Page 16 of A Court of Ravens
I lift my chin. “I want this.”
His gaze sharpens, heat flickering behind the amber sparks. “You don’t know whatthisis.”
“Then show me.” I reach for him, but he stumbles back, like my touch might be the end of him.
He hesitates. He’s trying to wrestle down the inevitable, but the ragged edge of his breathing betrays him. “Scriú é.I can’t fight this anymore. Not with you. I need you.Now.”
I tilt my head, eyes locked on his. Slowly, I peel off my gloves, letting the cool air kiss my skin. “Then what do you suggest we do aboutthat?”
He exhales sharply, like I’ve just tipped him over the edge. “I’ve got a few ideas. None of them involve you walking straight tomorrow.”
He drags me closer, and something shifts.
It feels like the world recalibrates around us. The breeze that had been stirring a moment ago?Gone.The sunlight filtering through the trees? Flickering, like the branches are moving, but they aren’t. Even the shadows at our feet seem longer than they should be, stretching toward each other, entwining like grasping fingers.
His breath ghosts over my lips. “I need to feel you. Taste you. Hear you beg while I tear you apart and put you back together again.”
I suck in air. His warm, spicy flavour still burns my lips. A shiver runs through me, a visceral response to a promise I didn’t know I was waiting for. No one has ever spoken to me like this, not as if they wanted me, but as if I were the only thing they’ve ever needed. It’s terrifying. It’s a freefall with no guarantee of landing.
“We should head back to Pier House.” My lie wobbles on shaky legs in a final, desperate stab at composure.
He groans, deep and guttural, and the sound does things to me. “No time. No need. My cottage is right here.”
Of course, it is. Fate knows how to screw a girl over. Or maybe just screw her.
I’m standing on the edge of something reckless. The crossroads between common sense and…well,him. He’s watching me, his gaze heavy enough to leave marks. His body is close enough that heat snakes beneath my skin. My heart pounds in my chest, my pulse racing like it’s trying to outrun me, but there’s nowhere to run.
“Yes.” I don’t look away or hesitate, even as his lips quirk into a smug smile that threatens to undo me.
“You sure about that,a stór?” His voice is a slow drawl, like a blade dragged over silk.Like he’s giving me a chance to take it back.
I won’t. It’s too late.
“Don’t push your luck,” I snap, arching a brow. “I’m already breaking all my rules, so don’t make me regret it.”
His grin turns wicked. “Oh,mo chroí. You should know regret is the last thing I’ll leave you with.”
Fuck.The bastard knowsexactlywhat he’s doing. He grabs my hand and pulls me through a wrought iron gate and up the stone path leading to his cottage. We’re lust-drunk, moving too fast for second thoughts.
Prickles of excitement and fear clash inside my head. He kicks the door shut behind us. We’re in a small, dimly lit foyer. A massive mirror framed in weathered driftwood hangs on the wall, its glass shimmering like water under moonlight. I catch a glimpse of us. Dishevelled, breathless, and tangled in each other’s gravity.
Before I can blink, he lifts me like I weigh nothing.
“I can walk, you know,” I protest, but there’s no heat in it.
“Mmm, doesn’t mean I’ll let you.” He carries me into the bedroom and sets me down, but his gaze pins me in place. The room falls silent except for our breathing.
I steady my fingers on the first button of my shirt. His gaze sharpens. I hear the faint hitch in his breath that sends a thrill racing down my spine. Slowly, I undo another button, then another, the fabric parting under my touch. His eyes follow every movement like I’m unwrapping a gift meant solely for him.
His lips part, his breath ragged. “Fuck. You’re wrecking me.”
And I believe him.
His eyes burn into mine, like I’m the answer to a question he’s never dared to ask. Like he’s holding his breath, waiting to see if I’ll break or bend.
And I do break—just a little.
Becausewantinghim isn’t enough.
