Chapter Four

Tempest

" T his is ridiculous," I huff, glaring up at the ceiling as I toss and turn restlessly, the sheets tangling around my legs. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Dalton's face hovering over mine. I feel his stubble scraping against my cheek and his heated breath against my ear as he growls for me to watch him. I feel his hands against my body, burning me up.

I've been in a constant state of desire since he touched me. No matter what I do, he's in my head, and I can't get him out again.

I fling the covers back with a huff and roll out of bed. Maybe splashing some cold water on my face will clear my head of the wicked man and his hold over me.

Halfway to the bathroom, someone taps on my door. I glance that way, rolling my eyes. Triton went out earlier with the brunette he met at the bar yesterday. If he's knocking now to tell me that he got laid, I may kill him. I don't need to know about his sex life.

I stomp to the door and peek through the peephole.

Dalton.

He's slouched against the doorframe, his head hanging low, broad shoulders slumped in defeat. Even through the tiny bit of glass, I can sense his turmoil. It radiates off him in waves, each one crashing into me like a rogue tide.

I'm unlatching the chain before I even have a chance to talk myself out of it. God help me, I'm weak when it comes to this man. I have no willpower or sense of self-preservation.

I see him and my brain simply stops functioning.

The door swings open beneath my hand, and Dalton lifts his head, his eyes hazels clashing with mine. They're bloodshot and glassy. The sharp scent of whiskey wafts from him, wrinkling my nose.

"Are you drunk?" I ask, suspicion heavy in my voice. I swear to God if he's here because he's drunk…

"Not nearly drunk enough," he mutters, his voice rough as he scrubs a hand down his face. His gaze rakes over me, hot and hungry. The way his wild eyes linger on me strips me bare, leaving me trembling.

Memories of his hands on my skin, his fingers skimming up my thighs, flash through my mind. I remember the scratch of his stubble against my throat as he marked me with his teeth, the way he groaned as I came all over his hand…

Before today—before him—no one had ever touched me, but he set my body on fire, consuming me. And I burned willingly.

God help me, I want to burn again. I ache for it, every of me starved for his touch, desperate to feel his hands on me…to stop thinking for just five minutes. But I can't give in to this…this madness between us.

Not when I know he'll never truly be mine.

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hide the way my body reacts to his presence. "What are you doing here, Dalton?" I demand, my voice wavering slightly.

"Triton is your cousin."

"What?" I stare at him in confusion.

"He's your cousin, isn't he?" he asks, his expression intense. Maybe he isn't nearly drunk enough because that look… God , it's like he's trying to see into my soul.

"Of course he's my cousin. Why? What are you doing here?" We both know he didn't come here at midnight to ask about Triton.

He ignores my question, taking a step toward me. "Can I come in?"

"That's not a goo–" I start to protest, but he cuts me off.

"Please, baby," he rasps. There's something in his voice, a plea that unravels my defenses thread by thread.

I step back, holding the door open wider. He slips past me, the heat of his body searing into mine, his woodsy, masculine scent filling my head.

I bite my tongue, fighting against the whimper that rises in my throat, my fingers itching to touch, to taste.

He paces to the center of my room and stops, tension vibrating through his big frame. He's silent for a long moment, his back to me.

I close the door with a quiet click, my heart in my throat as I watch him. "Dalton, it's the middle of the night," I say.

He turns to face me as soon as the words leave my lips, his expression ravaged. "My parents were killed in a plane crash with my aunt and uncle when I was thirteen," he says abruptly, the words seemingly torn from his throat. painful. Just hearing them breaks my heart into pieces. "We were fighting before they left. I don't even fucking remember what I did. But I remember the last thing I said to them." His voice shakes. "I was supposed to go to New York with them, but they grounded me. So I told them that I hated them and I wished they were dead."

"Oh, Dalton." I take a step toward him, but he shakes his head, holding up a trembling hand.

"It's just been me and my little cousin, Lena, ever since. Our grandfather took us in and raised us because it's what they would have wanted, but opening his heart to us? That was harder for him. He lost his world when their plane went down. And I'm the fucking asshole who said he hoped they died."

Tears spring to my eyes, my heart breaking for him. He was just a kid.

"I never wanted marriage or a family, Tempest. Because if I didn't…" He swallows audibly. "If I didn't have one…"

"You didn't have anyone else to lose," I finish softly when he trails off again as if he can't force himself to say the words.

He nods, looking wrecked in a way that hurts to see.

I knew about the accident that took his parents. It's not a big secret. But, God, I never realized…I don't think I understood until now just how deeply it scarred him. No wonder he doesn't want this marriage. No wonder he's so determined to keep me at arm's length. He's terrified to let anyone get close because, in his world, love means grief and pain and unbearable guilt. It means losing everything.

He swallows hard, staring at me like I hold the answers to the universe. "So why the fuck do you have me all fucked up in the head, baby?" he demands, his voice a rough growl of sound. "Why do I look at you and wish like hell that you didn't hate me?"

He thinks I hate him?

"Dalton, I don't–"

He laughs, the sound jagged, and takes a step toward me. "Why does the thought of you as my wife make me so fucking hard?"

"Dalton." My heart jackhammers against my ribs. He's killing me, one word at a time. Does he even realize it? Does he know how much I'd give to hear him say any of this and actually mean it? "You don't mean that."

"Yesterday, for the first time since I lost my parents, I imagined what it'd be like to let myself have love again, Tempest. To trust myself enough not to fucking destroy it." He expels a harsh breath, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "You've got me so fucked up in the head, so desperate for you, that the agony of losing it all seems worth the risk."

He shut his heart off, hoping he wouldn't have to feel because he felt too much. He carries guilt that isn't his to carry, wearing it like armor.

But life doesn't work that way.

We can't earn forgiveness by refusing to grow. And we can't bring back the dead by refusing to move on. I didn't know his parents, but I don't think this is what they'd want for him. My father may be incapable of love, but I have to believe that his wasn't—that his parents adored him and would want happiness for him even if my own never wanted it for me.

"You can't just shut off your heart, Dalton," I whisper. "It doesn't work that way."

His jaw tightens. "Except for Lena and the old man, no one's touched mine in twenty-one years. I swore no one ever would."

"Which means there's no room in it for me." The words scratch my throat. I already knew, but saying it out loud hurts. I'm hopelessly in love with him, and he'll never feel the same. He can't because he won't let himself.

I want to sob for him and everything he lost, for the broken little boy still grieving his parents, the one who thinks he deserved to grow up an orphan for what he said. No one deserves that. No matter what he said as a little boy, he didn't deserve that. He wasn't responsible for that plane going down. He has to know that.

But he's so damn afraid, so lost…he doesn't know it. He punishes himself because, in his mind, the alternative—finding happiness—means losing the piece of them he's held onto all these years.

That kills me because, in this moment, I'm more sure than ever that I can't marry him. Because he was right in his office. This marriage would be a prison. And little by little, the gilt would wear off, and I'd see the bars for what they were.

Loving a man who can't love me would kill me. I've watched my mother do it my entire life, and part of me has always hated him for doing that to her. I don't want to end up hating this man, too.

"No, dammit. You don't understand," he growls, striding toward me, purpose in his steps. "I'm here because I want you to marry me. Right now. Tonight."

I gape at him, certain I misheard. Convinced he's way more intoxicated than I thought. "You don't mean that."

"I have a judge on standby."

This is insanity. The alcohol is making him irrational. If he were sober, he wouldn't be saying these things. He probably won't even remember them in the morning.

"I'm so fucking hard for you I can't think straight." His voice is a low growl that shoots straight to my core. "Christ. I've never even touched a woman, but all I can fucking think about is every filthy thing I want to do to you." His eyes burn into me as he reaches for my hand. Slowly, deliberately, he strokes my ring finger. "And I want my goddamn ring on this finger while I do them."

I shiver, my body screaming for his touch even as my mind reels. "You don't have to marry me to sleep with me, Dalton."

Maybe that's what we need to do—just sleep with each other and get it out of our systems. He'll realize that sex is all he really wants. And I'll have one memory of him to sustain me before I set him free—one night where I can pretend that he's mine.

He drags me against him with a loud groan, crushing his mouth to mine in a searing kiss that steals the breath from my lungs. I drown in his taste, his scent, the insistent press of his body against mine.

"I'm not taking you to my bed until you have my ring on your finger," he snarls against my lips. "I don't want your body. I want your future. Marry me, Tempest."

"I…" I shake my head. "We can't."

He growls, a rumbling, dangerous sound, his eyes flashing. "Fine. Then I'll convince you. Even if it takes me all fucking night."

His fingers find my nipples, pinching them through the thin fabric of my nightgown. I arch into him, gasping. Oh my God. That shouldn't feel nearly as good as it does. And yet…

"Dalton," I whimper.

In one fluid motion, he boosts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist to grind his cock against me. He sinks his teeth into the side of my throat, nipping and biting. I moan, tilting my head back to grant him access.

He trails kisses like fire across my throat and chest, his lips searing my skin as he devours me. His hands are everywhere, cupping my breasts, squeezing my ass, stroking me through my nightgown until I'm a writhing, desperate mess.

I arch against him, wordlessly begging for more. I can't think, can barely breathe through the haze of lust clouding my mind.

God. He's like a wrecking ball battering my defenses, every touch and scorching kiss slowly demolishing them.

"Do you want to come?"

"Yes. Please, Dalton."

"Then say yes," he commands, thrusting against me, one hand fisted in my hair. "Say you'll marry me, and I'll let you come."

"I…can't," I choke out.

He growls and bites me again, sucking at the skin of my throat, right above the pulse pounding there. He rocks his hips into me, the hard rigid of his erection grinding against my clit again and again.

But every time I'm on the edge, trembling, ready to go over, he stops.

"Say it, Tempest," he growls. "Tell me."

I don't know how long he torments me, dragging me to the edge again and again, only to deny me. But when I feel his fingers dancing over the seam of my panties, teasing me, I crack.

It's too much. My entire body is on fire, burning up with need.

"Yes!" I cry, drugged with pleasure, unable to withstand his sensual assault on my body. I need him…need to come. It physically hurts not to come.

A predatory growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating through me, so full of satisfaction I feel it like a gong striking in my soul.

He shifts and drops to his knees, balancing me on his broad shoulders. His dark eyes blaze up at me, full of lust and possession.

"I have to taste you. I can't fucking breathe until I hear how sweet you sound when you're riding my face."

Oh God.

"I'll say my vows with your juices all over my goddamn face, Tempest." He rips my soaked panties aside, pressing me back against the wall, spreading me open for him.

I feel his gaze on me…hear the hungry growl rumbling on his lips. See the desperation blazing in his eyes.

"You'll kiss your taste from my lips to seal this marriage," he growls.

Then his mouth is on me, and I nearly scream, my hands fisted in his hair as I cling to him.

He falls on me with a growl, licking and sucking, that wicked tongue everywhere at once. He rolls it over my clit and then forces it inside my hole to fuck me with it. Pleasure crashes through me, my body bowing, my hips undulating shamelessly against him.

"That's it," he mutters, his voice muffled. "Grind this hot little body against my fucking face. Fuck yourself on my tongue."

I give him exactly what he demands, grinding against his mouth…losing myself to the sinful pleasure of his tongue.

He snarls, licking into me with deep, forceful strokes that make my thighs tremble around his head. His stubble scrapes the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, the sharp contrast of rough stubble and soft lips sending electricity jolting through my veins.

"Fuck," he growls, flicking his tongue rapidly over my swollen clit. "Once you say your vows, I'm going to feast on this perfect cunt for hours, keep you coming all over my face."

I whimper and buck against him, chasing the orgasm building with every flick and swirl of his wicked tongue. He seals his lips around my clit and sucks hard, pushing two thick fingers knuckle-deep inside me.

"Come on my tongue," he demands, giving my inner thigh a sharp nip. "Give me what I want, Tempest. Soak my fucking face so I can taste heaven."

I'm not sure if it's his filthy words, his wild eyes, the way he owns my body or a combination of all three, but something sets me off. I shatter with a sharp cry, my release flooding his greedy mouth as he wrings every last tremor from me.

Wave after wave crashes over me, stealing all reason, all sanity.

He drinks down every drop, growling as he licks me through every aftershock. He leaves me trembling, so wrung out I can't breathe.

I'm plastered to the door, draped over his shoulders…wrecked.

God. What is he doing to me? How is it possible to feel this much for one man?

He looks up at me, licking his lips, his hazel eyes scorching. "Utter goddamn perfect," he whispers, holding my gaze as he presses a soft kiss to my clit.

My cheeks heat, a full-body blush sweeping through me.

He smiles—the first smile I've seen from him. And damn , that grin is devasting. He's like a wicked, unrepentant little boy, all arrogance and sweetness as he slowly lowers me to my feet and then rises.

He holds onto me, keeping me steady, his eyes wild and fierce. "Get dressed," he orders, his voice clipped as he steps back.

"W-what? Why?" I stutter, still trying to catch my breath. Still reeling.

"We're getting married." The way he looks at me…I know there isn't a chance in hell of talking him out of this. Not this time. For some reason, he's decided he wants this. He wants me.

"Dalton, I…"

"Don't you dare question this," he growls, gripping my ass to lift me against him. I feel his erection pressed against my dripping sex and whimper. "You're mine, Tempest Evernight. And we're making it fucking official. Now ."

I gulp, praying to God this man doesn't shatter my heart. Because he might not realize it yet, but he's the only one with the power to do it. And I'm about to tie my life to his, for better or worse.