Page 19 of A Court of Ravens
She barely gets out a shaky laugh before I grab her waist and haul her against me. Soft curves crash into hard muscle, her gasp swallowed by the heat sparking between us.
Fuck, she fits against me too perfectly. Like she was made for this. Made for me.
Her breath ghosts over my lips. “Only from my common sense.”
Common sense. A joke. A lie. Because she wants this. I can feel it in the way her body presses into mine, the tremor that runs through her as I drag my knuckles down her side—slow, deliberate. I watch her reaction like a predator watches prey. The sharp inhale. The way her fingers twitch, like she doesn’t know whether to push me away or drag me deeper.
“Common sense is wildly overrated,” I murmur.
She exhales. Tension bleeds from her frame as my hands slide lower. Fingers grip the curve of her hips. Hold her there.
I press my forehead to hers, swallowing back the feral sound rising in my throat. My pulse is a punishing thrum in my veins, my control a fragile, fraying leash.
“Felicity…” Her name is a demand. A prayer.
She tilts her face up, lips parting, chest rising in shallow, ragged breaths.
I brush a lock of hair from her temple. Deceptively soft. A breath. A moment. The last sliver of restraint between us.
Her fingers drag over my chest, nails scraping just enough to make me suck in a breath.
Fuck.She knows what she’s doing.
“Don’t hold back,” she whispers.
My fingers tighten on her hips, heat licking up my spine. A slow, wicked smile curves my lips. “I will never hold back.”
“So what are you waiting for?” she taunts, her voice raw, hungry.
My teeth graze her jaw, scraping enough to make her shudder. Her breath catches.
“I need you,” I murmur against her skin. “Like a sickness. Like a curse. Like fate threw you at my feet to see how long I’d fight before I snapped.”
And then I do.
I’m on her, hands gripping, claiming, dragging her flush against me. She doesn’t shrink from it. She meets me head-on, a fire I’ll gladly burn for.
My mouth crashes against hers. Teeth, tongue, heat. The kind of kiss that burns. That brands. That fucking destroys.
Her nails bite into my skin, dragging down my back and over my shoulders. Marking me. Claiming me right back.
I groan into her mouth, my hands everywhere—gripping, mapping, taking.
She presses closer, heat and softness melting against my body, and it’s not enough.
I need more. I nip her bottom lip, drawing a sharp inhale from her throat. “I love how you taste.”
She laughs, breathless, dazed. “You’re too good at this.”
I brush my lips against her throat. “Too good at what?”
She presses a palm to my chest, right over my hammering heart. “Telling a woman exactly what she wants to hear.”
I catch her wrist, dragging her hand lower.
Over my cock—where her hand fucking belongs, and fuck, I need her to feel that.
Her lips part. Her pupils blow wide.
