“Never say that word to me.”
I had never heard his voice like that. Not once. My blood chilled in my veins. If I thought I’d ever been afraid of Tate before, it was nothing. Absolutely nothing compared to this.
I’d wanted to unnerve him, but instead, I seemed to have unhinged him. Unleashed something I didn’t understand, and didn’t want to.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Too late,” he replied, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. His tone was pure venom, pure sin, pure fucking evil. “Too late for apologies.”
In that moment, I had three choices.
I could fight him.
I could run.
Or, I could tie myself to the mast and meet him, measure for measure.
I chose the storm. With the hurricane himself standing there, his pulse pounding so loud I could almost hear it, I chose to stand tall.
What was happening? What was he about to do? I had no way of knowing, no way of guessing what he’d do. How he’d ruin me.
But I knew I could survive.
His hand lashed out and grabbed mine, lifting it to his face. Eyes half-lidded, he brought my fingers to his lips, my thumb pressing past them and up against his teeth. Finding resistance, for a moment, until he parted them and suckled it into the soft, wet heat of his mouth.
Mara Black is a connoisseur of love that lurks in the shadows