Playing with fire was an understatement. What I had done was drop a burning match into a room packed with black powder, and the explosion that followed didn't just burn the court—it consumed the Tyrant himself.
The moment my lips parted against his, Varg did not merely accept the kiss. He took it like a starving beast that had just been granted its first taste of flesh after an eternity of famine. A low, feral growl vibrated violently against my ribs as his massive hands locked onto my hips, his long, obsidian claws tearing straight through the expensive crimson and black satin of my dress, pinning my bare thighs against his hard, burning lap.
He kissed me with a sickening, delicious brutality. His tongue invaded my mouth like a conqueror, rewriting the laws of his own castle inside my throat.
