Page 277 of Craving Venom
But I don’t let him see it, I push against his chest, and he stumbles one step, not because he’s off balance, but because he lets himself be moved. His pupils flare. His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile.
I turn away from him.
The sharp click of my heels grows louder with every step I take toward the armchair by the window. My pussy still aches from the last time he was inside me, but that doesn’t stop me from walking like I’m untouchable.
I sit in the armchair near the window, the moonlight catching the hem of the silk as it drapes over my thighs. I meet his eyes as I incline toward my heels and slide my fingers over the strap of one heel, then the other. I undo them slowly, steadying myself with one hand on the chair while the other teases each buckle loose.
Then, with a breath that’s more challenge than invitation, I cross one leg over the other, letting the dress slip high enough to show the curve of my inner thigh, just shy of the place he wants most.
Zane doesn’t move.
He’s watching me like I’m not real.
Like I’m the hallucination he’d kill to touch.
“Well?”
He licks his lips as his fists flex at his sides.
I trace a lazy circle on my knee with one fingertip.
Zane takes a step forward and he almost stumbles. It’s the tiniest misstep, but I catch it. Anyone else would’ve missed it. If the men hunting him saw him right now, they’d be too stunned to draw their guns. They’d turn around. They’d walk away, not out of fear, but out of confusion.
Because the man standing in front of me right now looks nothing like the monster who’s terrorized an entire country.
His fists flex at his sides. His breathing is uneven. And still, he moves closer.
His eyes stay on mine as he lowers himself onto one knee. His body moves with restraint and reverence as though he’s bowing to something far more dangerous than any war he’s ever fought.
Zane’s palm glides along my calf. His thumb strokes upward, trailing over the tender crease behind my knee, then higher, toward the soft flesh of my inner thigh where the silk parts easily for him.
I exhale shakily as his hands shift, coaxing my legs open a little wider. He leans in. This time, instead of bowing his head, he brings his mouth directly to my skin and presses a kiss to the inside of my knee.
My back arches with a sharp breath. One hand grips the armrest, the other trembling in my lap, as the silk drapes across my peaked nipples and the pulse in my clit throbs harder.
He lowers his head farther, trailing his lips down. He starts pressing hot and open-mouthed kisses. His tongue swipes across the ridge of my shin as his hands fall to the buckle of my heel.
I watch him fasten it with careful fingers and then lowers his head to graze his lips against the top of my foot once he’s done.
And for a second I feel thepower.
His submission isn’t weak.
It’s euphoric.
And it belongs to me.
I remove my foot from his thigh.
He stays low, already reaching for the other foot. His hand rises to cradle my ankle again, but before he can kiss or tie or worship, I lift my heel and press it flat against his chest.
The pressure of my foot isn’t rough, but it’s deliberate. The point of the heel catches the curve of his pec, and when I press harder, he goes down onto his forearms.
His cock strains visibly through his dress pants. I don’t miss how his jaw ticks, how his lips part around a shallow breath when I drag my heel ever so slightly up his chest until it reaches his throat.
He makes a sound that makes my tits tighten under the silk and my nipples throb like they’re begging to be sucked.
Then I lower my foot. Not out of mercy.
