The Darkest Night (Lords of the Underworld #1)(65)
Author: Gena Showalter

She shivered. First desperate to leave, now desperate to stay. Somehow, some way, she was going to contact McIntosh and let him know she was okay. Not now, though. After. After she experienced the most intimate of acts and knew how it felt to be joined with someone.

Selfish of her, yes. But she couldn’t have stopped herself for any reason.

Without a doubt, Maddox was going to finish what they started this time. The tight coiling of his muscles as he’d held her on the bed had promised as much. And the white-hot look he’d given her before leaving the room had only solidified the knowledge.

No longer would she worry that he’d abandon her afterward, as so many men had done to so many women throughout the centuries. Maddox was intense and passionate and different. He didn’t need to lie or issue false promises to get what he wanted. He had only to take.

Yet he chose not to. He wanted her to give.

Warm water soon became cold. Ashlyn turned the knobs, shutting off the steady stream. Drip, drip. Almost time, she thought, and moisture instantly pooled between her legs. Her ni**les were as hard as rocks.

Droplets slid down her skin, chilling her. She imagined Maddox licking them off, shivered again and nearly moaned. She grabbed a towel and patted herself dry as best she could before anchoring the fluffy white material under her arms so that it draped from br**sts to knees. Eager, she exited the bathroom on a cloud of steam.

Maddox wasn’t in the bedroom.

She frowned… until her toes brushed something soft and she glanced down. Violet silk scarves formed a winding trail, leading from the bedroom to the room next door. When she stood in the entryway, she gaped in delighted surprise.

She’d been in this room before, when she’d crawled over the balcony and through the window, but it hadn’t looked like this. Dust had covered everything then. The sheets, even. Now it was a room made for pleasure. Sconces glowed from the walls, golden light flickering over a bed of black silk. Maddox had cleaned it. For her. Her heart swelled in her chest, beating wildly.

Where was he?

The balcony doors were open, inviting fresh, cold air inside. She approached, her heated blood making her indifferent to the frigid temperature. Maddox gripped the balcony rail, his back to her, dark hair – damp, she noticed – in disarray. His shoulders were wide, tanned and bare.

She’d never seen his bare back before.

There was a huge butterfly tattoo that stretched from the top of his shoulders to just below the waist of his pants. It was red, almost neon, and it looked angry. Mean. As if it could leap off his back and slice her in two. Odd, she mused. Butterflies were such delicate creatures, she never would have imagined one could appear so menacing. Or that a man as, well, manly as Maddox would have such a design tattooed on his body.

"Maddox," she whispered, her voice breathless.

He whipped around as if she’d shouted. A frown tugged at his sensual lips. In that moment, he wasn’t the lover who’d left her to shower and prepare for hours of pleasure. He was the warrior who’d tried to leave her in the forest alone.

"Everything okay?"

"There is a blanket tied to that balcony." He pointed to the right, but didn’t remove his narrowed gaze from her face. "Do you know anything about that?"

Besides their night in the forest, he’d rarely looked at her in anger. That was usually directed at someone else. So having those violet eyes – now framed with red the exact neon shade of his tattoo – aimed at her like an accusing finger was a bit disconcerting.

Good news? Angry he might be, but that freaky skeletal mask hadn’t descended over his features. Empowered by that, Ashlyn raised her chin and stepped toward him. "Yes. I know something about the blanket."

"If you were anyone else," he said tightly, "I would think you tied the cover to the rail so that Hunters could climb inside the fortress."

"But you don’t think that of me?" If the question had had teeth, it would have bitten him. Hard.

"No," he said, and she relaxed. Slightly. "So tell me," he continued, "what did you use it for?"

Confession time. "I told you that Torin hid me, right? Well, he locked me up so that your other friends couldn’t find me, which I don’t fully understand yet, so don’t ask. I heard you shouting and did what was necessary to reach you."

He took a menacing step toward her, then stopped himself, as if he feared getting too close to her just then. "You could have fallen to your death," he said quietly.

"But I didn’t."

"You dangled in the air, Ashlyn."

Don’t back down. Not during this critical moment. They’d just established that they liked each other and that they were both willing to take their relationship to the next level. Whatever happened here would set the stage for future fights. And there would be fights. He was too stubborn, and she too determined.

"Yes," she agreed. "I did."

"Do not ever – ever! – do that again." He closed the rest of the distance between them and leaned down, obliterating her personal space. "Understand?"

Her heart kicked into supersonic hyper-drive. "Tell your friends not to lock me up, and then I’ll swear it."

His eyes widened with disbelief. Did he expect her to sob out an apology? "I’m going to kill them," he snarled, surprising her. "You could have died out there."

As he maneuvered around her, she saw death in his eyes. Oh, no, no, no. There would be no leaving her. There would be no beating his friends. Not now. Ashlyn reached out without hesitation, without fear, curling her hand around his wide, solid bicep. Growling, he spun and faced her.

"This day isn’t going to be ruined by more pain," she told him.

"Ashlyn."

"Maddox."

He could have shoved her away. Could have rejected her, cursed her. Hit her. Instead, he redirected the focus of his emotions. "You could have died out there." With a low, animalistic growl, he meshed his lips against hers. His tongue shoved inside her mouth, past her teeth, thrusting hard.

Finally. Thank you, Lord, finally. She tasted a blend of fury and passion and heat, and it was the most decadent flavor she’d ever encountered. Intoxicating. Her blood instantly sparked.

"Don’t want… to hurt… you," he snarled, speaking between kisses.

"Can’t."

"Hurt…"

"Won’t."

His head tilted to the side as he deepened the kiss, took more of her mouth, feeding a hunger that lived deep inside her. She loved it, embraced it. Maddox was passion, total, breath-stealing passion, and he was ferocious in the giving and taking of it. As she’d wanted; as she’d needed.