Page 245 of Starside

“Fuck,” he snarls right against the crown of my head.

A pleased smile spreads across my face as I realize, for the first time, Harlan Raker is completely at my mercy.

And I like it.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I wrench myself free, turn, and push him down onto the sheets, and he lets me, even though he’s baring his teeth at me in warning.

I pin him down. I remember his promise. That soon enough, I’ll be screaming his name. I press my hands against his chest and say, “You’re going to be screaming mine, Harlan.” I must be imagining it, but I swear he shivers.

Then I sink down onto him, taking every brutal inch, and we both curse at the same time.

Fuck. I feel so full it’s hard to breathe. I’ll never get used to the stretch, to the tight fit, but still … I want more. His eyes widen as he watches me begin to move on him, like he can’t look away. I really don’t know what I’m doing, but when I tilt forward, bracing my hands on his hard chest, and find a place that sends a jolt up my spine, I start to move faster, chasing it, wringing every ounce of pleasure I can from him.

His hand reaches toward me, as if on instinct, but he stops himself. Fists the sheets instead. He might as well be touching me, though. His gaze is casting flames. I can feel the heat of it on my chest as I ride him, on my stomach as I arch back, on my face as my lips part with pleasure.

I look at him too. His wide shoulders. Pale, tattooed skin over rippling muscle, unmarred by even a single scar, as if nothing has ever gotten close to hurting him.

At least, that used to be true.

There’s a new mark, across his throat. One I gave him.

We’re enemies. I’ve hated him for years. We both have wanted each other dead. He’s right. We really shouldn’t be doing this, but I also don’t ever want to be doing anything else. Nothing has ever felt so good, so full, so all-encompassing. My every nerve is sensitive, prickling, fire-swept, embers dancing across my skin.

My nails rake down his abs, and he doesn’t make a move to stop me. My head falls back as I chase my pleasure, as I grind against him, as I move with abandon.

It’s not enough, though. I want more, want to feel him deeper, everywhere.

And I can’t pretend any longer. There’s an ache within me, growing and desperate. It’s been building for a while, this fire between us, this inevitable battle. I don’t care if this is wrong, or if I hate him—I want this. I want it so badly it scares me. “Raker, please,” I say, willing to go on my knees, willing to beg for this. I don’t even know what I want, but something tells me he knows exactly how to give it to me.

His hand moves to my throat. At first, I think he might squeeze it, but all he does is trace his thumb up and down my pulse and say in a voice forged from pure and utter need, “Say it again.”

Fine. If he wants me to beg, I will.

“Please,” I say, my voice raspy and out of breath.

But he shakes his head. His own voice is strained. “No. My name. Say it.”

Satisfaction spreads through me. He’s not the only one who holds power here. I see it in the desperate flicker in his eye. I see it in the way his muscles are flexing as if he’s holding himself back, as if he too is afraid to let himself go completely.

He might be the greatest knight on Stormside. He might not have a single mark on his armor. But right now, he’s looking at me like I can ruin him.

And he might beg for it.

I slow my movements. He watches, transfixed, as my tongue darts out to lick my lips. Taking my time, I drag my hands down his muscled chest.

Then I bend down low, and say slowly, right above his mouth, “Harlan Raker.”

He flips me over in a flash, his hand curling beneath my knee, pulling one of my legs into an angle against his chest, and then he starts to fuck me at an unyielding, unforgiving pace that has me screaming.

I arch against his body, my nipples scraping against his hard chest every time he slams into me, my toes curling. This is Harlan Raker unleashed.

My spine is a bolt of lightning, gleaming with nerves, sparks spreading with every brutal stroke. His cock drags against a place so deep, so sensitive, I’m whimpering. I’m clawing at his chest.

My head falls back, but he tilts it forward again so that my eyes meet his. “Aris,” he says, his voice a deep rumble I can feel in my bones. I nearly break, hearing my name on his lips like this.

“I,” he says, slamming into me again, dragging me across the sheets. “Hate,” he says, punctuating the word with another brutal thrust. “You.” He slams again.

He’s saying it as if he’s trying to remind himself of that fact.