The Darkest Touch

He jolted. She licked. His lips remained closed to her, but they did soften. Still thinks to resist me? She dissolved against him, fusing their bodies, and gave another lick; this time his tongue peeked out to meet hers.

That’s all it took. With a moan, he opened the rest of the way for her. Their tongues thrust together, a tide of ecstasy completely overtaking her...drowning her and making her like it...even making her crave the end.

His kiss was rough and raw, desperate as he backed her into a wall. He gripped her by the waist and lifted her, his mouth never leaving hers. Suddenly their bodies were in perfect alignment. Two puzzle pieces fitted together. As she wrapped her legs around him, his hands moved into her hair, fisting the strands. But they didn’t stay there for long. They roamed over her, squeezing her shoulders, cupping her breasts.

The lower part of him rubbed against the lower part of her. “You’re so wonderfully hard,” she gasped.

“You’re so amazingly soft.” He kneaded with the most decadent force.

She moaned his name with all the need pent up inside her, and he—

—roared with agony and scrambled away from her. She fell to the floor.

He was trembling.

She was trembling harder, and panting. She straightened.

He stood there for a long while, peering at her through narrowed eyes, fighting for air. “You shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have let you.”

“The damage is done—if there’s any damage at all.”

“Prolonged contact—”

“I don’t care,” she said, “I want more.”

His hands fisted and unfisted as he weighed her words. Finally, he said, “You want more, princess? Very well. Against my better judgment, you’ll get it. I just hope you’re ready.”

* * *

TORIN GRABBED KEELEY by the back of the neck the way he liked, the way she liked, and hauled her against him. Hunger had been clawing at his insides since he’d finished the fight with the spiders—hell, long before.

He should be well acquainted with it. He’d always known hunger. Since his possession, there hadn’t been anything else for him. He’d never really learned to go slowly, to just take a little bit at a time. To make a meal last. As he’d proven. And now all he wanted to do was gorge and gorge and gorge until there was nothing left. When she had dared close the gap between them, the scent of cinnamon wafting from her, filling his nose, fogging his brain, his mouth had watered and his hands had itched and resisting had been futile.

Then she’d kissed him, and he’d felt like a man who’d just jumped out of a plane—without a parachute. He’d loved the ride down, the free-fall, but hated the landing. Or would have, if he’d survived. The old Torin had burned away, flames bathing him. But a new Torin had risen, stronger, weaker, everything in between, and Keeley had become his only source of water. A man needed water to survive.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth. Their teeth banged together, causing a sharp lance of pain. He fought for control and eased off. His tongue rolled against hers, giving rather than taking. She met him stroke for luscious stroke, giving back. Her hands fluttered around his waist, holding on to him as if she feared he would float away at any moment.

He savored her, this fine wine he didn’t deserve, and worked her just right; he forced himself to be gentle with her. Good, good. Like that. Taking his time, allowing him to memorize every exquisite detail. The silk of her hair brushing against his face. The softness of her lips. The velvet caress of her skin. The honey of her scent. The sugar of her taste.

“Torin,” she panted, then lifted her head and took all that goodness with her. “I want—”

“No,” he said, knowing the worst had happened. She had decided to end things. “I’ll do better.” He would. Because he wasn’t done. Didn’t think he would ever be done. She had become every fantasy he’d ever had. No, she was greater than every fantasy he’d ever had.

“Impossible,” she said with a soft, sweet smile.

He relaxed and tugged her back against him. “I want more.”

“Yes,” she said against his lips. “You promised. I crave. I just wish...”

Everything but his raging heartbeat stilled. “What? What do you wish? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Let me show you.” She pushed him to the floor and straddled him. “Keep your hands at your sides.”

Not touch her? The idea alone proved worse than any of the threats she’d once issued—he would rather have his skin removed with a cheese grater, his organs turned into a smoothie.

“Why?” he croaked. “Am I too rough with you?”

“Too rough?” She rubbed her nose against his. “Warrior, there’s no such thing as too rough with me. But this is the first time I’ve gotten my hands on you...probably the first time you’ve had this. I intend to relish every second and make sure you love it, too.”

Relish...yes. “I can’t not touch you.” He cupped the fullness of her breasts, luxuriated in the feel of her plump softness, the heavy weight. The tips distended under his palm—he felt the transformation. Magnificent.

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and ripped the material down the center. Then her hands were on him, her nails in his freshly healed flesh. “Touch me, then, but whatever you do, do not stop kissing me, Charming.”

“Nothing will stop me.” He fisted her hair and yanked her back for another taste. Careful.