Revas didn't stop walking until he reached the bed—a wide, four-poster monstrosity bolt-fixed to the floor. He didn't place Mirabelle down gently; he let her drop onto the mattress, the bounce of the springs matching the sudden spike in her heart rate.
She scrambled back against the pillows, her breath hitching, watching him. The tension that had been building between them for months—the stolen glances, the small touches, the sheer proximity—finally snapped. She had given him the green light, and now he was going to take what he wanted.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," Revas growled, his voice dropping an octave, rough with unrestrained lust.
He crawled onto the bed over her, moving with predatory grace. He boxed her in, his hands planting on the mattress on either side of her head. His hair fell forward in a messy white curtain, framing eyes that burned with violet fire.
