Page 129 of Broken Blades

I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, seeing the question there—the last thread of control he was clinging to, the final chance he was giving me to walk away.

But I didn't want to walk away.

I'd crossed too many lines already. Felt too much. Wanted too much.

There was no going back now. Not from this moment. Not from him. Not from the truth we'd been running from since that first night in the garden when he'd zipped my dress and looked at me like I was something he wanted to ruin.

I cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the bandage I'd placed there with trembling fingers, and whispered the words that sealed my fate.

"Don't stop."

Chapter 24

Wyatt

I shouldn't have started this.

The thought echoed through my skull even as I kissed her, even as her legs tightened around my waist, even as she whispered those two words that unraveled every shred of control I'd been clinging to. I'd known the moment I put my mouth on her that I was crossing a line I couldn't uncross. That tasting her would ruin me for anything else.

And I'd been right.

Feeling her fall apart on my tongue had been nothing short of devastating. The way she'd gasped my name, fingers tangling desperately in my hair. The trembling of her thighs beneath my hands. The broken, beautiful sounds she made when she came—sounds I'd replay in my head for the rest of my goddamn life.

I'd wanted to make her feel good. Wanted to prove that she could trust me with her pleasure, her vulnerability, her softness. But somewhere between the first tentative kiss and watching her shatter beneath my mouth, something had shifted. Tilted. Became something I couldn't name and didn't want to examine.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

She was leverage. A means to an end. The final move in a game of revenge I'd been playing since the moment those photos hit the internet.

But lying here with her wrapped around me, her heartbeat thrumming against my chest, her breath warm on my neck—I couldn't remember why destroying her father had seemed more important than this. Than her.

The realization terrified me.

Because I'd planned for one night. One calculated moment to seal the appearance of our relationship, to make the lie feel real enough that no one would question it. I'd told myself I could walk away after. That once wouldn't mean anything.

But the moment she'd looked up at me with those wide, trusting eyes and whispered my name like a prayer, I'd known the truth.

Once would never be enough. Not with her. Not after seeing her come undone, knowing I'd put that blissed-out look on her face. Not after feeling how perfectly she fit against me, how right it felt when she pulled me closer instead of pushing me away.

I wanted more. Wanted everything. Wanted to hear her scream my name again and again until she forgot there'd ever been a time before this, before us, before I'd ruined her for anyone else the way she'd ruined me.

And that made me dangerous.

To the plan. To myself. To her.

Because falling for Chastity Harrington wasn't part of the revenge.

It was the end of it.

I pulled back just enough to free myself from my jeans, breath ragged, pulse thundering in my ears. My cock ached, hard and desperate for her. I wrapped my hand around myself, stroking slowly as I looked down at her sprawled across my bed—flushed, trembling, still coming down from her orgasm.

She was fucking beautiful.

Hair spilled across my pillow. Lips swollen from my kisses. Chest heaving with each breath. My marks blooming dark and possessive along her throat, her collarbone, the soft curve of her breast.

Mine.

The word pulsed through me with dangerous intensity. My eyes traced every inch of exposed skin, cataloging each mark I'd left, each place I'd claimed her. The sight of her wearing my bruises, my teeth marks, made something primal and territorial surge through my chest.