“Such pretty prey,” he growled, his thumb brushing over my split lip.
My breath hitched at the contact. The sting shot straight through me, pain melting into something darker that pooled hot and heavy in my gut. I couldn’t help darting my tongue out to taste the salt of his skin, the copper of my blood. Hiseyes tracked the movement, pupils expanding until only a thin silver ring remained.
“Two months is a long time to wait,” he said, voice dropping to that low register that vibrated straight through my chest and into places much lower.
When his mouth finally claimed mine, I whimpered. He was careful with my injured lip, but there was nothing gentle about the possession in his kiss. I tasted blood and need and the promise of what was to come. My head spun. Two months of filthy texts and heated voice messages hadn’t prepared me for the reality of his touch. My hands fisted in his jacket, desperate to pull him closer, to erase any space between us.
I barely registered we were moving until cold marble slammed against my back—he’d walked me backward until I was pressed against the metal fence that surrounded the cemetery. The icy metal shocked through my clothes, making me arch away—and right into the furnaced heat of his body.
“We should take care of those bruises,” he murmured against my jaw, the vibration of his voice making my skin prickle with goosebumps. “Getting you cleaned up and fed.”
His hands slid under my coat, under my sweater, finding bare skin. I sucked in a sharp breath as his calloused fingers traced up my ribs. Every nerve ending sparked to life under his touch, my body remembering how good he could make me feel.
“Instead,” he breathed against the sensitive spot below my ear, “all I can think about is marking you up myself.”
I should’ve been appalled at the possessiveness in his voice. I should’ve pushed him away, reminded him we were in public, in a fucking cemetery of all places. Instead, I tilted my head to give him better access, my body betraying any shred of dignity I had left.
“Here?” The word came out a breathless gasp, nothing like the skeptical challenge I’d intended. My face burned at how transparent I was, how easily he could read my desperation after two months apart.
He caught my wrists in one large hand, pinning them above my head against the cold metal. My pulse thundered at the contact, at how effortlessly he restrained me, at how much I fucking liked it. The weight of him pressed me firmly against the tomb, his thigh sliding between mine, giving me just enough pressure to make my hips rock forward.
“Why not?” His breath was scalding against my throat, his free hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. “Youdidmake me wait.”
His teeth scraped over the sensitive skin where my neck met my shoulder, sending shocks straight to my core. I bit my lip to keep from moaning too loudly, suddenly very aware that we were outdoors, exposed.
“Breaking and entering. Making me track you down. Getting into trouble.”
Each accusation came with another bite, another kiss, another mark that had me squirming against him, struggling to get closerdespite the rational part of my brain screaming that this was insane. Two months without his touch had left me starved, desperate in ways I didn’t want to admit even to myself.
“Such a naughty bunny,” he purred, and god dammit, even that ridiculous nickname sent heat flooding through me. His thigh pressed higher between my legs, giving me the friction I craved, and I couldn’t stop the embarrassing sound that escaped me as I rocked against him.
He smiled against my neck, the smug bastard. “I’ve missed those lovely sounds,” he said, his hand sliding around to my lower back, pulling me tighter against him.
I gasped as his cock pressed against my hip, huge and rock-hard through his jeans. Holy fuck, I’d forgotten how big he was—or maybe I’d convinced myself I was exaggerating in my fantasies these past months. My mouth went dry at the feel of him, my body responding with a flood of heat that made me dizzy. Without thinking, I ground against him, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of everything he could give me.
“Kronos,” I panted as his thigh pressed more deliberately between my legs, the friction incredible but not enough, never enough. My face burned as I realized how close I was already, how easily he could make me cum right here in public. The winter air stung my overheated skin. “Someone could—”
“See?” His laugh was dark against my skin. “Let them. Let them all see who you belong to.”
“Marshmallow,” Ibreathed against his neck, my heart still racing.
Kronos pulled back, his hands moving to cradle my face with infinite gentleness. The predatory heat in his eyes shifted to concern as he studied my expression. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”
“No, no, you didn’t,” I assured him, feeling heat creep up my neck. “I just…” I gestured at our surroundings—the cemetery, the open night air. “Not here. Please.”
His thumb brushed softly over my unbruised cheek. “Of course. I’m sorry. I got carried away.” He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Do you still want to come back to my place? We can wait if you need time.”
“I want to,” I said, my voice small but certain. “I’ve missed you. I just…” I laughed awkwardly, glancing at the ornate tomb behind us. “Prefer walls, privacy, and maybe not being surrounded by gravestones?”
His answering chuckle was warm and understanding, all traces of that earlier predatory edge gone. “Fair enough.” He stepped back, keeping one steadying hand on my waist. “Let’s get you warmed up and looked after properly, then.”
Chapter Eleven
Bound by Silk
The ride back to Kronos’s brownstone was a blur of city lights and his solid warmth against my back. The adrenaline from our cemetery encounter was wearing off, leaving my bruised ribs aching, but my mind surprisingly clear.
I leaned against the kitchen island, mesmerized by the practiced efficiency of Kronos’s movements. His kitchen was nothing like I’d expected—no sterile professional chef’s setup, but a lived-in space with copper pots hanging from a rack above a massive gas range, well-worn wooden cutting boards stained with the ghosts of past meals, and bundles of dried herbs dangling from ceiling hooks. The walls were a warm terracotta that caught the golden light spilling from vintage pendant lamps, making the whole space glow like the inside of a hearth.
