CHAPTER 74: HIS BURNING TOUCH

Aphrodisiac?

The thought barely brushed the edge of my mind before it scattered, swallowed whole by the fever consuming me. Nothing made sense anymore.

Heat.

That was all there was—endless, smothering, unbearable heat. It rolled through me in waves, thick and suffocating, as if my very skin were aflame. It seeped into my bones, coiled hot and violent in my veins, burrowed into the marrow until even my breath burned. Every inhale was fire scorching down my throat, every exhale a ragged plea my pride refused to give voice to.

My body felt too small to contain it.

Too fragile to endure.

And so I clung.

My hand shot out blindly, clutching Rion’s with a desperation that startled even me.

I dragged it up to my face, pressing his palm against my fevered skin as though he could douse me.

His hand was cool yet warm, hard yet smooth. I pressed harder, my cheek rubbing against his calloused palm, my lips parting against his knuckles as shaky breaths trembled past.

I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop.

He didn’t pull away.

Rion stared down at me, expression carved in unreadable stone.

His crimson eyes caught the dim light and flared, glinting with something foreign... something dangerous.

Behind him, his shadows stirred like restless animals, rippling along the walls, twitching at the edges of lamp as if they too were caught in the storm writhing inside me.

"Touch me."

The words slipped out, barely more than a whisper, trembling as though forced through the bars of my throat.

The sound of my own voice sickened me. Bitter as poison. Wrong.

Just moments ago, I had fought to keep a stranger’s hands from me, fought like my life depended on it. Defiance had been my last shield. And yet here I was, stripped bare of reason, begging Rion Morrigan, of all people, for something I should despise.

He should be the last man I should ever crave.

And yet my body betrayed me. My heart thundered against my ribs, each beat louder, faster.

My skin ached with need, humming, burning for his touch and his alone.

His lips curved slowly, deviously, into that infuriating smirk that both chilled and ignited me. He bent closer, voice dropping low, velvet edged with mockery.

"Careful, my darling seductress," he murmured, the words brushing across my fevered skin, a poison of sweets. "You’ll regret this later. When you are sane."

Hatred burned through me, tangled with the hunger I couldn’t tame.

I wanted to scream at him, strike him, kiss him—anything to release the chaos raging inside me.

My hands shook violently as they fumbled at the hem of my clothes, tugging upward with frantic desperation, as though stripping away the fabric could free me from the inferno licking at my skin.

But before I could bare more, his hand closed over mine.

Firm. Restricting.

The sudden weight of it stilled me, a jolt of frustration spiking through my fevered haze.

His grip wasn’t cruel, but there was steel in it.

My breath came out harsh, shallow, trembling against his face. We were too close. His chest brushed mine with each inhale, the heat between us so thick it was suffocating.

I tilted my head up, and my nose nearly grazed his jawline. His scent flooded me, heady and consuming, until I thought I might drown in it.

"Let me," I whispered, not knowing if it was a plea or a demand. My fingers flexed uselessly beneath his, trapped, helpless.

He leaned closer, his mouth hovering near my ear, his breath cool against the fever burning through me. The forbidden nearness made my skin prickle, made my stomach twist with want and fury alike. His voice dropped low, dark silk laced with command.

"As much as I’d love to indulge your desires," He smirked so darkly, so beautifully, I almost cried another plea. "I don’t think it is right to do it right now. Not in this state, at least."

He pinned me in place, caging me in the dangerous space between us. I pressed my eyes shut as the dizzying need clawed through my body.

When I opened my eyes again, he was still watching me. Those blood-red irises burning with something menacing like... restrained violence.

I hated him for holding me back. I hated him for being the only one close enough to feel how violently I trembled against him.

And most of all, I hated how my body pressed closer anyway, desperate for the one touch he refused to give.

I lunged closer, throwing my arms around his neck, clinging to him with all the force of desperation. My body pressed flush against his, my breaths shallow and ragged.

We stared at each other—hazel and gold meeting crimson and shadows. His face so close, his breath brushing against my lips, my heart slamming painfully in my chest.

And I tilted forward, lips grazing his—

He turned away.

The rejection cracked through me.

Fury and humiliation warred inside my chest, yet my arms tightened around his neck, refusing to let go, as though sheer will could break his restraint.

Without warning, he swept me off my feet.

"My patience isn’t something you can toy with," he whispered darkly, too quiet it almost sounded like a weak breath, but I barely understood a word.

His arms slid beneath me effortlessly, lifting me as though I weighed nothing. My nails dug into his skin, clinging still, but he didn’t flinch. His face was set, his smirk tempered now with iron control.

"If you feel hot," he said, voice low but threaded with an edge, "then I have a solution."

The world tilted as he carried me, shadows gliding at his heels like loyal hounds. He pushed through the bathroom.

The next thing I knew, we were in front of the large bathtub filled with water. Mist curled above its surface, shimmering faintly where ice floated, crystalline chunks glinting like diamonds. The chill radiated from it in waves, prickling my fevered skin.

I thrashed weakly in his hold, torn between dread and the insatiable fire devouring me.

And then the blaze within me met the shocking bite of ice as he plunged me into the freezing bath.