Page 82 of My Beautiful Sin

He moves into the room, a shaft of moonlight illuminating him. He’s breathing hard, his wild eyes on me. His hair tumbles around his face like a mane, and his beard needs a trim. He looks feral. Fierce. And though I know it’s an illusion, his scar seems more prominent.

He emits danger like radio waves, and I can feel the force of his power from all the way across the room.

“Devlin?” I sit up. “What are you doing here?”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

I barely have time to process the question as he crosses to me in two long strides. He grabs my upper arms and tugs me out of bed. My body reacts immediately, my nipples tightening against the thin material of my tank top. My core throbbing as the loose sleep shorts brush my bare flesh. He’s burning with heat and fury, and I’ve gone from a sound sleep to a desperate craving so quickly that I’m a little dizzy.

I know what he wants, why he’s here. He’s angry that I didn’t call after the Range Rover almost ran me down. He’s terrified of what could have happened. And he’s translated that fear and fury into a need. To touch me. Claim me. To prove to himself and me and the whole goddamn world that I’m alive and I’m his and that I’m safe in his arms.

And oh, dear God, I want him too. So much that my skin burns in anticipation and my breath comes in shallow, stuttering gasps.

Except he doesn’t touch me. On the contrary, he holds me at arm’s-length, his gaze roaming over me as if he can’t quite believe I’m whole.

I’m totally confused and completely turned on, and I hear the desperation in my voice as I ask, “Devlin, what are you—”

I don’t get the question out before he yanks me against him, his mouth closing over mine in a kiss that leaves no question that I belong to him. I melt against him, lost in the pleasure of being taken. Claimed by this wild man. This savage lover. “Someone tries to run you over and you don’t tell me?” His words are as bruising as the kiss he interrupts in order to force out the question. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I—”

“No.” He grabs my chin with one hand, another hard kiss silencing me as his other hand slips beneath the band of my shorts as he cups my ass. I moan, opening myself under the power of his desperate need. A desperation I share.

I rise onto my toes, my fingers sliding through his hair as I deepen the kiss, our teeth clashing as I pull his head closer, as if I could consume him. His fingers slide between my legs, finding me slippery and so, so ready. I moan against his mouth as our tongues battle with the same intensity as his finger fucks me. And though his kisses prove that he owns me, I still grind against his fingers, my body craving more than the release he can bring me. I crave the man.

I crave Devlin.

“You damn fool.” His whisper is harsh. “I could have lost you. You could have been killed. Do you think I could stand it if I lost you again?”

His hands are tight on my shoulders, holding me in place.

“You won’t,” I say. “You didn’t.” I meet his eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” He releases me, then goes to sit on the edge of the bed. He’s wearing jeans, and they hug his thighs and accentuate the hard length of his erection. I take a step toward him, intending to tackle his fly, but he holds up a hand, silently ordering me to stop. “Take off your top.”

I raise a brow, but I don’t protest. I simply reach down, grab the hem, and tug the tank top over my head, then drop it on the floor beside me. My nipples tighten almost painfully in response, and my whole body fires from the way he looks me up and down. He’s not smiling. On the contrary, I’ve never seen him look more serious. And though this is Devlin, the man I love, I can’t help but feel a rush of trepidation mingling with the anticipation.

And, yes, I like it.

“The shorts.”

I hook my thumbs into the band of my shorts, and wiggle my hips until they fall to the floor. Then I glance at the bulge in his jeans and, naked, take a step toward him. Then another. Then another.

“I think it’s your turn,” I say, expecting him to either strip off his jeans or invite me to tug down his fly.

Instead, he says, “No.”

“No?”

He stands, then stalks toward me. Instinctively, I back away, but he comes closer until I’m pressed against the wall. He traps me there, his hand at my throat. “Dammit, El, do you think I could stand to lose you? Do you think I could bear it?”

“I—”

I cut off the word, as his hand tightens. “Is this what you need?” His lips are close to my ear. “Danger. Fear?” I have to struggle for breath as his other hand slides down my rear, his fingers thrusting into my pussy as his thumb rims my ass, sending a flurry of sensual pleasures skittering over my skin.

I moan, the sound silenced as he tightens his grip. His tongue traces my ear before he whispers. “No more chasing danger. You want danger, you come to me.” His fingers fill me completely and I grind against him, understanding his need to control as much as I want to claim it, to surrender to it.

“You want to play rough? Fine.” In one wild move, he releases my neck and twists me around, so that my bare breasts slam against the wall. His fingers are no longer inside me, and I cry out in surprise when his palm lands hard on my ass, the sting both sharp and sweet. He rubs the spot, and I bite my lower lip. No one’s ever spanked me before—I’ve never let myself surrender before. But now…