“I’ll give you a choice. Kill me.”
“By definition ‘choice’ mandates a minimum of two possible avenues of action.”
“I wasn’t done. Or kiss me. But do one or the other. Before I do one or the other to you.”...
Jada stares at him a long moment, then slowly, deliberately, presses the full length of her body up against his naked one, black leather to nude man, soft, feminine curves to heavily muscled, scarred chest.
Ryodan doesn’t move a muscle, just stands there.
She wets her lips and angles her head so that her mouth is a breath away from his, and I’m a mess of quivering frigging nerves in the corner because she just stays like that and her eyes fix on his mouth, and his fixes on hers and I think, Shit, this is Dani and Ryodan. But it’s not.
It’s two cataclysmic forces of nature that are brilliant and stubborn and strong, who cut their teeth on razor blades and live on a razor edge of violence at all times. I’ve learned a few things about the world, about myself, during my sojourn in Dublin. In the great pasture of life there are really only four kinds of creatures: sheep, as Dani likes to call them; shepherds who try to guide the sheep and keep them on the straight and narrow; sheepdogs who run them from field to field, prevent them from straying, and fight off the predators that come to slaughter and feast; and wolves, savage, fierce, and a law unto their own.
I know what I am. I’m a sheepdog. If my food supply ran out and I was stranded on a mountain with the flock, I would starve before I ate one of the sheep. Nature or nurture, I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. I protect the flock. To my dying breath.
Ryodan’s a wolf. He’d eat the whole damn flock if his survival depended on it.
Dani is a sheepdog, too.
Jada is a wolf.
Two wolves stand in this room, with a complicated past and an uncertain future, their lips a breath apart, and I’m not sure if they’ll kiss or kill each other. Probably both.
Then Jada reaches up and cups the back of his head with one hand, pulls his head forward and down.
And presses her mouth to his.
Ryodan holds perfectly still, still as stone.
So do I. Holy freaking cow.
She kisses him, lips parted, slow and sexy, lightly touching his lips with her tongue, offering wonders that would rock his world, while delivering nothing. Open mouthed, seductive, warm, inviting and … dangerous. Even I can feel the explosive sheep sexual energy held in check behind her bare feather of a touch. She’s making sure he feels it, slapping him in the face with all she could offer—but isn’t. I’ve kissed men like that before.
It’s a challenge. It says “You think you have what it takes to handle me? Oh, honey, prove it.”
©Karen Marie Moning
Only 15 more days until FEVERBORN is released! #FeelTheFever