Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
“Even now, I’m not doing what I should.” His words come out clipped.
“Which is?”
“Hauling your ass to the mat until you’re a hot, sweaty, aching mess from a dozen rounds of sparring.” His jaw ticks. “Because I warned you never to put your life at risk over something as trivial as talking to me, and yet you did just that. Again.”
“I’m down with everything but the sparring.” Shit. That comes out breathless. “And it’s not up to you to punish me anymore. I’m no longer in your chain of command.”
“Oh, I know. And somehow it was a hell of a lot easier on us both when you were. You want full disclosure when it comes to me, right? How is this for open?” His gaze drops to my mouth. “I would have done the same thing you did because I’m just as reckless for you as you are for me.”
A sharp, sweet ache consumes my chest. Gods, I want to believe that. But I also want more. I want the same three words he demands from me. I run my tongue over my bottom lip, and his eyes flare as steam fills the room.
“You were worried for me.” The first time he said it came out amused. The second sounded happy. But this time, his tone shifts as if it’s a revelation.
“Of course I was worried for you.”
He draws me forward slowly, giving me every chance to object before bringing our bodies flush. The heat of him soaks into every chilled part of me, and all the burning worry I’d felt on the flight here and the searing anger that followed transforms into an entirely different—and far more dangerous—form of heat.
Fuck, I want him. I want to touch every inch of his skin, feel his heartbeat against mine in assurance that he’s really all right. I want his body over me, inside me, as close as humanly possible. I want him to make me forget there’s anything beyond this room or the two of us.
“And you flew here without even stopping to get your leathers.” He lowers his head inch by torturously slow inch.
I nod.
“Because you still love me,” he whispers against my lips a heartbeat before he kisses me. Thank gods he doesn’t wait for my denial, because I’m not sure I have it in me to give one, not with the way he toys with my bottom lip, nipping it gently, then stroking his tongue over the curve. It feels too good, too right, too…everything.
It’s the first time since Aretia that he hasn’t waited for me to ask. The first time his infamous self-control has slipped. The first time he’s gambled with possible rejection, kissed me simply because he wanted to, and fuck, that’s exactly what I need—for him to need me.
I part my lips in invitation not just because I want him, but because he’s acting on a confession I didn’t have to pry out of him or even ask for. He groans, his arms surrounding me, and the kiss becomes exactly what he called himself— reckless. The feel of his tongue flicking against mine, then claiming, stroking, is a flame to a tinderbox, and I catch fire.
Need, lust, desire—whatever it is—dances down my spine and gathers, becoming an insistent ache between my thighs. Rising on my toes to get closer, I loop my arms around his neck, but we’re still not close enough.
His hands work the buttons of my uniform, and I reluctantly relinquish my grip so he can slide it off. It smacks onto the floor somewhere to the left. I tug on his shirt, desperate for the feel of him, and he obliges, grabbing hold of it behind his neck and dragging it overhead, revealing miles and miles of warm, wet skin.
I kiss the scar right above his heart and stroke my hands down his sides, my fingers tracing the hard dips and grooves along his stomach. There is nothing in this world that compares to him. He is complete, utter perfection, his body carved from years of sparring and flight.
“Violet.” He tilts my head and kisses me hard and deep, then slow and soft, changing the pace, keeping me straining for more.
My hands trace the lines of his back as he spears his fingers through the wet, loosened strands of my braid, then tugs, arching my neck before setting his mouth to it.
He knows exactly where I’m sensitive and damn does he use every bit of that knowledge, sucking and laving that spot at the side of my throat that melts my knees and makes my fingers curl against his skin.
“Xaden,” I whimper, my hands sliding over the curve of his ass. Mine. This man is mine—at least for right now. Even if it’s just these next few minutes.
He nips at the delicate skin of my ear, sending a shudder of sensation down my spine, and then his mouth is on mine again, stealing my sanity and replacing it with pure need. This kiss isn’t as patient, as controlled as the others. There’s a wild, carnal edge to it that makes my mouth curve against his, makes me bolder. I sweep my hand between us, then sigh.