If Honor asked him to temper himself, he’d find a way to do it. But what she said was, “I won’t break,” and it was a solemn statement.
He thought of how she’d gone mad in his arms, her mind trapped in a nightmare. Fractures existed inside of her, and tonight, bastard that he was, he’d helped widen them. But they would heal—because Honor had come out swinging. Raising his hand to his jaw, he rubbed the tender bruise. “You almost broke me.”
A smile, slow and heartbreaking in its beauty. “You deserved it.”
He felt his own lips curve. “I did.” Scanning his eyes up and down her body, he said, “I still intend to have my wicked way with you,” in a deliberate attempt to gauge how far she’d allow him to go.
“No kinky stuff till later.”
Surprised she’d even entertain the thought after what he’d done, he lifted his gaze to her own—and saw an understanding that stunned him. She knew she had power over him, this mortal who was so much weaker and yet who had brought him to his knees. Honor wasn’t like him, hadn’t been turned cynical by an experience that would’ve twisted many only toward bitterness and hate, would never use that power in a malicious way. But the knowledge, it allowed her to play these games with him.
Good.
Pushing back his chair just a fraction, he crooked a finger.
She kicked off her boots before crossing the carpet to straddle him. Her hands lifted to the buttons of his shirt. “I love the color of your skin,” she murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss on the bared skin of his breastbone.
It was the sweetest of caresses, and it made him weave his fingers into her hair and insist on another. Laughing, she peppered his chest with kisses, the shirt gaping to his waist now. “Such beautiful, pretty skin. Does the shade change over your body?”
He tugged at the bottom of her top, waited until she raised her arms to pull it off over her head. “I told you. You’ll have to”—clenching his abdomen against the impact of her—“wait and see.” It was his turn to lean forward, press his lips to the sun-kissed honey of her skin, his hands possessive on her hips.
“I have scars.”
Those responsible for creating those scars would pay for decades to come, because Dmitri had no mercy or forgiveness in him. Not for this crime. “I see only you.” Another lingering kiss before he drew back. “And you’re my own personal addiction.”
Cupped in black lace, her br**sts were lush curves that made his mouth water, his fangs aching to sink into that sweet flesh. He wouldn’t do it, not until she issued the invitation, but that made no difference to his cock. It was as rigid as rock, blood pulsing hot and thick. And that was before he allowed himself to think of the tight, wet sheath of her core.
“I want to be inside you.” He sucked on the upper slope of her breast, licked the red mark. “So deep you feel branded.”
Honor’s fingernails dug into his nape, her voice a husky whisper. “You make me want to do things no good girl would ever do.”
Her words relaxed the final relics of the twisted knot inside him. “I’m never going to stop you.” Raising his head, he claimed her, stroking his hands along the dip of her waist and over her rib cage to cup both br**sts at the same time. The generous mounds were teasingly covered by the fine lace of her bra, a small red bow in the center. “I thought a hunter would be more practical.” He ran his thumbs across ni**les pebbled and tempting.
“Complaining?”
Squeezing her taut flesh, he took her lips in an openmouthed kiss in answer.
Her head fell back when he released her mouth, the position exposing the slope of her neck. His blood hummed, his gaze locking on the pulse in her throat. Teeth gritted, he distracted himself by focusing on her br**sts. It worked. They were luscious, a little too large for a hunter’s active life, and perfect for Dmitri’s hands.
Sliding his hands to just below the exquisite curves, he was bending his head to indulge himself with her when Honor tugged on his hair. “Kiss my throat.” A whisper as soft as the air itself.
His hands spasmed on her rib cage. “That might not be the best of ideas.” He was starving for her, his entire body one big pulse.
“You’re old enough to control it.” A sensual challenge. “I’m sensitive there.” Raising her hand, she ran her fingers down the arch of her throat.
His c**k jerked, his mind full of a thousand debauched images of what he wanted those strong fingers to do to him.
“I hate that I’ve lost that pleasure because of what they did,” she said. “I want it back.”
Instead of obeying the order, he filled his hands with her br**sts once more, her ni**les hard points against his palms, glorying in the escalation of her heartbeat, the jerking cadence of her breath. “Sensitive here, too, aren’t you, Honor?” Plumping her up for his delectation, he lowered his head to grip one of her ni**les with his teeth, knowing the lace would rasp against her flesh, an exquisite pain.
A hotly feminine sound of frustration. “That whip of yours”—breathy words—“ever felt it on your own body?”
Releasing her nipple with a flick of his tongue, dampening the lace and increasing the friction, he looked up. “No.” He was always in control. That was who he was. But—“Maybe we could trade.”
Narrowed eyes. “I know you’re getting something over me, but I can’t figure out what.”
That was when he shifted forward to press a hot, wet kiss to the side of her neck, high up near her jaw. She froze in his arms, but he kept his mouth where it was—even as he stroked the line of her body from breast to hip, hip to breast, over and over again with one hand, spreading the other on her lower back. “Feel the wetness,” he whispered, then blew against her damp skin.
When she shivered, he licked at her. “Choose, Honor. Tell me what you like.” It was taking all of his experience to keep himself in check with this woman who destroyed him. “Tell me,” he said again, locking down his instincts to take, to possess. “You hold the reins.”
Fingers sliding over his nape and into his hair, she said, “Long, wet kisses.”
It was no hardship to indulge her—he could feast on every inch of her and start all over again within seconds. Her body remained stiff for a long time, but the fingers on his nape, they dug in a little, her pulse accelerating until his own sang with the erotic beat of it. And then she said, “Harder, Dmitri.”