All I can do is hang on and hope I survive the aftermath.
Skin slick with sweat, he reminds me of a starving animal cut loose from its confines, one determined to feed to the point of gluttony.
My stomach tightens at the sight of him, the smell of his skin, and the slapping sounds that echo in the room, as he works himself toward what he needs from me. I’m shaking with excitement and fear for what’s to come. The uncertainty of what it means now that we’ve crossed this line.
In my experiences with sex, which have been nothing more than quickies in the backseat of a car, there’s nothing beyond this. The guy does up his pants and drops me off at home. I wish I could say that I trust Lucian completely, and know he won’t discard me afterward, but I can’t trust what I’ve never known. As much as I want to come and give in to the pleasure alongside him, I don’t want the moment to end, for fear of the black void. The humiliation and shame that inevitably follows.
I offer myself up like a sacrifice, letting him tear away my skin, down to my bones, where the vulnerable parts of me are buried so deep, I don’t even recognize them anymore. Secret fantasies wrapped in delicate black ribbons, just wanting for a man like Lucian to pull the strings and unravel my tightly-woven facade.
We’re just having a little fun.
The tiny compartments inside my mind open to the voices from my past, and eyes screwed shut, I shake my head, willing them away.
No, please. Not now. I won’t let them ruin this moment.
You’re dirty. Nothing but a dirty fucking slut.
A spasm of pain sends jagged lights behind my eyelids, the panic seeping in from the fringes. “No,” I whisper.
A soft caress against my cheek draws my eyes open to Lucian. My dark knight. The shadow on my wall when I sleep. The tickle on my skin when I’m alone.
A man. Not the selfish and childish boys of my past, who take without permission, and touch without invitation.
He slows his thrusts, his eyes burning with concern. “Isa, what’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”
It’s only then I notice the tears slipping down my temples, and I shake my head.
“Why are you crying? This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
I reach up to touch his face, running my thumb over his scar. “Have you ever wished one moment could last forever?”
Tipping his head, he seems to study me, then leans forward for another kiss, this one less demanding, gentle. He slides my legs off his shoulders and lowers himself to his elbows so that our bodies are closer together, my breasts pressed against his chest. Forehead resting against mine, he rolls his hips, smooth and steady as a metronome, in a lazy and languid tempo. “I’ll hold out as long as I can, but I can’t lie, you’ve got me burning up right now.”
I lift my head to kiss him and wrap my legs around his back. “No. I’m ready. Just promise me, afterward? You won’t treat me like shit.” More tears spring to my eyes, and I hate myself for ruining this. I hate that my past is filled with so much baggage I could start my own fucking luggage company. I hate that he now knows perhaps my worst weakness.
He kisses the tear streaking down my temple, and his eyes are locked on mine. “I told you, there’s a difference between getting fucked by a boy and getting fucked properly.” Hand stroking my hair, he wears an earnest expression. “You’re mine. And I would never hurt what’s mine.”
Lips pressed to mine, he ups his pace again, winding my body back up.
You’re mine. Perhaps it slipped from his lips unintentionally, because only moments ago, he told me all he came to do was fuck me. Hard.
You’re mine.
Mine.
His.
“Yours,” I whisper mindlessly, watching in awe as climax crests over his face like the sun rising on the edge of the ocean. The rush of blood beneath his skin, the blaze of violence in his eyes, with every thrust inside of me. He tips his head back, and the veins in his neck pulse with the tight clench of his jaw, while his hips hammer into me.
“Again,” he says, raggedly.
“I’m yours.” Panting through my nose, I grip the bedsheets at either side of me, scrambling for something to hang on to, as the pinnacle of ecstasy draws closer and the fragile strings grounding me begin to fray. My senses blur to nothing but Lucian. His eyes. The scent of him filling my brain with a voracious craving. The delectable flavor of his skin on my tongue.
Quick, controlled movements have his cock pistoning in and out of me, his powerful thighs slamming into mine. He dips forward for another kiss, sealing our lips together as my body thirsts for oxygen. I turn my head to break the kiss, but he takes hold of my jaw, suffocating me with his mouth. I moan and shift against him, my body in a frenzy. A maelstrom of agony and promise.
He doesn’t stop.
Body jerking for air and the need for release, I climb higher and higher. Tighter and tighter. I close my eyes to a flash of blinding light, and arch my back, finally breaking the kiss on a gasp of breath, and the warm rush explodes through my veins. Crying out, I arch higher, my body paralyzed with the pleasure pulsing through every muscle.
The bed squeaks as he bangs out the last few seconds, and his curse bounces off the walls around me. Jets of warm fluid leak down my thigh, and he directs more onto my belly, where he’s ripped off the condom and began stroking himself. White ribbons spring from the head of his cock, collecting in a pool of hot fluids.
He takes my hand, smoothing my palm over his sticky release, and kisses me hard. “You feel that? Weeks of pent-up torment, all for you. Wear it like a fucking crown, because no other woman has made me come so much in my life.”
His words are crude, but hot, and when he slides his hands beneath me, lifting me up from the bed, I’m so exhausted, boneless and satisfied, that I can barely wrap my arms around him.
“Where are we going?” I ask, out of breath.
“I’m going to get you clean, and then I’m going to fuck you again.” His comment tugs a weak chuckle from my chest, as I rest my head against his shoulder. “You find that amusing?”
“I find that amazing.” The getting clean part, in particular. No one usually sticks around long enough to clean me, aside from tossing me a rag from some compartment in their car. Perhaps that’s the difference, as he warned me, between fucking a boy and a man.
“Well, brace yourself. Because the only thing that gets me off more than knives is water.”
Chapter 41
Lucian
Five years ago …
“There’s a meeting at the Institute this week. I’ll ask you that you go in my place. It’ll be good for you to get acquainted with some of the members of the Collective.” My father leans back in his chair, his feet kicked up on the ottoman, as if the request is of no consequence to him.
Across from him, I sit forward and frown. “It’s not a good week. Roark’s been waking up with nightmares—“
“He has a mother. You have a job. And one of your duties in said job is to attend meetings on my behalf.”
“This isn’t a real meeting,” I bite back, staring at him beneath lowered brows. “It’s a waste of time. Precious time that I could be spending with my own son.”