““Then he thoroughly, brazenly surveyed her body, his nostrils flaring delicately as he scented exactly what she wanted. Her breathing turned ragged as he dragged his stare to hers—hungry, feral, unyielding. “Not yet,” he said roughly, his own breathing uneven. “Not now.” “Why?” It was an effort to remember speech with him looking at her like that. Like he might eat her alive. Heat pounded through her core. “I want to take my time with you—to learn … every inch of you. And this apartment has very, very thin walls. I don’t want to have an audience,” he added as he leaned down again, brushing his mouth over the cut at the base of her throat, “when I make you moan, Aelin.” Oh, by the Wyrd. She was in trouble. So much rutting trouble. And when he said her name like that …””
