Page 35 of Break Out the Girl

My head swims. He’ll do anything for me?

I don’t know. I’m not sure. I’m just…just.

Motherfucker.

“I-I don’t see it, François. You’re so cold. Too cold to feel, really feel.”

I think that’s true, but I see my words hit him like a slap.

He recoils, the aristocratic mask slipping entirely, exposing something raw and vulnerable. It makes my breath catch.

After the frozen moment, he moves, knuckles gently tracing the curve of my cheekbone. “I can’t feel?” he breathes. “I’m too cold?”

Then he frames my face in his hands and he pulls me close, capturing my mouth with his. His tongue teases the seam of my lips until I can’t resist the invitation.

And when the kiss deepens, all restraint evaporates into thin air. François becomes wild and demanding.

This is nothing like tender kisses I’ve shared with Tally and London. Nothing like that at all.

This is François.

My enemy, the snake.

My snake.

My mind and body give over to his control. I’m being devoured, and I don't want it to stop. His hand clutches the back of my head, fisting his long fingers into my short hair, then angling my head back to expose the line of my throat. He trails hot lips all the way down my exposed neck, sucking and nipping. Every touch is like liquid fire on my skin.

A moan escapes me, and the sound seems to drive him into an even wilder state.

I groan, aching with desire as François’s grip on my waist tightens, hauling me flush against him. His rigid length is obvious, hot and hard.

He claims my mouth again—deeper, harder.

Fuck. I feel delirious with need.

Who am I right now?

When he finally pulls back, breathing ragged, he shifts his mouth to my ear. “Does this feel cold to you, Aurora?" he snarls. I shift to look in his dark eyes, they’re burning with a wild, desperate hunger. I feel electricity spark at the base of my spine, as he claims my lips once more.

Want.

Need.

When we finally draw apart, his chest is heaving—as is mine. I stare at him, my lips tingling. Are my pupils blown out the same way?

I’m sure they are.

Then those eyes flicker, turning to slits. François throws me to the floor, and I crumple in a heap as the air shimmers a sickly green until his body transforms.

He shifts into a fucking enormous snake, his torso as thick as a tree trunk.

His diamond-shaped head covered in black scales that shimmer with an oily iridescence

When he rises up, he’s looming five feet above me.

Fuck.

My.