Page 17 of A Court of Ravens
I need him.
Like air. Like gravity. Like he’s the only thing keeping me from spinning straight into oblivion. We shouldn’t. Not when everything between us feels delicate, like lace stretched too thin over something sharp. But the stars don’t care about timing. Neither do I. There’s no going back. And maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I was always meant to fall.
I bite my lip to stop the breathy sigh threatening to slip free.
“Don’t.” He steps closer, his fingers trailing over my cheek before brushing my lips, easing my bitten lip free. “That’smine.”
Heat pulses low in my belly. I could push back and make him work for it, but gods, I want to drag him under with me.
I meet his gaze, my pulse hammering in my throat. “Then take it.”
His thumb drags across my mouth, parting my lips just enough to tease before pulling away.“Cheana féin mianach, cibé acu a admhaíonn tú é nó nach admhaíonn.”
I don’t just understand the words. Ifeelthem. Again.
Already mine, whether you admit it or not.
Heat slithers up my spine, like sin tracing its way to my throat. I should step back. But I demand more. “Take it off.”
“What, this?” He drags open the first button of his shirt—slow, teasing—making a show of each exposed inch of skin as his fingers move agonizingly down, button by button, revealing ink curling over muscle. “Or are you asking for everything?”
“Don’t tease me, Niall.” The demand slips out, breathless.
His fingers flex, like he’s resisting the urge to grab me. “Oh, love. I haven’t evenstartedteasing you yet.”
The shirt hits the floor.
I exhale, raking my eyes down his chest and his stomach—all hard muscle, skin marked in wicked ink, and a body built for late nights and bad decisions. I should look away, get control. But my fingers twitch.
He notices.
“Go on,” he says, stepping closer until his bare skin brushes mine.
I drag my hands over him, fingers tracing each ridge of muscle, nails grazing over warm skin. His breath hitches when my hands slide lower. “You’re overdressed.”
His voice turns to smoke and sin. “Then fix it,a stór.”
Challenge accepted.
I reach for his belt. But before I can undo it, he catches my wrist and brings it to his mouth—pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of my wrist, a flick of his tongue over my skin.
His gaze flicks lower, tracking the way my thighs tighten in response. A wicked glint sparks in his eyes. He waits. Watches. Lets the tension build.
And then?
His hands slide down, grip my hips and turn me.
I barely have time to gasp before his knee slips between my thighs, pressing just enough to make me bite my lip.
Not rough. Not gentle. Just control.
Dark energy licks at my skin. A slow drag beneath the surface, curling deep in my ribs like a hand fisting tight. Shadows stretch, pooling at my feet, crawling up the walls like they’re alive.
They don’t belong to him…
But they reach for him.
A shiver prickles down my spine, but it’s not fear. It’s awareness. It pulls deep in my belly, as if the dark craves him the way I do. I inhale, my pulse thrumming. The heat between us thickens, sliding over my skin like a second touch. A second pair of hands.
