Irresistible Fantasies (A Steamy Collection)
He takes my wrist, his grip firm and possessive and drags me toward the master suite, basically flying up the stairs.
The moment the bedroom door slams shut behind us, the air thickens, charged with something electric.
The room is all dark wood and deep crimson, the bed a monstrous thing draped in black silk, the curtains drawn tight against the windows.
Rhysand doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His hands are on me before I can draw another breath, spinning me, pressing me back against the door.
“Last chance,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below my ear.