“They’re books, Isa. Not million dollar mergers.”
“You don’t know book hoarders like I do. They take their assets very seriously.”
Leaning to the side, I look past him to check the Closed sign on the door, and back away, removing my long winter trench coat.
Golden eyes watching my every move, he keeps his distance.
I drop the coat to the floor and step back, deeper into the rows of books, away from the front windows of the store.
He steps toward me, tipping his head in curiosity. “What’s this?”
“Is it only boats you christen? Or bookstores, too? I’m not sure.”
Sliding his black trench over his shoulders, he tosses the garment onto the floor beside mine. “I’m fairly certain you christen both, but you’re not old enough for a bottle of champagne.”
“That’s too bad.” I continue to back myself toward the wall of books behind me, until I’m well out of sight of anyone passing by the shop. “I hear it’s bad luck if you don’t. Sort of like crossing paths with a Blackthorne.”
A crooked smile kicks up the corner of his lips as he steps toward me, until caging me against the books. “Then, I guess you’re screwed.”
“I guess I am.”
Slipping his fingers beneath the hem of my sweater, he yanks it over my head, his eyes alight with fascination as he runs his hands over the lace bra, one he bought for me, no less. Tongue sweeping over his lips, he yanks the fabric down, popping a nipple free, and devours the hard tip of my flesh. He hikes my leg up over his hip, testing the seam of my A-line skirt, and his eyes roll back the moment his fingers make contact with damp panties. “Fuck me. You do this on purpose.”
“If it disappoints you, I’m happy to wear grannies with panty liners from here on out.”
“No grannies. And no liners. I like your panties wet.” Burying his face in my neck, his mouth hunts my throat, licking and biting and kissing. Frantic and impatient, he leaves a hot, wet trail of kisses across my neck, over my collarbone and back up again, while his fingers dig into my thigh. I’ve never known a man to make my breath stutter and muscles tremble with his kiss, the way Lucian’s does. It’s like a full body reaction.
He hoists me up and sets me down on the smooth wooden surface of a nearby reading table, the same table where I once sat while losing myself in racy bodice rippers, dreaming of one day knowing that kind of passion. The hard edge presses against my palm, and I arch into him.
“You seem feisty today,” I breathe, just before his teeth press against my throat, pushing a moan past my lips.
“I’ve never fucked you in a bookstore.” The clink of his belt is the only warning before he springs himself free, and with my leg hiked, he pushes my panties aside and prods himself at my entrance.
“And that turns you on?”
“Everything about you turns me on.” Flames in his gaze ignite, when he drives his hips forward, and I melt against him. His palm hits my throat, and he squeezes while his greedy lips devour the air between us. The intensity of his kiss is stronger than before, as if something is different between us, all of a sudden. He’s not just kissing me. He’s claiming me. Owning me. And every drive of his hips proves the point, as I willfully surrender to him.
Between the grip of my throat and his mouth on mine, I can’t breathe. My chest tugs for air, while my muscles tighten and quiver, edging me closer to release.
Every slam of his hips is rough and determined, and the growls against my lips only punctuate the frenzy of his movements. With each powerful stroke, his muscles tense and flex as he takes me like an animal. Raw masculinity radiates from every pore on this man’s body, and when he ups the pace, I realize just how small and fragile I am beneath him.
How easily he could break me, if he wanted.
The air wanes inside my lungs, my head growing dizzy with his relentless drive toward climax. As if sensing my urge to pass out, he releases me, and his eyes are pools of liquid flames searing me from the inside out.
Coated in a sheen of sweat, I tip my head back to a long and agonized moan that tears from my chest. Mouth to my breast, he sucks and licks the sensitive swell of flesh, before his palm swallows it in a tight squeeze.
“You feel so fucking good, Isa.” Voice ragged, he grips my lower back, keeping one hand locked on my throat, and continues his relentless assault. Strong hands latch to my thighs, and he draws me closer, as if he isn’t deep enough.
Yet, I feel him so deeply inside of me. Everywhere. On my skin. Behind my shuttered lids. Across my lips.
Lucian.
My moans drone on, shaking my ribcage, as a flash of light hits the back of my eyes, and in one last punishing thrust, his curses bounce off the walls around me. Tingles bullet beneath my skin, warming my blood, as he shudders against me. Our bodies pressed close, we breathe. Slower. Slower. Slower still. Until every muscle is soft and useless, our heartbeats pounding in tandem.
“From here on out, I want you in my bed. Beside me.” The harsh rasp of his voice reflects his rough handling of moments before. He squeezes a handful of my hair and kisses my neck.
“That sounds an awful lot like plot to me,” I say, equally out of breath.
“And?”
“Are you sure? I mean, sleeping in your bed … that’s quite a bit of commitment for you.”
“I’ve done a number of crazy things since I met you. What’s one more?”
I try to push him off in play, but his solid body doesn’t move, and instead, he presses himself closer.
With my hair still caught in his fist, he tips my head back, guiding my eyes to his. In spite of his comment a second ago, his expression is humorless. “I’m not going to lie, Isa. My reasons are entirely selfish. I won’t have anyone else touching you.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“You.” Expression weighted with vexation, he traces a thumb from my temple to my lips. “Being with me comes with some risk, though. I promise to shield you from it, as much as I can, but it’ll always be there.”
His words bring to mind something my mother used to tell me when I was a little girl, perhaps the only small bit of advice she ever gave me. “Love and danger make for one hell of a good life. Something my mom used to say.”
“She wasn’t wrong.”
“She wasn’t. So, I’ll take my chances and stay with you.”
“Good answer.” Hands tightening around my back, he lifts me up into his arms for another kiss. “As fucked as I’ll be for saying this, I do love you, Isa.”
My heart flutters in my chest, eyes stinging with tears, and I wrap my arms around his neck. “You are so fucked.”
It was my mother who first told me that there was no such thing as fairy tales with happy endings. That’s because she spent her whole life waiting for the white knight to come and rescue her from the life she so desperately tried to escape.
I went in search of the villain, instead, and found him alone and in pain, living in a castle of bones. A darker version of my mother’s knight, whose armor had dents and cracks, and his hands sullied with blood. A broken man who tasted of salt and depravity, and who took me selfishly, without apology. He’s the curse my mother warned me about. The Devil of Bonesalt, the Mad Son, with whom I’ve fallen irrevocably in love.