Page 56 of Branded By Shadow
That small shift is powerful enough to go straight to my head. Shadow, the terrifying biker who made grown men move their eyes away from his cut, reacts to my mouth on his skin.
Mine, a wild little voice whispers.
I kiss the center of his chest. The hard ridges of his stomach. The line of dark hair disappearing beneath the blanket.
His entire body goes tight.
“Talia.”
I glance up.
His jaw is clenched.
“What?”
“You know you can stop.”
“I know.”
“You know you don’t have to prove anything.”
I pause.
Because of course he sees that. Of course the man who moves through shadows and notices exits and cameras and danger also sees the tiny ugly thing tucked behind my ribs.
The part of me that wants to be useful.
Wanted.
Enough.
“I’m not proving anything,” I say.
His gaze holds mine.
I take a breath.
Then I give him the truth.
“I want to know what you look like when you lose control because of me.”
Silence drops over the room.
For one second, even the neon seems to stop flickering.
Then Shadow’s eyes go black.
“Careful,” he says again, but this time it sounds less like a warning and more like a prayer.
“No.”
His brows draw together.
I slide lower, settling between his thighs.
“Not careful,” I whisper. “Honest.”
His chest rises hard.
