It freakin’ turned him on even more.
He glided his touch over her spine, molding her body to his, her scent filling his senses, making it impossible to think straight.
Her hands crept to his neck and clutched him as if holding on for dear life while her hips swirled against his pulsing member.
When her tongue swiped his incisors, it sent a bolt of rapture through him, and he almost roared.
Fokk.
He wrenched himself from her, taking a step back, heaving.
She, too, was breathless, her chest rising and falling, her eyes dilated, and her lips swollen from the intensity.
Hell, he couldn’t allow this to go any further. He couldn’t give in.
He turned away with a curse, striding down the corridor toward his private suite. He left her standing, swaying, and gasping, her fingers still raised as if she might catch him before disappearing.
Once inside his chamber, he shut the door and let out a roar that tore through the silence, full of the frustration he was unable to contain any longer.
The walls of his primary echoed with its sound, the fury that had been building for months crashing down at that moment.
He pounded his fist against the wall, the cool stone doing little to calm the fire raging in his chest.
He couldn’t give in to her, not like this.
She was too dangerous, too close to the part of him that was still vulnerable, still raw from old wounds he refused to acknowledge.
Yet, no matter how hard he tried to fight her or how much he wanted to punish her for being the unwanted wife who had upended his life, he couldn’t ignore the truth.
He was fokked.
She had him, whether he liked it or not.
With one more growl of frustration, he threw himself onto the chair in the corner, his head in his hands.
Every single time he spotted her in the hallways and lounge rooms of the lodge, he wanted to tear off her clothes and bury his cock in her.
Torn, he hated how much he desired her.
If he seduced just right, she’d give in.
But it’d be coercion, not the love he craved.
He still longed for a genuine, intimate connection with a woman he respected and adored, someone with whom he could lose himself completely.
Despite his body’s cravings, his heart remained scarred by the deception and betrayal he had endured.
His face twisted in anger, bitterness etched into every line. His fists clenched, knuckles white from the tension.
He needed fresh air.
With a growl, he exited the lodge and headed eastward along the shore, seeking wisdom and company.
Mak found himself at the edge of the lakefront, boots crunching over the smooth gravel that lined the garden path leading to Xander’s retreat.
The atmosphere smelled of pine, lake mist, and iron-rich stone.
Golden light spilled from the windows, washing over the dark timber siding of the two-story chalet perched just above the rippling black water of the lagoon.
