Shattered Throne: A Dark Mafia Romance: War of Roses Universe (Mice and Men Book 3), Lana Sky [summer reading list txt] 📗

Because I was never worthy of her, worthy of anyone.

So love can’t be what I see in the woman standing before me now. I’ll prove it, no matter the cost. Even if I have to hurt her to do so.

The next time I look in these eyes, I’ll make sure that hate is all I find.

My hand latches onto the back of her skull, dragging her closer. Our lips meet, but this kiss is no chaste peck. It’s painful. Gnashing teeth—hers, seizing my lower lip as if in punishment for calling out her habit for doing the same. I groan at the bitter sting, hoping she pulls away. Relieved when she doesn’t. Her taste is hell, her touch like sin.

And my motives for indulging her blur. The scent of roses is a drug more potent than alcohol. I lose track of my thoughts. I lose my goddamn mind.

I only crave more.

Pulling her against me, I slide my jacket from her arms, grasping for the slender body beneath. Her dress has thin little straps that are easy to flick aside. It’s even easier to grip the front of the material, below the neckline, and rip it open. The fabric parts to reveal swaths of pale skin, and I’m choking out words I can no longer hold back. “Damn… You’re too beautiful. Beautiful.”

And she is. A body formed from sin, designed to entice. To entrap. To torment.

I’m tired of living a life of repentance. Tired of exercising restraint when it comes to her.

Those dark eyes dare me to do it. To cross the line we’ve both been toying with all this time.

So, I slide my hand over her hip, down the porcelain length of her thigh, then up between her legs, and I earn my ticket to hell.

Her flesh greedily envelops my thumb, hot enough to burn. It’s nothing like the first time I touched her. Her body relents, those tight muscles dragging me deeper, her hips arching so violently I have to wrap my arm around her waist, tethering her to me.

Mine. It’s an impulse so strong I feel it with every pulse of my fucking heartbeat. A need. A promise. A curse.

We’re linked. Two damn twisted souls who only feel sane around each other. I don’t even have to look into her eyes to know what I’ll find there, glistening behind that sheen of tears. Relief, building as I shove my finger inside her, and she takes every inch I have to give.

Sweet fucking relief.

I reclaim her mouth with such force our teeth click together. Her taste fills my tongue, and I choke her down in desperate, deep pulls.

For the first time in so damn long, the buzzing chaos in my head feels silenced. My thoughts are clear, my head lighter, the world smothered for once.

But it’s not enough.

Feeling her cunt quiver in the palm of my hand isn’t enough. I shove her back onto the couch she dominated earlier, pinning her down, those hips beneath mine.

A part of me craves to savor her. The louder part demands I claim. My brain is a rush of need. No rhyme. No reason.

Returning my attention to her cunt, I slide another finger alongside the first. She shudders, her nails sinking into the leather of the couch, her eyelids fluttering, lip clenched between her teeth.

“I… I should take my time,” I tell her, hating how I sound. Broken. Guttural. Mindless. Like a goddamn animal.

But, fuck, her body reacts, her cunt growing slicker with every pass. She’s molten, weeping for me.

And I can’t take it anymore. Hissing through my teeth, I ease my hand from her, wrenching open the front of my pants. I grip my cock, groaning at the feel of her. Two strokes, and I fear I could come from this alone. Watching her. Smelling her.

But then I see her eyes, widening at the sight of me.

Slow the fuck down. I shake my head to clear it and grip her thigh, dragging her closer. Carefully, I guide both of her legs apart, fixing my gaze on the pink flesh awaiting beneath a swath of golden curls.

It’s mine.

She was always mine.

And I deserve to savor her.

25

Willow

Nothing on earth compares to the sensation of feeling him pin me down, crushing me to the couch. His body is a heavy, rugged burden to bear—and yet a part of me feels crafted for this very purpose. To endure him.

Be devoured by him.

If only this moment were more terrifying. Then I’d have the sense to fear it. The cruel truth is, that his weight isn’t stifling the way I think it should be. My body conforms to him, providing softness where he is all hard muscle. Fragility against his brute strength. Even, my curves fit perfectly within the contours of his chest, almost too perfectly.

Like I was made for him alone, no one else…

The thought is too dangerous to consider in full. I try to suppress it, fighting to clear my head, and keep my focus on him. I’ve barely gotten my bearings when he crouches, spreading my legs, his gaze between them. His expression sends a thrill through my belly as I realize where he’s looking. The door to the balcony is still open, allowing the cool air to replace his touch, heightening every exposed inch of flesh only he has ever explored. Defiled.

Like a starving man’s, his eyes rake over me. Ravenous.

I grapple for the nearest armrest, using it as leverage to watch him as my thoughts blur, head spinning. Then…

He lowers his mouth, and I feel the contact hit like a bolt of lightning. Instantaneously, I explode. Combust. Whatever word can describe every nerve frying at once—a sensation so overwhelming you go numb at first. Perception is a slow, torturous battery of one new feeling after the other.

The moist heat of his mouth, followed by the pulsing pressure of his tongue…

My brain is slow to