A Promise of Fire (Kingmaker Chronicles, #1)(92)

His sudden grin makes my heart clench. I lightly trace the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, marveling at how his gaze darkens and then heats, turning smoky and swirling with intent. Drawn by an irresistible force, I close the space between us, lifting my mouth to his, my kiss raw and open and truthful.

I started the kiss, but Griffin dominates every inch of my mouth, his fierce tenderness setting off explosions of excitement deep in my belly. I move against him, caught between restlessness and hunger, clinging to his shoulders and grinding my hips. My knees come up, giving me more of the contact I crave. My hands glide over his broad back, exploring his masculine strength.

Griffin rakes his lips down my throat to where my pulse pounds in my neck, sucking lightly on the thundering beat. My breath turns unsteady. I sink my fingers into his hair and hold him close. He grips my thigh and lifts me into him so that his hard, thick length presses against my core. I’m naked under his tunic, and the sudden, intimate contact makes me dizzy with arousal. Dampness floods the space between my legs.

Breathing raggedly, Griffin dips his head into the curve of my neck. He shifts to the side, bracing himself on one forearm and smoothing his large hand down my body. His fingers skim back up my ribs, taking my tunic with them and leaving sizzling anticipation in their wake. He slides the material off me inch by inch, baring my body to his avid gaze.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” He cups one breast, gently squeezing. The desire in his glittering gray eyes is too potent for me to feel self-conscious. His thumb brushes my nipple, and the sensitive bud tightens. He lightly rolls the dark peak until I squirm, pleasure cascading through me.

“The feel of you,” he says, lowering his head. “The taste.”

I gasp when his tongue slides over the stiff crest, teasing it with hot, wet lashes. Sensation thrums along every nerve, races over my skin. His tongue swirls, deliciously relentless, while his hand moves to the other side. His knuckles graze the sensitive underside of my breast, and I tremble. My hands curl into his hair, gripping harder as his fingers and lips roam, learning my shape and feel. Griffin closes his scalding mouth around my nipple, sucking with a husky sound that reverberates against my chest.

I buck under him, pulsing with desire. At the same time, my sense of self-preservation jumps to alert along with a desperate need to keep Griffin safe. My eyes fly open as his fingers feather down my belly, seeking the curls between my legs. I almost don’t have the will to stop him. I wait a second longer than I should, and his wide palm curves around me, a finger sliding between my slick folds.

Panting, I reach for his wrist, halting him with a limp touch.

Griffin stills. A few heartbeats later, he presses the heel of his palm down, putting pressure on a place that sends an exquisite jolt through me. Deep inside, I start to throb.

“Cat.” My name is a tortured plea. His breath comes in warm, erratic puffs against my breast. His finger dips deeper into my wetness, teasing my opening.

My body aches. Violently. Desperately. I’m unbearably empty and need to be filled. I exhale with a shudder and shake my head, biting my lip to keep from saying something I shouldn’t. I deny him. I deny us both.

Griffin’s hoarse groan intensifies the ache inside me. I shift restlessly against his hand, unconsciously lifting my hips.

His whole body tenses. “That’s not helping,” he mutters, dropping his forehead to my shoulder.

“Sorry,” I mutter back, breathless.

It takes a long time for his breathing to settle. He stretches out on his side, absently smoothing his hand over my hip, the warm weight of it making me aware of how slight I am. Not just slight. Concave.

I glance down. I’m used to a certain amount of roundness, and the sight of tight skin over bones reminds me of things best left in the past.

Griffin eases onto his back, lacing our fingers again even though we’ve stopped bleeding. I turn into him without thinking.

“Should I reopen the cuts?” he asks. His free arm comes around me.

I touch the hard ridges of his abdomen, warm skin over steel. “We should go.”

“Can you walk?”

I take a deep breath, not wanting to move. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Griffin scrubs his hand down his face and then rises, reaching out to help me up. I stay upright but feel like a ripple on water—ready to collapse. I groan, which seems to worry him. Then my stomach growls, and his eyes brighten.

“Food. Then we leave.”

I shake my head, gripping the bedpost for balance. “No time.”

His gray eyes turn flinty. “You need to eat.”

“I’ll eat while we ride. Andromeda could have spies anywhere. She might already know I’m here.”

The muscles in his jaw flex, but he nods, turning from me to find a washbasin and sponge. He wipes the dried blood off us both. My immediate protest fades with his unwavering stare and gruff insistence on taking care of me. I bite my tongue and stand still for him because I understand his need. He watched me dying for days. I watched him dying for minutes, and it was beyond awful.

Heated shivers follow the path of the cool sponge and Griffin’s smoldering gaze. Goose bumps sweep my body, and my nipples tighten again, causing his eyes to snag on my breasts and turn heavy-lidded. Unfulfilled desire molds his striking features into stark, hard lines as he washes me with a focus that makes my pulse pound and my knees weak. Warmth gathers between my legs again. My limbs feel languid. I can’t catch my breath.