His kiss was a brand, and a promise all at once. It was the Duke staking his claim, the commander rewarding his soldier, the man silencing the one person who could see past his armor. It was a lesson in dominance, and I was his most willing student. His lips crushed mine, not with violence, but with an overwhelming force that left no room for thought, only sensation. There was no gentleness in it, only a raw, desperate need to reclaim, to re-establish the boundaries that had been blurred by my reckless actions and his unplanned confession.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. The air in the chamber crackled with unspent energy, with the tension of a battle fought and a truce declared in the only language we truly shared. His silver eyes were burning, the cold, analytical light of the strategist replaced by the primal fire of a man who had almost lost something precious.
