“Why did you kill your sister?” I asked.
He stopped and looked at me with a harsh glare.
A muscle in his jaw flicked.
Then he cleared his throat and said, “She had been a problem for years. Recently she became a political threat. But I never would haveactuallykilled her if she hadn’t tried to poison you. When I figured it out… I saw red.” His voice roughened. “I wanted to burn the entire fucking world to ash.”
The mix of anger and something softer in his tone made my stomach flip.
“Why?” I asked.
“You only get one truth, Delilah,” he said dismissively. “Fuck the game, Titus, and tell me why!” I demanded.
“Why what, Delilah?!” he snapped, voice echoing down the cave system.
“Why did you want to kill your best friend when you thought he was raping me, and murder your own sister for trying to poison me?” I fired back. “Why do you call me names and make sure I sit far away from you? You say the most awful, degrading things to me, and yet the way you touched me when you healed me… it felt like—”
I stopped. Doubt grabbed my tongue and made me choke on my own insanity.
“Like what?” he asked, low, stepping closer.
If he’d had his magic, flames would’ve been gathering on his shoulders. My directness agitated him. His tone sounded like anger, but I could see through it.
It wasn’t anger.
It was vulnerability.
“Act like you feel something for me!” I shouted; my eyes locked fiercely on his.
“Because I fucking do,” he confessed, raw and aggravated. “You do… what?” I asked, frustration in my tone.
“Say it,” I demanded. “No more games, Titus. I need the truth.”
The next thing I knew, he grabbed my arms and pressed his mouth to mine with the force of a starving animal.
His lips were warm and wet.
His hand slid behind my head and pulled me closer. His tongue plunged deep into my mouth. Even on my tiptoes, our height difference was too much—so he lowered, hands catching the backs of my knees.
I jumped into his lap, wrapping my legs around his thick, muscular frame.
He turned us and pinned me to the cave wall, thrusting against me like he had that glorious night in the lounge.
I moaned into his mouth, and he bit my lower lip gently yet possessive.
My fingers threaded into his beautiful wavy red-brown hair and tugged his head back so I could lick his neck. He let out a satisfied groan that made the cavern vibrate.
My boots crunched gravel as he lowered me and squeezed my breasts. He pinched my nipples—firm, then soft—teasing me with extremes until a fire built within me.
I wanted him physically, yes… but I could have had that at any point.
I wanted his affection. His admiration. His kindness.
His hands were rough from years on dragon-back, and the abrasiveness added another layer of sensation against my delicate skin.
His hand slipped beneath the band of my leggings. His fingertips found the warmth between my thighs, and I knew he realized how badly I’d been aching for his touch.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned. “You are so wet for me, princess.”
