Though what did he expect? And more, did it matter? He was the last person she needed to think of. In any way.
And yet . . .
He brushed his tongue against the back of his teeth as a hundred desires sparked in his mind. Not least of which was to make her cry his name and only his over and over, without concern for anything else.
“You’re the only person who inspires it in me.” She said the words so quietly, he almost thought he’d misheard her.
His breath hitched despite his lingering hurt. “Am I?” he whispered, her wrist still in his hand.
“Yes. I already said that.” She pursed her lips, searching his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” A teasing tone edged into his voice. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be engaging with her this way. She was danger of the highest order. And nothing about the situation could do anything for his future or health. Or hers, for that matter.
However . . . Aaron’s lungs filled. They could be extraordinary together. The fireworks in the garden would have nothing on them.
“Like you’re proud of yourself?” She folded her arms, though her eyes danced with excitement. Oy, he truly was in over his head.
“Because I am.” He chuckled to himself, already knowing he’d regret this later. “Because for some foolish reason, that makes me feel like a giant.” He took her other hand in his.
“Oh.” Her face broke into a full grin. “Well, I’m not sure that was my aim, precisely.”
“What was it, then?” He paused, half willing her to tell him nothing, to make him walk away, to not engage in something that could only go badly for both of them.
“I wanted to make you kiss me again.” She stared straight into his eyes. “I want you to more than kiss me again. To touch me again. Like in the garden. But more. I want you to make me feel something other than strain and worry.”
“So you do want to use me?” And his innards were warring again, like they always did when she came at him with that combination of strength and guilelessness that near undid him—or more, made him feel things he did not wish to feel.
“No.” She bit her lip before tracing a hand over his knee, her heavy lashes fluttering. “You made me feel lust and desire, so I only think it’s fair that you help me quench it.”
Mercy. That was not a princess line. Weiss might not be the only wolf in the tale. Not that he had a problem with that. His body tightened, or more his trousers did. Nope, no problem at all.
“And what will you give me in return?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
She giggled. “Always trying to be recast as a villain, aren’t you?”
“I am, indeed.” He gave her his best evil grin. “After all, heroes are often a bit boring.”
“Yes, very much.” Eyeing him, she reached out and grasped his wrist, tight. “Then I will leave the payment options up to you.” She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, sending another course of need through his veins.
Oy, she gave as good as she got, didn’t she?
Isabelle gave him a triumphant smirk. “Though I shall tell you, if you want my firstborn child, you should stick wax in your ears. I’ve been told I was a screamer.”
“I noticed in the garden.” He worked not to laugh himself. “Though I’d like to see if that holds true now as well.” And with that, he pulled her fully onto his lap, where she belonged.
Her grandmother would murder her. But as she wrapped her arms around Aaron’s neck, the necessity of living any longer than her current years suddenly wasn’t so important. She pressed herself against his chest as her nipples throbbed beneath her now too tight bodice. His hand cupped her head, drawing her to his mouth once more. And it was as if stars shot through her body. Every sense was alive and dazzling.
She opened for him, welcoming him, drawing him in, moaning as his tongue mingled with hers, dark passion and whiskey and spice. With a groan, he held her tighter, moving his lips down the column of her neck as every muscle in her body grew taut. She tipped her head back, baring her entire throat to him, greedy for more.
“What exactly do you want?” he asked between nuzzles.
“Everything and anything that involves some part of you on me or, I suppose, in me.” Isabelle clutched at the muscles of his upper arms, desperate for his flesh even through her remaining glove, his jacket, and his shirt. He was really wearing too much clothing. She tugged at the jacket, whimpering a little.
“That’s a great deal of wants.” Pulling back, he shrugged off the jacket, grasping her again when he removed it fully. He ran the back of his palm over her cheek, eliciting a little shiver.
She worked double time on the buttons of her glove, yanking it off with her teeth and throwing it on the floor. “They’re merely wants, merely ideas, not demands.” And a pang slid through her ribs. Because even in this, even in this reckless, selfish, self-serving act, she couldn’t have all she wanted. Not if she was to win the entire game.
He cocked his head at her. “Second thoughts?”
