Lucian’s hulking body looms over me, like a black squall ready to take me under, as he holds himself propped on outstretched arms.
My blade at his throat.
The seeds Nell planted inside my head earlier in the night failed to bloom once I saw the relics of his son, and I left his office feeling like every other asshole from Tempest Cove who believes the rumors about him. I fell asleep hating myself for failing to do the one thing that makes me different from the others in this town: think objectively. Still, murderer, or not, the man carries an edge of danger about him. An aura that triggers my instincts, warning me to be careful. So I keep the blade where it’s at, while my brain unwinds from the confusion.
My attention falls to his bare chest and torso, momentarily distracted by the tight cords and deep ridges of hard-earned muscle. The scent coming off him is an intoxicating mix of spice and a more primitive, masculine aroma that waters my mouth. Something burns in those infernal eyes. Dark and wicked. For a moment, I wonder if I’m dreaming, until he shifts, and I feel my pants slide down my thighs.
“Wait.” I squirm beneath him, never lowering my weapon, and grab hold of his hand, which makes him pause.
“You’ve got the knife, Isa. Use it.” He lifts his chin, exposing more of his throat to the blade’s unforgiving edge, but even so, he goes back to tugging my pants down my thighs.
Once they’re off my legs, he tosses them to the floor, and I lie vulnerable beneath him. Metal clinks while he works the buckle of his belt one-handedly, his eyes never wavering from mine as he loosens his pants and springs his cock free. Thick pulsing veins feed the long and stiff erection captured in his fist, the sight of which tickles my stomach.
“What are you doing?” Still half asleep, I double-blink, trying to determine if this is the real Lucian, or the one I’ve dreamed of for the last month.
“I’m fucking you. With, or without, the blade at my throat.” His voice, pitched low and deep, dances across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. My panties slide down next, his eyes shimmering with reverence as he pauses a moment and pries my knees apart. “Or you’ll be fucking me, it seems.” The awe in his voice mimics the expression on his face as he licks his lips.
Without ceremony or apology, he pushes two fingers up inside of me, and I gasp at the intrusion. His fingers glisten on the withdrawal, and closing his eyes, he shoves them into his mouth. He shudders, shaking his head, and his hand balls into a tight fist. “Tell me to stop, Isa. For fucks sake, tell me to stop, and I will. I swear it.”
Swallowing a gulp, I set the knife onto the nightstand and shake my head, my whole body trembling. “No.”
For a moment, we stare back at each other in a battle of wills, until he finally groans, slips my panties off, and tosses them away. “I’m selling my fucking soul for this, so I hope it’s as good as I imagined.” Taking hold of his cock, he strokes himself while he seems to admire my body, biting his lip as the iniquity dances in his eyes. Darkly erotic, he reminds me of the bad twin in my dreams. The one who fucks me without apology. The one I secretly desire most, for reasons I can’t begin to explain. “I’m no lover, and I’m not equipped to offer the emotional security a girl your age requires. To be clear, I’m here to fuck you. Hard. That’s all.”
His words send a shiver of anticipation down my spine, and my thighs twitch. “I’m not looking for a pep talk from you.”
“Then, it’s settled. I gave you a choice.” The rough and ragged texture of his voice oozes desperation and tenuous restraint. Trembling muscles, and the unyielding spark in his eyes, make me wonder if I really have a choice, at all. If a powerful man like Lucian can be pushed to the brink of taking without asking.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve dreamed of this. Of him. Coming to me in my sleep. I want the savage beast that I imagine lies beneath the thin mask of control he wears. The devil who whispers in my ear while I dream, spinning depraved promises. “I want you,” I whisper, lying back against the pillow.
Lowering himself, he slants his mouth over mine, and I swallow his moan. He fists my shirt, yanking up the hem of it, exposing my bare breasts beneath, and the growl of appreciation vibrates over my skin when he dips his face to suckle me.
I cup the back of his head, squirming against the merciless tug at my nipple. A zap of pain comes with the scrape of his teeth, and I cry out, closing my fist around a handful of hair. “More, please.” Drunk with lust, I mindlessly reach down between my thighs and take hold of his straining shaft.
Drawing his hips forward, he allows me to stroke him, while he holds himself propped on outstretched arms. He slowly rocks into my palm, his cock harder than before. So hard, I can’t imagine him fitting it into me.
I stir my hips beneath him, rocking in the same tempo as his imagined thrusts, and the moment his eyes finally lock on mine, desperate and starving, I know I’m in trouble. I’ve finally pushed him over the edge.
“Please, Lucian.”
“I could.” The length of his cock slides across my soaked entrance that’s aching to be filled. Teasing and taunting me. “But I want to watch you squirm beneath me like hooked bait. Desperate.”
Biting my lip, I focus on the sensation of his skin against mine, rubbing across my sensitive slit every time he drives forward. The lust burning in my belly like hot coils ready to ignite.
“I want my name to echo inside your head like a blade across your skull, because that’s what you are to me. The knife that cuts deeper and deeper.” Every word that pours from his lips is like my own blade dragging across my arm, and I moan at the thought of such relief, that moment when the blood seeps through the burn.
“Please,” I whine, my body tense and trembling, waiting for it. Rolling my head on the pillow is all I can do to fight the feverish passion burning through me. The craving I feel for him right now must be what every junkie on the planet suffers, just before that needle plunges into the vein. “I need it. I need you.”
The tearing sound draws my attention to where he rips a condom free of its foil of between his teeth, and he slides it down his length before tossing the wrapper onto the nightstand. “You love this. You love what you do to me, don’t you?” Sheathed cock in hand, he slings my legs over his shoulders and drives forward, my body tensing with his size, and I breathe hard through clenched teeth.
“Relax, Isa.” He inches further, working his way deeper, stretching me with his girth. As he pushes to the hilt, filling my womb, his teeth come together in a hiss that ends on a curse.
Like an invisible string pulling my chest, I arch into him and cry out.
Capturing my screams in his mouth, he eats my cries of pain, devouring my breath, and thrusts deeper. A growl vibrates against my lips, and his cock slides in and out of me, creating a wet glide.
“Fuck, Isa,” he says against my mouth. “Fuck!” His breaths are broken and fervent, teeth scraping across my jaw.
Solid muscles flex and tremble beneath my hands, where I hold tight to his shoulders, drawing him into me. On a single-minded mission toward climax, he ravages my body, taking what he wants from me. Fiery and restless, he fucks as if his entire existence rides on pleasure, as if it’s a requirement for his survival, and I’m the food source.