"Tell me that you don't want it, Eliza."
Lucian's voice was a ragged whisper, barely contained. His hands pressed on either side of her face, his body tense above hers, and those damned silver eyes burned with rage and desire.
"Tell me," he repeated, his mouth barely brushing against hers, his words piercing like soft blades. "Tell me, and I'll let you go."
But I said nothing. I just breathed deeply, feeling the weight of his body on mine, the electricity that coursed through our skin, the slight trembling of my abdomen as I felt his breath moving down my neck.
Lucian clenched his jaw, a vein pulsing in his neck.
"You lie with your mouth closed," he growled, and then he kissed me. It wasn't a sweet or tender kiss. It was possessive. Demanding. As if he needed to remind every cell in my body that he had marked me.
