You're playing a dangerous game, Kael."
Her voice was low. Smoky. Almost a challenge.
Kael didn't move away.
Didn't blink.
He didn't even pretend he wasn't watching the way her lips parted when she breathed.
"I don't play," he said, voice rough. "I take."
Lyra's pulse stuttered. Her back pressed into the stone wall behind her, cold against her spine, but Kael was all heat. All present.
And far too close.
"You think you scare me?" she whispered.
His mouth curved into a half-smile. "I hope I do."
He raised his hand, slow and deliberate, his his fingertips grazing the line of her jaw.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't stop him.
Her breath caught as his thumb dragged gently over her bottom lip.
"You're trembling."
"You're arrogant," she shot back.
But her voice shook. Just enough for him to notice. Just enough to betray the war raging beneath her skin.
"Say stop," he said, tilting his head.
"I hate you."
"Say stop."
She didn't.
Instead, she grabbed his collar, fisting the dark fabric like it would save her.
Or ruin her.
He crashed his mouth into hers without warning.
Hard.
Hot.
Possessive.
Lyra gasped into him, teeth clashing, tongues tangling like neither of them knew whether they were fighting or falling. His hands were on her hips, rough and greedy, like he needed to memorize every curve of her body before she disappeared.
She didn't push him away.
She pulled him closer.
Her back arched when his palm slid beneath the hem of her shirt, calloused fingers brushing bare skin. Her head tilted back, exposing the long line of her throat and he didn't hesitate. He kissed down the curve of her jaw, trailing heat to the sensitive dip where her neck met her shoulder.
Lyra moaned.
Soft.
Barely audible.
But it undid something in him.
He growled low against her skin, his fangs grazing her pulse, dangerous, deliberate. She tensed, her fingers threading into his hair now, gripping hard.
"You're not supposed to—" she tried.
"Supposed to what?" he murmured. "Want you? Touch you like this?"
He kissed her again, this time slower, deeper. As if he meant to memorize every damn taste of her.
She whimpered.
"Yes," she breathed.
And just like that, the dam broke.
Kael spun her, pressing her hard into the wall, his thigh between hers. She ground against him, desperate and breathless, lost in the feel of his body pressed to hers.
He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as instinctively as the heat curling low in her stomach.
Lyra's hands found the skin beneath his shirt, dragging it up, nails scraping along muscle. She needed more. More of him. More of this.
His mouth was everywhere her lips, her throat, and her collarbone. His hands traveled lower, tugging at the waistband of her pants, his voice a sinful whisper against her ear.
"Tell me to stop."
"I can't."
"Good."
They kissed like they were starving. Like touch was the only language left between them.
But then—
A sound.
A breath.
A flicker of movement down the hallway.
Kael froze.
His body still thrummed with lust, but his head whipped toward the sound.
Lyra panted against his shoulder. "Someone's coming," she whispered, still high on adrenaline and need.
"I know," he growled, lowering her gently to the ground, hands lingering far too long.
Neither of them moved away.
They stood there, chests rising and falling fast. Staring.
Daring.
Her lips were swollen.
His hands still trembled.
Kael stepped back, jaw tight.
"This isn't over," he said.
Lyra didn't answer.
Her eyes, however, those wild, storm-swept eyes, spoke for themselves.
It had only just begun.