A second later, she turns toward the lower level stairs with purpose again.
Yeah—I don’t like this.
The only things on the lower level are some potato storage and the dungeon, neither of which Sabine has any business rooting around. It’s time to cut her little adventure short.
With swift, silent steps, I move up behind her and wrap my hand around her mouth from behind. My other hand locks around her waist. Her damn costume wings are between us, the feathers clogging my mouth, my heavy shoulder plates getting in the way, too.
She screams into my hand and bucks as I spin her around to press her back against the wall. It’s too dark for her to recognize me right away. Wild-eyed, she struggles to slam her knee against my groin—hey, at least she remembered what I taught her—but I easily anticipate the strike and block her.
“Quiet,” I hiss. “It’s just me.”
Her screams dry up, but her pulse is still shouting. Her breasts rise and fall like creamy pillows, shoved up and on display from her dress, the wings’ harness squeezing them together. She stops struggling, but her eyes are still primed to fight.
Her wings crumple against the wall as I push her backward again. “I’m going to take away my hand now, and you’re going to tell me where you’re going.”
Slowly, I remove my palm from her damp mouth, sliding it down to snare her neck instead.
Baring her teeth, she snarls, “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my job to protect you. Did you think I’d let you out of my sight?” Her perfect breasts continue to heave, straining against the harness. “Now tell me where you’re headed.”
“I just needed a second of quiet!”
“You’re lying,” I say lazily, pressing my thumb to her jugular, where her pulse reveals her deception.
Squirming under my grip, she spits out, “Rian has secrets—you’ll forgive me for wanting to know the truth about who I’m supposed to marry.”
“Secrets hidden in the potato cellar?”
“What? I don’t know. I’m just following a—a hunch. Secrets are always kept somewhere dark and deep, aren’t they?”
She isn’t telling the whole truth, but most of what she says isn’t a lie. It earns her a lighter grip around her throat. The muscles there bob as she swallows, and I can’t help myself. It’s fucked up, but all I can think about is ramming my cock down that throat until she moans.
“You didn’t seem so troubled by your husband’s secrets when you had your ass in his hand,” I say.
“What was I supposed to do? I lost the bet.”
I growl, “You did it on purpose. You wanted to hurt me.”
She’s immediately ready with a jab. “Oh, like you hurt me? I’m not yours, Wolf Bowborn. You could have been fucking me right now in a beach cottage, but you chose not to. You chose this.”
I see red at the accusation. My body hardens, adrenaline preparing it for a coming fight or fuck. But it isn’t her I’m furious with. It’s me. Her words strike too hard to the punishing truth.
“I never chose this,” I hiss. Who in their right mind would choose this exquisite torment? To watch the girl I want with her lips all over another man?
She skewers me with a scathing look that tells me how wrong I am.
“Admit it,” I say between my clamped teeth. “You were thinking about me when you stuck your tongue down his throat.”
“What do you care?” she shoots back. “You had a whore ride your cock what, three days ago? You used me and threw me away!”
It takes every ounce of my strength to maintain the lie and swallow down the hate she’s throwing my way. “I would never throw you away, Sabine. Not in the thousand years the gods have slumbered.”
“Then why be so cruel?” Angry tears glisten in her eyes, and it breaks me a little.
My voice hitches in my throat. “There’s much you don’t know.”
“Then tell me! What could possibly have changed your mind? Are you really so loyal to Rian?”
I hesitate. “It is about loyalty—but that’s only one part.”
“What else, then? Are you that broken? Did you just toy with me? Was it fun?”
My molars clench at the idea that I would ever hurt her for pleasure.
“You’re sadistic,” she hisses, cheeks burning crimson. “You’re no better than Berolt and his wandering hands—”
My body moves against the accusation on instinct, hips pushing her harder against the wall. Her silly wings quake. My eyes flash like a wild animal’s. “I’m nothing like Berolt.”
She retaliates by shoving me with her full strength, and I grant her some space, taking a step back, pacing like a caged animal. She shoves me again in the chest with both hands, and then again, until my back smacks into the hallway’s opposite wall.
I let her pin me, needing to see this thing through. And damn if it doesn’t feel good to have her hands on me, even in hatred. “Tell me why you’ve been so cruel, Basten. I want the truth.”
It’s intoxicating, the beautiful flush of her anger. I could bathe in her hatred all night.
“I told you—”
She slaps me across the face. The sting of pain does something to me. The violence at her hand shoots straight to my groin. I close my eyes, fighting the urge to act on the adrenaline slamming through my veins.
I murmur, “Do it again.”
She pauses, but only for a second. She slaps me again, even harder this time. I groan in demented pleasure and lick some moisture into my lips. “That’s good. Again.”
But she doesn’t. I can feel anger sparking in her hand, wanting to lash out again, but not if I like it. Then, something shifts in her energy. Or maybe in mine. Her arm pulls back to slap me again, but I catch it this time, trapping her by the wrist and dragging her into the cage of my arms.
Our lips come together like warring armies, our passions crashing violently, hatred and love all mixed up, and it feels like stars colliding, like beautiful devastation. This is wreckage, but I’ll die happily here. As my hands lock to her narrow waist, my lips can’t drink her in fast enough. I want to consume her, to take everything from her. Her hands rest on my brass shoulder plates, trying to pull me closer. My little violet is so small compared to me. Even on tiptoe, I have to stoop to kiss her.
And it’s not enough.
It will never be fucking enough.
I grab her ass and hoist her into my arms. Her beautiful legs wrap around my hips, her dress’s saucy slits easily allowing the movement. My fingers squeeze handfuls of her soft flesh like sinking into a feather mattress after months on the road. My groin pulses. Now that my body has made up its mind between fighting and fucking, every drop of blood rushes to my cock.
“Basten.” My name sounds so good on her breathy voice. “I hate you.”
Her hips roll against mine, telling a different story. Whatever she has to tell herself is fine with me, as long as it keeps her lips on mine.
“I know, little violet. I know.”
Supporting her with one hand, I use the other to tilt back her head to slip my tongue between her parted jaw. I taste her, lapping her up. When her tongue lashes back at mine, I think I’m going to die. The urge to touch her everywhere drills into me.