Sins of the Soul

“She’s been drugged. She’ll likely sleep for hours.”


Of course he was right. For all intents and purposes, they were alone.

Staring straight ahead, she struggled for emotional distance. But straight ahead meant that she was looking at the V of naked, tanned skin revealed by the open collar of his shirt, the strong column of his throat and the clean line of his jaw.

She needed to focus on something other than him, the gorgeous, rich scent of his blood, the lure of his lips, his hard body, so defined under the tailored lines of his shirt. On a purely physical level, she wanted him.

The scent of his blood calling to the part of herself that she denied ramped that attraction up to danger zone.

Eyes glittering, he stared down at her, and she saw in that instant something animalistic. Not human. Here was the soul reaper, the otherworldly creature, peeking through the carefully cultivated veneer of humanity.

A predator in the guise of smooth sophistication.

The most successful predators were all about control, all about waiting for exactly the right moment before they pounced. Too early or too late, and they’d lose their prey.

“Don’t,” Naphré whispered as his chest brushed hers, a wild shock to her senses.

Panting, she held very still, and with each breath her nipples grazed his chest, layering sensation on sensation. They’d been dancing around this all along. And now, the moment had arrived.

His fingers were warm on the skin of her wrist. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to lean closer.

“Don’t what?” he asked, and trailed the backs of his fingers down the side of her forehead to her cheek, her chin, her throat. “Be specific, love. I’m all about the details.”

Her breath stopped when his fingers reached her collarbone, and she hung there, suspended, her pulse tripping like a bird caught in a snare.

He was gentle. And a part of him didn’t want to be. She saw that in his eyes, saw the part that wanted to push her down on the floor and spread her thighs and thrust deep without thought or care for her pleasure. He held that part back with cage and chains.

She’d thought him cool, controlled, and now she saw that she’d been wrong. Beneath the layers of ice was a beast, untamed and urgent, held in check by his will alone.

She wanted to free that beast. Wanted to touch it, taste it, make it roar.

The pads of his fingers rested against the wildly pounding pulse at her throat. He splayed his fingers and dragged them slowly along the curve of her shoulder and down her arm, her forearm.

She had time to jerk away. Time to protest. She did nothing other than stand there, heart racing, as he closed his fingers around her wrists. He walked her sideways, then back, guiding her with the weight of his body until she felt the wall, cool and smooth.

Lowering his weight, he pinned her there, and dipped his head to the hollow of her shoulder. She felt his breath against her ear, and then his teeth, catching the lobe and nipping gently.

“Don’t what?” he asked again, his voice low and thick.

She swallowed, her mouth dry, her lips feeling full and swollen.

“Don’t stop.” The words were more thought than sound. It didn’t matter. He heard her. And he took what she offered.

His mouth claimed hers, tasting her, the kiss deep and hungry. His tongue pushed inside her mouth, teasing, twining, tormenting. He used his teeth. He used the pressure of his body. He let his hands roam at will, skimming her breasts, her belly, the curve of her hip, then sliding up into her hair, angling her head so he could kiss her more deeply.

He cupped the weight of her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple through tank top and lace bra. A sigh escaped her, then a gasp as he pinched her nipple and rolled it between thumb and forefinger.

His hand dipped to the curve of her waist, then slid around to her ass, kneading and squeezing. She followed his lead, grasping his buttocks, the muscles beautifully curved and hard.

Lust slammed her, sharp and dangerous.

He pulled back just a little, teasing her, making her come to him. And she did. She chased the kiss and pressed against him and offered herself with the thrust of her tongue and the pump of her hips.

Dragging his mouth from hers, he laughed low, the sound so erotic it was like a physical caress.

“I want you to take off your tank top and your jeans,” he murmured. “I want to watch you. I want to see your naked skin.”

Neither a request nor an order. He only stated what he wanted, knowing that she would give it to him.

He stepped back, not far, just enough that he could do exactly what he’d said he wanted to do: watch her while she peeled her black tank top up over her head. The cloth slipped from her hand and pooled on the floor with a soft shush.

She shivered at the expression in his eyes as he looked at her. So hungry. So dark. Blue glass held to a flame.