Fuck. Wicked was as hard as a rock. I could feel his thick length where his hips pressed between my thighs, and heat rushed to my stomach. Our gazes met and his nose flared as I remembered what he’d said about his sense of smell. There was no doubt he could scent how wet I’d just become. Why was this so hot? I wanted to die right there of mortification.

For several long heartbeats, we stared at each other, our chests heaving, lightning sparking in the air between us. His dark expression was so intense, I thought it might melt me right into the forest floor.

A second later, he hauled himself up and pulled me to stand, clamping on to my wrist before he dragged me back through the forest. I’d never seen him this angry. It was obvious in the set of his shoulders and the way he ignored my protests while I stumbled to keep up.

Before long, we arrived back at the castle. He said nothing as he dragged me inside, shoved me into my cage and slammed the door. He didn’t move, holding on to the bars as he stared at me, his chest still puffing in and out. My own breath was coming in tight, short gasps.

“I hate you! I want to go home! How can you do this to me?”

Suddenly, he swung open the door and stormed in, coming to a stop so close I had to press myself into the wall to avoid touching him. His hands planted themselves on either side of my head and he leaned in, his hard body and his hard cock pressing against me, caging me in. I squirmed, the space between my thighs tightening in response. What the hell was wrong with me?

“You can’t be angry with me for trying to save myself,” I hissed. He moved his face closer, his expression a mask of fury. I was sure I was about to die.

Forget the Reaper, Wicked would be the source of my eternal undoing.

“I’m not angry with you,” he snarled and then he kissed me.

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Chapter Thirteen

We met in a fevered rush, Wicked’s mouth devouring me. His moan sparked through every one of my nerves as he crushed me to the wall, his hips thrusting into mine. There was no doubt he was ready for anything. His hands slid up the backs of my thighs before he lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist.

I drove my hips against the rigid length of his cock, seeking the relief of more friction. His tongue plunged into my mouth while his hands roamed along my ribs and skated up the sides of my breasts, his thumbs sweeping over their curves. While he kissed me harder, my hands slid into his thick hair. It was silky and luxurious, and he made a helpless sound in his throat when I scratched my nails along his scalp.

A moment later, he pulled me from the wall and, with his large hands gripping my ass, he carried me across the room and dropped me on the bed. He wasted no time collapsing on top of me, our mouths parting only for a breath before he kissed me again. It was frantic and wild, the sounds of our fevered groans filling the air.

I should probably put a stop to this.

But as his weight stretched over me, and he swirled his hips again, I was finding it hard to care about any future repercussions. There was only this moment, and this was a kiss I’d been waiting for. It was nothing like Ellis’s kisses. It was like comparing a light breeze that tickled your skin to a hurricane that ripped through you and shattered your bones.

I wasn’t entirely inexperienced—Ellis and I had succumbed to curiosity, hormones, and the security of knowing we’d be sharing our bed for the rest of our days, but that had been quiet and sweet and this was a chord wrenched from a taut string. This was raw animal energy.

“Rowan,” Wicked said, his mouth dragging down my throat as he pressed hot, wet kisses over my collarbone. His warm palm slid under my tunic, skating across my stomach, his fingers curling into the waistband of my leggings.

My hands ran up his back, my fingers digging into the bunch and flex of all those miles of glorious muscle. I yanked on the fabric of his tunic, tugging it up. He pulled it off and then went for the hem of mine before I raised my arms so he could pull it up over my head.

After he tossed it away, he sat back on his knees, staring down at me with that hungry, predatory gleam that did strange things to my insides. It was a look that had once frightened me, but now it did things that scared me in entirely different ways. A second later, he dropped on top of me again, sucking on my bottom lip, his kiss deep and blazing.

“I want to touch you,” he said, his voice ragged. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about making you come on my fingers.” He pulled up, searching my face, asking for permission.

Grabbing his head, I pulled him down to my mouth. “Yes, gods, yes,” I said. If he didn’t follow through on that request, I might implode into an unrequited heap of tissue and organs. At that, his kiss grew even more hungry, his tongue thrusting into my mouth as if in mimicry of how he wanted to thrust another body part into me soon.

He squeezed my breast, kneading and pinching the tip, curving my back into an arch with a gasp. His mouth closed over my nipple as he flicked his tongue and sucked. Then he bit me hard enough to summon a cry that straddled the wobbling line between ecstasy and pain.

His fingers burned a trail down my stomach, his hand sliding between my legs and cupping me. I moved my hips against his palm, craving more pressure. With his other hand, he reached for the buttons on my leggings and flicked them open.

In recompense, I reached for his waistband, tugging on the laces like he was a gift to be unwrapped and appreciated for all its highlights. “Oh, gods. Wicked,” I groaned as he slid his hand into my pants.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, Princess,” he said, his voice rumbling in appreciation. His finger slipped through my core, pressing my clit and sending my hips off the bed. I continued pulling open his laces and then wrapped the searing heat of his cock in my hand. His moan vibrated through me as I pumped my fist along his thick length.

We continued touching each other, his caresses driving me to the brink of madness. He slipped a thick finger inside of me, and I cried out as he thrust it in and out, adding a second finger and using his thumb to circle my most sensitive spot. I whimpered with helplessness, and he made an indistinct sound of satisfaction in his throat as he continued to pump and thrust, my hips swirling with the movement.

At the same time, I stroked him over and over, gripping him as his cock grew harder. His breath came out in shredded gasps.

“Tighter,” he growled. “Tighter, Rowan.” I did as he asked, and he moaned, his eyelids fluttering. “Fuck, yes. That’s perfect.” I gripped him hard, his hips also thrusting against me. We were a tangle of limbs, arms and hands and legs, hips gyrating and groans echoing into the quiet winter evening.

Our gazes bolted to each other, our cries grew more desperate and fevered. His dark eyes were a mix of emotions. Fury and longing. Vengeance and lust. I wanted to know every thought running through his head.

As he continued touching me, my release spiraled tighter and tighter. Sensing it, he moved faster, pressing down on my clit as I broke apart and screamed, exploding on his hand. His hips were pumping harder and faster in my fist, his movements becoming erratic. I felt him thicken and then he moaned before he released in a hot, thick spurt.

Both breathless, we lay next to each other, my hand still around his cock and his fingers still inside me, our gazes locked as our heartbeats returned slowly to normal.

Eventually, I released my hold, and he did the same, pulling out his fingers and leaving me feeling strangely empty. His eyes didn’t move from mine while he put them in his mouth and licked them clean.