Swirls of emotion blinded him; he could only feel the crunching of the fallen leaves beneath his shoes and his tight grip on her arm.
Was he holding her too firmly?
A pang of guilt shot through the haze of fury... And devastation. He relaxed his grip, but only by a fraction. He fumed, hating himself for still caring for her and wanting to be gentle with the tiny slip of a woman. She was his weakness.
"Sascha," she pleaded to deaf ears, "Sascha, you're
bruising
me."
The last of her words caught his attention, and he immediately spun around to face her, causing her to bump into him, startled. The brush of the soft curve of her body branded itself against his chest. His heart leapt into his throat when he stared into her watery eyes. Her face was so innocent and open; he could see sadness flitting across her features. He
had
hurt her. He fisted his hand in frustration as he surveyed the rest of her. Where her purity rested in her face, her body was built like a siren. She was too damn beautiful; it made him ache with longing, and he couldn't resist stroking his fingers against her rosy cheek. Bitter words escaped his lips, "Oh? But my
brother
wasn't hurting you?"
Her lips trembled, the tears threatening to spill, "Sascha—"
"You still love him, don't you?" he sneered, but his heart crumbled at the mere thought—
she was his now!
—and he continued his tirade, "You still want to be in his loving arms, huh? Because he's so much more gentle than I am, isn't that right? Because he's so kind and handsome and smart, right?"
Her small hand cupped his face, and he fought the urge to nuzzle against her touch.
"Sascha," she breathed out, both knowing that she was about to apologize.
But he was done with her excuses.
His lips crashed down on hers, swallowing her words. Gone were his restraints and patient touches; he plundered her sweet mouth, destroying the months of his practiced tenderness. She tasted of apples and honey and heaven. He took all of her unapologetically, his tongue exploring the wonder that was her. She melted into his arms, no longer resisting his charms. She sighed, entangling her hands into his hair as a way to anchor herself to him.
She was shy with inexperience, but she didn't hesitate to react to the fire that he stoked inside her.
She was so sweet. Too sweet. Her acceptance of his roughness felled him. He was lost and so so so confused, drowning in his emotions. Brusque words brushed against the shell of her ear, "Are you upset that a man you'd never want makes you react like that?"
"No, Sascha.
No
," she breathed.
Anger clouded his judgement, his thoughts racing to the scene before. What a liar! He saw her—saw her in the embrace of her brother! He saw them smile at each other like conspiring lovers. He
saw
them!
Maybe that's why she was acquiescing to him so readily now with those honeyed kisses and delicate smiles; she was trying to protect his brother. She was trying to hide what she was doing behind his back. He was never her first choice. Or any choice now that he contemplated it some. A sharp pain burst through his chest.
It was an act. All of it was an act. From her heaving chests to her shining eyes to her labored breaths. She looked wanton, like a woman thoroughly kissed who craved something much more. But God, wasn't she just breathtaking even pretending? Another stab in his chest.
"You lie," he murmured like the lover that he'll never be, words sharp like the knife that dug into his gut when he witnessed the two of them.
He pinned her against the wall, uncaring of the brisk wind. Uncaring of the possibility of someone walking by. Uncaring of anything but his heart.
"You likened me to a beast when we first met," one hand holding her arms above her head, the other slowly undoing the buttons of her frilly jacket. Their hearts raced in tandem. His fingers traced the outline of the gentle swells of her bosom maddeningly, and she moaned helplessly, "How does it feel to finally be taken by one?"
She arched into him, wriggling closer to his caress.
"Stop moving," a harsh whisper, but she knew that she was safe in his arms. Her heart clenched at the wildness and the rage and the vulnerability and the despair that flitted across his face. What she had in front of her was a man who was irrevocably in love with her. Tears filled her eyes. She adored him. His brother had congratulated her just moments before, both of them pleased with her relationship with Sascha.
An ugly downturn of his sensual mouth, "Crying won't stop me."
Don't stop, never stop.
But when his calloused palm met her sensitive flesh, she couldn't even voice her thoughts. He dipped his head to attend to each of her aching breasts. His tongue licked and nibbled and stroked until the peaks of her breasts puckered and begged for more of his lavish attention. The coarseness of his hand trailed downwards, expectation and heat flared through her. Moisture pooled. Her eyes closed, and she moaned softly.
That stilled the questing hand and a dark chuckle followed, "Look at me. Look at the man you don't love and watch him pleasure you."
His caresses became more possessive and sure. Her gaze locked with silver eyes. His tongue flicked out, rewarding her.
He couldn't hold the stare of hers; he knew that the adoration on her face wasn't for him. She was dreaming of his brother with her eyes open probably. She was a witch after all. Who else could tempt him like her? The front of his jeans tightened as his fingers rubbed against damp material.
"Little one," he exhaled in surprise, triumph also coloring his voice, "You're wet for me, a man you don't love."
He reveled in her slickness. He knelt in front of her.
She couldn't even refute his claim, too lost in her pleasure, too lost in his seduction.
"Is this what you want?" he sneered; his eyes wide in wonderment, betraying his hope, "A gentle man who can take care of you? You want a submissive man that'll kneel for you? Pleasure you?"
His fingers worked within her, but not touching the spot that she craved. She knew it. He knew it.
"
Sascha
," she begged.
"Yes," he agreed mildly, while his fingers trailed wicked little designs against her wetness, "That's my name."
