¬ Fashire
I laughed, which earned a frown from her.
The irritation and hunger were insufferable enough, and now I was already drowning in her scent?
It filled the chamber. Not just the sweet trace I'd grown accustomed to—the one that had haunted me since the chain snapped into place—but her. Warm skin and damp hair and—
'Damn it!'
I hated this.
Why was she doing this to me?
What a foolish question. I had been the one to bring this on myself.
I leaned against the door, laughing again.
Just thinking about her soft skin made my fangs ache with a need so profound it bordered on pain.
She stood right there, clutching that flimsy piece of clothing wrapped around her frame. Water dripped from her hair against her bare shoulders, the droplets of water clinging deliciously to her skin, sliding down the dark expanse of her skin before disappearing beneath the edge of the fabric.
'Bloody hell.'
No. No. No. No.
Why did I even come?
