Playing With Fire (Phoenix Fire #3)(29)
Author: Cynthia Eden

She was little more than a kid. Nineteen, twenty?

“When you do get out, please don’t ever come back. Just run and run.”

His lips tightened. “What makes you think they’ll ever let me out?” He was their prized specimen. They tortured him, they killed him, but they weren’t letting him go.

She smiled, and the sight stopped his breath for a moment. “I know you’ll get out . . . because I’ll help you.”

Her hand lifted. Touched the glass.

His hand lifted too, as if pulled by her.

But then the guards came in . . .

And Cassie left him.

Dante climbed from the bed as the moonlight streamed through the old blinds. So many memories were in his head, fighting to get to the surface and break free.

He hated some of the memories.

Treasured others.

Her hand, rising against the glass.

He never would have thought to find a glimpse of gold in that hell, but he had.

His gaze fell back on the bed. On Cassie. He’d known just what she was the first minute he’d seen her. When she’d only been eight, the promise had been there.

He could have broken out of Genesis sooner, but he’d needed to wait. He’d had to see for sure if she would become—

“Dante!” She screamed his name as she jerked up in bed. He crossed to her instantly. “I’m here.”

A shudder shook her slender frame and then her hands were around him, holding tight. “I was afraid it was a dream . . . that I was back there. They were going to keep hurting me.”

I should have gone back and finished them.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he said as he shoved down his fury.

“You’re safe.”

Her mouth pressed over his shoulder. Her lips were soft and silken. Her breath blew lightly over his skin.

Then she pulled away. Looked up at him. Her gaze searched his and her green eyes widened. “Dante.”

She seemed to finally be seeing him.

No, she wasn’t seeing him, but rather seeing in to him.

“You remember, don’t you? You remember me?”

“I wouldn’t have been able to track you if I hadn’t.” His voice had roughened because . . . she wasn’t hurt any longer. No scratches or bruises on her skin. Completely healed.

She was in bed. Alone with him.

He’d wanted her for so long.

He’d been close to having what he wanted.

He would have what he wanted.

“What all do you remember?” Her voice was husky. Hopeful?

His fingers lifted and brushed back her hair. “Every damn thing.”

I was going to marry her.

Dante’s jaw locked.

Once, she’d been a virgin. She’d come to him, sneaking past the security, offering him heaven.

He’d been a fool to refuse.

I knew what she was. I should have held on tight.

Her lips lifted into a smile. “You know me?”

He didn’t return her smile. “I’m going to devour you.” Fair warning.

Her smile dimmed. “Dante?”

He pushed her back onto the bed. The control he’d held so effortlessly while she slept—cradled in his arms—was shredding with each passing second. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t trapped in a nightmare.

Cassie was in his arms, and he meant to have her. “Are you afraid?” Dante asked her.

“The fire . . . what if . . . ?”

He knew what the idiots at Genesis had said—in moments of extreme passion, his fire would rage out of control. That he would hurt—kill—a lover.

That wouldn’t happen with her.

Couldn’t.

Because the phoenix wasn’t allowed to hurt her.

I knew what she was . . .

“I’ll keep you safe,” he promised her.

His lips pressed to hers. He had to kiss her. He wanted her to forget the man she’d shot and any other bastard out there. The others would no longer have a place in her mind or heart.

There would only be room for him.

Her mouth opened beneath his . . . eager and sweet. He thrust his tongue past her lips and savored her.

So good. She’d always tasted of innocence and sin, a combination that had made him crazy so many times.

Every time he got his hands on her.

He should go carefully. Use finesse and charm.

But Dante had never been one for charm, and if he didn’t get inside Cassie, he thought he might just go insane.

Been there . . .

And he’d left the flames behind to prove his descent into madness.

His hand slid between them. She was wearing some kind of little gown—like a hospital gown?—and when he shoved it up, he touched the smooth silk of her panties.

He’d come so close to tasting her there.

Mine.

His head lifted. Their eyes met.

De-fucking-vour.

Her breath caught as he pushed down her body. “Dante, you don’t—”

He put his mouth on her, right through the panties. He pressed down, kissing that silk, then blowing lightly against her.

Cassie’s moan filled his ears, and he knew that her nightmare was gone.

That wasn’t good enough. He wanted her thinking only about him and the pleasure that he could give to her.

Because she was all that he could think about.

His fingers grabbed the edge of her panties and yanked them down. The underwear was shredded before he tossed the garment away. He put his mouth directly on that sweet flesh.

She tasted so damn good. He licked her. Kissed. Slid his fingers into her tight, hot core.

Cassie’s breaths came faster, harder. Her nails sank into his shoulders.

It still wasn’t good enough.

He licked her hard. Sucked the center of her need. Thrust two fingers into her. Kept up the friction, enjoying every single taste of her—and becoming desperate for more. Always, more.

She stiffened beneath him, her whole body tensing, and he knew that her cl**ax was close.

He wanted that first cl**ax to be when he was in her. As deep as he could go. He lifted up and positioned his heavy c**k at the entrance to her body.

Cassie’s gaze found his and her breath caught. “Your eyes . . .”

He wondered what she saw in his gaze, but whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be scaring her. She reached for him. Her arms curled around his shoulders.

He stroked her once more, then drove deep into her. His thrust sent the headboard thudding against the wall. “Cassie?”

She’d tensed beneath him once more, but the tension was different, and . . . she was so tight.

So amazingly tight.

He had to pull back, had to thrust deeper. Again and again.