Page 75 of Devil in Her Details

Damn it. And as if that weren’t enough, every time she shifted, he felt it, and some current of her warmth crossed the pillow wall and reached him. He was hard. Had been since she’d emerged in his shirt. Harder than he’d ever been in his life. It was inconvenient at best and agonizing at worst, and there was absolutely nothing civilized about the direction his thoughts kept dragging him.

He’d brushed her hair, for God’s sake. Drawn his fingers through those unbound strands and had never felt anything so soft, so pleasurable, before. And the small sounds she’d made, barely audible, just the softest hitches of breath had lodged dead center in his chest.

Who says my hands aren’t the wrong hands?

He ought to be committed.

“Dagger?” she said softly.

He hesitated a moment before he whispered back, “Yes?”

“Do you truly believe your hands are dangerous?”

Christ. “They wield daggers. They’re dangerous.”

“That makes you dangerous, not your hands.”

“My hands are a part of me.” As were the parts throbbing with pain. The pillow wall shifted. A small, restless movement from her side. Then another. He tracked every single one with an alertness that rivaled that of a beggar staring at a table full of meat through a window he didn’t get to touch. Only Dagger was a beggar who had tasted that feast but then been promptly locked out again.

“Your hands are quite nice.”

Ah, hell. “Don’t say things like that, love. It makes me want to tear down walls.” And howl at the damn moon.

She fell silent.

Dagger shut his eyes.

“They are hardly walls.”

“Lilly.” Christ, she was killing him.

She chuckled. “I find myself simply wondering what would happen if they were to be torn down.”

Dagger cursed. “Trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

Another moment of silence came before a soft whisper, “I do.”

He turned and ripped the pillows away, sending them flying across the room. Very well, then. Would a wolf be invited twice? No. This lynx needed a lesson in the assessment of threats.

Dagger rolled over, his whole body covering her much smaller frame. His mouth captured hers. She made a small sound of surprise against him but didn’t shy away. The lynx kissed him back as if she were fighting for domination against him.

Was this how undoing began?

His hands squeezed into the pillow on either side of her face. If he did anything more . . . if he did something foolish like pushing his hardness into her . . .

Dagger groaned.

He was doomed.

Bloody doomed.

He kissed her until he was damn near breathless, feasting on every small noise she made. Her fingers curled into his chest. He felt each one like a brand.

“You’re crushing me,” she breathed against his mouth.

In a single, seamless movement, Dagger flipped them over, settling her squarely on top, her soft hair tumbling around them both. He caught a strand. “Is this better?”

She blinked at him and, hands bracing his chest, pushed herself up, shifting to straddle him. Christ, it should be a sin how his shirt pooled around her thighs.