My head fell back onto the pillow, delivering myself into his control. The ravenous need to have him inside me overrode hunger for physical food.

I groaned as he scooted down the bed and sucked the same nipple into his mouth. Clutching his head to my chest, I tangled my fingers into his hair. “Um … you can eat me. I don’t mind.”

He chuckled, his breath tickling my cleavage. “If I eat you, you’d be gone.”

I pulled on his hair. “But if you eat me, then I become you.”

He paused. Climbing my body again, he captured my chin, holding me firm. “You are me. And I am you. We might have separate thoughts and minds, Buttercup, but we have the same heart and soul.”

I couldn’t speak.

How could he go from violence and bloodshed to sprouting such tender, heartfelt things? He was the perfect man—prepared to do anything to protect me, while not afraid to be soft when it mattered.

Pushing at the sheet covering us, I glanced at his rapidly hardening erection.

We’d been naked all day. A fort of blankets protecting us from what’d happened and what was to come. I loved the sensation of being adrift in our own world.

His eyes burned mine. “You’re looking at me as if you would happily devour every inch of my body.”

I smiled wickedly. “Depends how many inches of you there were.”

His eyes widened, then hooded with need. “Goddammit, you tempt me.”

“If I tempt you, then don’t resist me.” I reached for his cock, ignoring food in favor of having him.

But I never managed to grab him.

He moved too swiftly. Pushing my shoulders, he pinned me to the bed and pecked a kiss on the tip of my nose. “That’s not yours to play with. Not yet, at least.”

I stuck out my bottom lip. “It is mine. Just like everything of me is yours.”

His eyes wandered down my front. He swallowed a groan. “You’re right, but I need to eat. I need energy so I can give you what you deserve.”

I love his train of thought.

His denial heated my blood until I was lava and fire. “And what do I deserve?”

His breath caught as he bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck, that sounded sexy.”

I arched upward as much as I could—submitting myself to a kiss—or whatever else he wanted to give me. The sheets tantalized my flesh. The warm air licked around my nipples. Everything was an aphrodisiac.

Suddenly, he growled and rolled away.

What the—

Climbing off the bed, his legs planted wide on the floor. My eyes trailed to his heavy cock as he scooped a pair of discarded black boxer briefs from the end of the bed and stepped into them. His muscles flexed and bowed, looking part fantasy, part illusion. Nobody should be that divine. Nobody could be that divine and be mine.

He looked like a demi-god ready to carry me off into the heavens only to corrupt me with decadent sin.

“You can’t stand there looking like that and expect me to behave,” I whispered, rubbing my thighs together.

Leaning down, he captured my wrist and pulled me toward the edge of the bed. Lifting me from the mattress, he plopped me onto my feet, then wrapped me in the tightest embrace. “Never stop being you, Buttercup. Never stop being bold or bossy or brave.”

The swift change from erotic to endearing left me stranded and swimming to catch up. My fingers latched on to his narrow hips, stroking the cotton of his underwear. “I’m bossy?”

Unable to help myself, I nipped at his pectoral, tracing the pink scar and tiny puncture holes left over from my stitches.

His back tightened but his chuckle echoed like a chorus inside my ears. “Very.” Holding me at arm’s length, he smiled. “But I like bossy women.”

Coldness entered my lava-blood, delivering once again the fear that he wasn’t as well as he made out. Tilting my head, I peered at him, hoping to read his secrets.

Why was he making such an effort to distract me?

Distract me from what?

“Wrong, Mr. Killian. You only prefer one bossy woman.”

Capturing my cheeks, he placed his lips against mine. “Only one. Only you.” His tongue slipped past my lips, tasting me, encouraging me to let go of what’d happened and allow myself to be swept away in this new cascade of togetherness.

Obeying his command, I did my best to let go. I did my best to live in the moment where his kiss was as fleeting as a comet and as precious as a falling star.

The kiss stopped as sweetly as it’d begun. Arthur brushed a fiery strand from my cheek. “Let’s go rectify the problem of my starvation. Savory first, then dessert.” Pinching my butt, he smiled. “And if you hadn’t guessed by now—you’re the dessert.”

Chapter Twelve

Kill

Genius was a gift. But obsession was a curse.

Problem was I’d never been able to have one without the other.

When I wanted something—I’d go after it. I’d chase it until I’d either solved it, or it no longer interested me. That sort of single-minded determination was fine—to some degree. But in some cases, it was the worst kind of punishment because I was never satisfied. Never content. Always driven for more. —Kill, age seventeen

I left Cleo in the bathroom as I threw on a T-shirt before descending the stairs.

The steps remained where they should and my eyes judged distances like normal. The reprieve after last night’s agony made me weak at the knees with gratefulness.

It wasn’t intentional to keep the seriousness of my condition from Cleo.