Amelia
"I'm not done yet," he growled in rage against my ear. “Why did you kiss him?” His voice was rough with an emotion I couldn't identify.
What? Kiss him?
I shivered in his hold, fear and confusion warring within me. His arm around me tightened, pressing me even more firmly against him. I could feel the hard length of him against my belly, a betrayal of his own rage, the mate bond demanding what his pride was denied. My pulse quickened, a mixture of terror and aching need.
"I didn't—" I started to protest, but he silenced me with his act.
His lips crashed down on mine, a brutal kiss, no not a kiss. It was punishment, possession, a claim that left no room for gentleness.
His hand clamped over my mouth, fingers splaying across my jaw, while his other hand was fisted in my hair
