Scarred(Never After #2)(38)

“Very brave for a little doe to sneak into the tunnels at night.”

She doesn’t reply, and the sound of her exhales disappear, like she’s trying to keep herself a secret.

As if she can hide from me.

“If you don’t come out, I’ll assume you wish for me to chase you. And between the two of us, you’re at a severe disadvantage.” I wait a few more moments before dropping the hash to the ground and stomping it out with the corner of my boot. “Very well.”

“Wait!”

My stomach jumps as she appears from around the corner, a small oil lamp in front of her face, making her look almost ethereal in the dark.

I take my time soaking her in, my gaze traveling from the tips of her boots, over her black trousers and dark cloak, up to her hair that’s pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck.

A slow grin creeps along my face. “You look like you’re up to absolutely no good.”

She cocks a brow. “One could say the same about you.”

“Who ever said I was good?”

She fidgets, biting her lower lip. The movement is a straight shot to my groin, aching to feel her flesh between my teeth instead, wondering what it would taste like to have her blood on my tongue.

She sighs, running a hand over her face. “You won’t… you won’t tell anyone I was here, will you?”

“That depends.” I move closer. “What’s in it for me?”

Her mouth pops open. “I… what do you want?”

I take another step, and then another, until the tips of my boots touch hers. I’m so close I see the muscles in her neck work as she swallows, and my fingers tense against the urge to reach out and feel her pulse, just to see how quickly I can make it beat.

“Tell me a secret, ma petite menteuse,” I whisper.

The flame of my candle flashes in her eyes, and she cranes her neck to meet my stare. “I don’t have any secrets.”

I chuckle. “We all have secrets.”

“So what’s one of yours?” Her head tilts.

“Mine are a burden I wouldn’t wish on anyone, even you.”

She scoffs. “So tell me what you’re calling me then.”

I lift a brow.

“The French,” she presses. “What is it?”

Tsking, I shake my head. “Always so many questions.”

“And never any answers,” she bites back. “At least tell me what you’re doing here at three in the morning.”

Now, I do lift my hand, unable to stifle the urge, resting my fingers around the side of her throat until I feel the steady rhythm of her heart. She sucks in a breath, and it races under my touch.

“Maybe I’m following you.”

“Are you?”

“Would you like me to?”

She groans. “Do you answer everything with another question? It’s infuriating.”

Something warm expands in my chest, and it hits me that here in the tunnels, we’re completely alone.

I could take her, and fuck her, and break her, and no one would be the wiser.

The temptation is so strong, my fingers twitch, my cock jerking wildly as I imagine her naked and flush against the cold stone of the wall, her body shivering as I thrust inside her until she screams. I press my body to hers, wanting her to feel what she’s done.

Her eyes widen at my movement, her fingers gripping the small lamp tighter.

“Do you react this way to him?” I ask, my stomach churning at the thought.

“What?”

“When my brother touches you.” I skim my hand from her neck up to her jaw, coasting across the sharp angles until I’m tracing the lines of her face. “Does your breathing grow shallow, and your skin blush pink?”

“That’s none of your business,” she breathes.

I bring my fingertips down the front of her throat in a soft caress, grazing against the pebbled goose bumps of her skin. “Does your sweet cunt drip from just the thought of him, the way I know it does for me?”

“I don’t—” She jerks and gasps, her lamp clattering onto the ground and her hand grabbing at my shirt. “Oh.”

Glancing down, I realize my candle has dripped, falling onto the skin above her collarbone. My thumb moves to press against the cooling wax, desire shooting through me until my legs threaten to buckle when I notice it tingeing her flesh red.

I want to pour it on the rest of her and tear it off piece by piece.

Her mouth parts, tongue sweeping out across her bottom lip, and damn if I don’t wish to lean down and steal her breath for my own.

There are a few seconds of silence; tension wringing the air tight as we gaze into each other’s eyes, not knowing—or maybe unwilling—to admit there’s something more than animosity between us.

I bring the candle higher, the flame dancing as I tilt it, my cock leaking when a drop of wax falls to the creamy expanse of her throat and pools in the juncture of her neck, gliding down her exposed skin, creating a path I wish my fingers could follow.

Her eyes flutter and she tilts her head, giving me more access.

My hand moves to the front of her torso, pushing her as I walk us back into the stone wall.

“Tristan,” she murmurs.

My stomach flips, an inferno of lust raging through my middle and scorching up my throat.