and he thought back to the first time they’d met. He’d said the same to her, with every intention of arresting her and bringing her back to the city to her death. His stomach dropped. The words weren’t cold, but her face was blank, and he couldn’t read her expression.
She didn’t repeat herself. She waited with uncharacteristic patience.
His gaze didn’t leave hers. He threw the dagger to the side and fell to his knees, the ground beneath them cool and damp through his pants, and for the first time, he noticed a fine mist filling the air. Chalia had flown away when they’d started fighting, but she’d left behind a piece of her magic.
“Good boy,” she said.
Fox felt his breath hitch at the words. Something akin to desire shuddered through him. He shouldn’t have felt it, not kneeling before her, weaponless. Her gaze turned dark and hungry at whatever she saw in his face.
Sofia stepped forward, and he lifted his chin. He expected her to grab the dagger. He expected anger. Instead, she stared at him.
She pulled her lower lip into her mouth, teeth biting down, and he watched, pulse skipping. Her cheeks were flushed, and whether fromtheir fight or the cold, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. His cock hardened as she stared at him, and his cheeks went pink. Did she know what she did to him without even trying?
She reached, fingers gripping his chin. Her thumb ran across his lower lip, and his mouth opened in a silent gasp. He watched her pupils dilate, eyes going a little wide. He leaned forward the smallest amount, taking her thumb in his mouth, swirling his tongue along the calluses before releasing it.
“Fox,” she said, the words thready.
“Yes, my captor?”
She fell on her knees in front of him. Their lips met like a clash, hard and insistent, and he felt her moan sing through his blood. Her hair was just as soft as he remembered as he gripped its tangles, pulling her into him tighter as he bit and nipped at her parted lips. She let him in, her tongue sweet against his, and he groaned. Every nerve in his body was alight.
“Fuck,” he said as she broke away long enough to take a gasp of air. He took the moment to push her back until she was lying on the ground beneath him. Her hands combed through his hair and tugged, bringing his lips back down to hers, which he gladly met. He’d thought he’d remembered everything about the taste of her and the feel of her lips from their kiss, but now as he melted into her, he realized how wrong he was. His memories were but an empty shadow of what it felt like to truly kiss her. She was sweeter, hotter, softer, more urgent than he could ever have remembered.
Everywhere their bodies touched felt hot, and he pushed his hips into hers, his cock aching at the pressure. She pressed her own hips forward, bringing them closer together. He thought he might come then and there, her tongue twisting around his own, and the heat of her pressed so perfectly against him. He dragged his hands down over her body, feeling the curve of her until he hooked his fingers beneath her shirt and tugged it up. His hands wrapped around her hips, angling her as he rutted against her. His skin was aflame against her soft body as he pulled her close again.
The gasp that fell from her lips wasn’t one of passion but of pain, and he froze, blood turning to ice in his veins.
His eyes, which had been sweeping over her body, drinking in her writhing form, shot to her face, reading her expression.
“Sofia,” he said, voice strained. “Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m going to banish those words from your vocabulary if you try to use them with me again.”
She swallowed, licking her lips. They were still puffy and red from his ministrations.
“My back,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“Harlow?” he asked with barely contained rage.
Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Your father’s handiwork, still.”
Any heat left in his body drained from him, and he sat back on his heels, trying his best to control his breathing. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream or cry, though if he could tear his father’s ghost from the underworld and kill him again, he would.
“Let me see,” he said, words low. His chest felt tight, his breaths too shallow.
“I’m f…I’m okay,” she said, stuttering over her usual lie.
He narrowed his eyes. “Take off your shirt.”
“You certainly know how to make a woman swoon,” she said dryly.
