Somehow that instinctive brace of her hand against his arm stirred him as much as the way her breast molded against his palm. She's never hated anything as much as she hates me, he thought, and felt his blood quicken, his chest feeling like an iron grate over a furnace raging out of control. Has she ever felt anything so deeply as that?

Some of that furnace heat hissed through his teeth. Vayne's knuckles whitened as her nipple flowered under his palm, his fingers shifting between a worshipful cradle and a possessive squeeze of that soft globe, as though he could not decide how better to enjoy her. His lips trailed over her throat, kissing to the curve of her neck and shoulder, his eyes rolling up beneath a fringe of his hair to watch the play of hate and despair across her face.

"Go on. We both know there's more." His gaze smoldered with challenge, seeking out that helpless fury that had tears glistening in Tifa's eyes. "I killed your King. Now I'm kissing you, touching you, having my way with you in his bed...the bed your beloved Ashelia was born in." His teeth nipped lightly at her skin, and his hand shifted to let his thumb find the pink peak of her nipple. "You are the pleasure slave of a kingslayer."

One knee rose to push Tifa's thigh aside, the hem of her gown falling back from her leg to fold and drape above his prize. Vayne raised his hips. The weight forming in his leather pants came up between those battle-toned thighs, and pressed to the bared fabric of her underwear. The hand gripping her hair tightened at the touch, at that whisper of hidden heat.

"And no one is coming to save you."