Page 114 of Marrying the Savage

Damir watches the realization pass over my face.

This kiss is slower than the ones before, but somehow more dangerous. His mouth opens mine with patience, his tongue sweeping in as if he has every right to taste the blood he left there, as if the line between injury and desire has blurred into something neither of us is sensible enough to step away from.

I make a sound into his mouth. His hand slides from my face to the back of my neck, holding me there. The kiss deepens, and my fingers spread over his chest, tracing scars I don’t know the stories of. He shudders once when I touch the one near his ribs, not from pain, I think, but memory.

I pull back a fraction. “What happened?”

His eyes remain on my mouth. “Later.”

“That means never.”

“That means later.”

“You are very committed to being mysterious.”

“I’m bleeding.”

“Convenient excuse.”

His mouth brushes mine. “You liked the blood.”

My face burns. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

I hate that he’s right.

I hate more that my knees have parted around him and his body is standing between them like he belongs there. His hand rests on my thigh now, thumb moving once over the borrowed fabric of my dress. The medical room smells like antiseptic, blood, and him.

It’s so erotic I feel dizzy.

He leans closer, lips moving to my jaw, then lower, to the side of my throat where his mark has faded but not vanished. The moment his mouth touches it, my fingers tighten against his chest.

“Damir.”

“I know.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It was not meant to be.”

His teeth graze the old bite mark, and heat shoots through me so quickly I gasp. He makes a low sound against my skin.

Then someone knocks on the door. Hard.

Once.

Twice.

“Boss,” Mikhail calls from outside. “Doctor. Now.”

Damir goes very still.

I close my eyes.