Page 148

I bent to his ear, my lips brushing his skin.

“Then take it.”

He snarled, the sound ripped from somewhere primal and tore free of my grip. In a blur he flipped us, the sudden motion pulling a cry from my throat. His hands were everywhere at once—cupping my breasts, gripping my waist, sliding to my throat—like he couldn’t decide where to touch first, only that he needed all of me.

“Don’t stop,” I gasped into his mouth.

He didn’t.

“Look at me,” he growled, bracing above me. “I want to see your eyes when I make you come again.”

He thrust into me harder, faster, each stroke hitting so deep my breath broke. The quiet tent filled with the obscene sound of our bodies meeting—wet, frantic, desperate—and pleasure spiraled through me in waves that stole my ability to think.

“August—I can’t—it’s too much⁠—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice was a raw command, strained and hungry. “One more. Give me one more.”

His thumb slid between us, finding that sensitive, aching point with devastating precision. He circled once and I shattered.

The orgasm tore through me like wildfire, blinding and brutal, so intense it blanked out the world. I screamed his name. My body convulsed around him, squeezing him so hard he groaned like it physically hurt to stay inside me.

August roared out his release as he slammed into me one more time before sinking down onto me. He buried his face in my neck and came with a roar, his entire body shuddering through the force of it. The threads flared so bright I had to close my eyes against the light, and in that moment, I swore I could feel his soul touching mine.

For several heartbeats, neither of us could move. Couldn't speak. He was still buried inside me, still half-hard, both of us trembling in the aftermath. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

Then I felt him go rigid.

His breathing changed—still ragged, but now edged with panic. He pulled out carefully and shifted to the side, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me.

The expression on his face made my stomach drop.

His eyes traced over my body—not with desire now, but with dawning horror. I followed his gaze and saw what he saw: bruises blooming purple on my hips where his fingers had dug in. The bite mark on my shoulder, already darkening. Faint impressions around my wrists where he'd pinned them.

“Lily. God, what have I⁠—”

“Don't.” I reached for him, but he pulled back, sitting up fully. “August, don't you dare.”

“Look at you.” His hands were shaking as he ran them through his hair. “I marked you. Bruised you. I was—” He couldn't even finish the sentence, jaw clenching so hard I heard his teeth grind.

“You gave me exactly what I asked for.”

“I lost control.” The words came out strangled, desperate. “For the first time in my entire life, I completely lost control, and I—” He looked at me then, and the anguish in his eyes was devastating. “What if I'd hurt you? What if I couldn't stop? What if I'm more like him than I thought?”

My heart cracked at the genuine terror etched across his face.

“You're nothing like your father,” I said firmly, sitting up and reaching for him again. This time I caught his wrist before he could pull away. “August, look at me. “

He did, reluctantly, and I saw the boy he must have been—the one who'd been taught that any loss of control meant failure.

“These aren't injuries,” I said, gesturing to the marks on my skin. “They're proof.”

“Proof of what? That I'm violent? That I⁠—”

“Proof that you're capable of feeling something real. That you're not the cold, controlled hunter he tried to make you.” I moved closer, cupping his face in both hands and forcing him to hold my gaze. “You didn't hurt me. You gave me pleasure. You made me feel alive. There's a difference between violence and passion, August, and what we just did. That was passion.”

He closed his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“Maybe you've been caging the wrong parts of yourself.” I stroked my thumb across his cheekbone, feeling the tension there. “Maybe the control isn't what makes you different from him. Maybe it's the fact that you care whether you hurt me. That you're sitting here terrified you might have, when all you did was make me feel wanted.”