Micah's Bride (All the King's Men Book 9) by Donya Lynne

Author:Donya Lynne [Lynne, Donya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Phoenix Press
Published: 2017-12-23T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 5

Cordray found Trace in the restroom down the hall from Bain’s office. He was crouched against the wall, facing away from the door. The waist of his jeans was wrapped around his knees, and his hand was between his legs, pumping relentlessly as the lights flickered again.

As the door quietly clicked shut behind her, his head tilted back abruptly, and he sniffed the air. A groan broke from his throat a split second before his head swung around.

Glowing yellow eyes locked onto hers, and a growl rumbled in his chest.

“Trace . . .” she whispered, taking a step toward him.

She’d never seen a more toxic male, nor a more virile one. She had resisted for so long before finally surrendering herself to him. And now that she had, she saw how perfect they were for each other. Both of them were broken, yet together they were healed. He made her feel again, and she calmed his beast. And when he touched her—when he fucked her—it was like twin infernos battling in the dark, each trying to shine a greater light, only to flame bright together as they climaxed.

He was wind, and she was water, and together, they created a cyclone. One fueled by extremes. Love and hate, the rose and the thorn, desert and ocean, fire and water, light and dark.

Life and death.

And that’s what their mating was. A matter of life and death. One could no longer survive without the other. Not now. Not when they’d already lit the never-ending fuse that tethered them together and led to regular detonations between them.

Especially at times like this, when Trace’s yellow eyes raked her so thoroughly she felt stripped and devoured whole.

This was when she both feared and loved him the most.

Always the extremes with them.

In a blink, he was on his feet, rushing her like a linebacker.

She backed away, then turned at the last second, her torso flattening face-first against the cool marble counter beside the sink as Trace practically tackled her, pinning her arms between her and the hard, cold surface.

Her heart hitched and arousal flooded her between the legs as she widened her stance, preparing herself for him.

“The dress,” she gasped as his hand came around her throat and drew her head back. Her vision strained up at the lights recessed into the ceiling over the sink. “Don’t rip my dress.”

She had enough sense to know that if she ruined her dress, Sam would kill her, but Trace didn’t seem to give a shit about her dress. He had one thing on his mind, and he would do whatever it took to get it.

Freeing her arms, she struggled to get hold of her skirt as Trace fought to get it out of his way.

Somehow she managed to pull it up in two tugs, only for Trace to rip off her thong and impale her in one harsh motion.

To keep from crashing headfirst into the mirror, she had to let go of her skirt and plant her hands on the reflective glass, fingers splayed.

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