His lips twitched. “You found me attractive?”

God, he was so obtuse.

I couldn’t stop the insane laugh bubbling from my mouth. “Do you honestly think I would’ve sucked you in the forest? Do you think I would’ve writhed on someone else’s fingers the way I did yours? I’m sexually starving but I’m not so desperate to allow someone to touch me unless I want them to!”

I clamped a hand over my lips. Shit. Another thing I hadn’t meant to say. That was a lie I was hiding unsuccessfully, even from myself. Sex with Jethro was supposed to be a weapon. Whenever I thought of him touching me, it was to win—not to give in to my overpowering urges.

I wanted to take from him. Not enjoy what he’d give me.

Jethro prowled closer, pinning me against the pole of the four-poster bed. His body heat sparked hot and dangerously close to mine. His hands opened and closed at his side. So close. So temptingly close.

“This is getting interesting, Ms. Weaver. You mean to tell me you want my cock? You want me to…fuck you?”

My stomach twisted. Wetness built in my core as the argument switched from exposing his weaknesses to exposing mine.

I bit my lip, refusing to answer.

He smirked, his eyes dropping to my mouth. His lips parted as his breathing turned heavy and ragged. “Tell me what you want from me. You have my undivided attention.”

All the frustration from dealing with Kite came back. Despite the crudeness of our sexting, I missed messaging. Talking dirty fanned the need inside, amplifying the sexual burn. I had no reprieve from living an endless torture with a man who meant to kill me. A man my body wanted more than anything. A man who gave me the gift of pleasure—who would always be wrapped up in some twisted way in my soul.

I embraced the heat of anger, glaring into Jethro’s golden eyes.

Don’t do this.

You’ll get hurt. Terribly hurt.

I couldn’t stop myself.

“I told you what I want. Kiss me.” My arms swooped up, looping around his neck.

He reared back, breaking my hold. His chest rose and fell as he breathed hard. His eyes were almost black with need. Need I was sure reflected in mine. “Stop asking that, damn you.” He snapped, “Why would I stoop to kissing you? A kiss is emotion. A kiss is a weakness.” Placing his hands on either side of me, he grabbed the post and murmured, “I’ve told you time and time again; a kiss is not something you’ll get from me.”

I moved forward, pressing my chest against his until he broke away. He stepped backward; it was my turn to stalk him for a change. “A kiss is nothing. What are you so afraid of?”

What am I doing?

What were we doing?

Rules were being broken. Houses were being betrayed.

Consequences would come. Pain would be endured. But in that moment, I didn’t care.

All I cared about was Jethro’s lips on mine.

He dodged my grasp, then forced himself to stand tall and unmovable. I pressed myself against him, looking up into his gaze. His lips were so close. My heart fluttered like a dying hummingbird, my stomach twisted. So…close.

I couldn’t move.

Jethro didn’t shift back, he stood there, his hips flush against mine. Suddenly, his hands came up, grabbing my waist, holding me in place.

We didn’t speak, only breathed. The truth crackled around us. We knew how dangerous this fight was, how frayed our self-control had become.

We’d been dancing this tango for weeks, and the electricity between us was a lightning storm threatening to incinerate everything in its path.

“Stop. Stop playing me. What did you hope to achieve? That I’d kiss you? Fuck you? Come to care for you? That I’d fall in love with you.” Jethro dropped his voice to a whisper. “That I wouldn’t kill you?” He shook his head. “You’re still as clueless and naïve as the day I stole you.”

You don’t believe that.

“Prove it.”

His nostrils flared. “I will not.”

Cocking my chin, I anchored myself in as much courage as possible. “Prove it, Jethro. Prove how cold you are by giving me something I desperately need.”

I need to see there is hope. Just a small shred of hope.

“What makes you think I can be manipulated? I don’t care about your needs or desires.”

“Liar,” I whispered. “You do care. Otherwise, you wouldn't still be here. You wouldn’t be fighting this.” I rested my hands on his chest, digging my fingernails into his t-shirt. “You would’ve struck me and left if you were anything like you portray.”

I stood on my tiptoes, reaching for his mouth. “I told you, you’re a hypocrite.”

He paused, calculation dark in his eyes. “One kiss?”

I nodded. “One kiss.”

Jethro's control broke. “Just one fucking kiss? Don’t you know what you’re asking from me? I don’t want to fucking kiss you!”

My heart broke. Was I so repulsive he didn’t want his lips anywhere on mine?

I withered in his gaze, falling back to my position of Weaver Whore. But then, I stopped. This was the only time I might get him this undone, this close to snapping. It might be my only hope.

Glaring, I snarled, “Kiss me. Give me one fracture of human company, and I’ll never say another word to you again. I’ll be whatever you want. Just kiss me!”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re an idiot.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“I don’t want to kiss you!”

I lashed out. My arms came up. I opened my palm. And I slapped the self-righteous, egotistical arsehole on the cheek.

The moment went from lust-heavy to stagnant with violence. We stared, caught dead centre in war.

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he snapped.

“Kiss me.”

“You’re ruining my life.”

“Kiss me.”

“You’re—”

“Kiss me, Jethro. Kiss me. Just fucking kiss me and give me—”

His body crashed against mine. His hands flew up, grabbing my cheeks and holding me firm. His lips, oh his lips, they bruised mine as his head tilted, and with pure anger, he gave me what I’d wanted for weeks.

He kissed me.

My lungs were empty—he’d stolen all my air, but I no longer survived on oxygen. I survived on his mouth, his taste, his unbridled energy pouring down my throat.