To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  So warm. I’m melting for him.

  Our lips move together as Lazarus submits to my curiosity and inexperience. He’s completely given into me… I can’t believe it. I feel like I’m dreaming. I might be.

  But I never want to wake up.

  He dips his head and kisses me back, slow and hungry, growling a little as he sucks my bottom lip, then my top lip, licking them in leisurely strokes before doing the same to my tongue. I’m in heaven. Nothing has ever felt this good. The experience is heady, what with his sweet, delicious scent invading me, and his taste, like amaretto and cherries, exploding my senses until I see rainbows behind my eyelids.

  God, he’s such a good kisser.

  This right here is better than any pill I could take. It’s more dangerous than any earthly high. Because now I know I could kill for more Lazarus Weston.

  My fingers slink up into his hair and I pull him to me, not trying to snap him out of this trance, but not being able to help it at all. His hair is so soft and when I yank the strands in my lust-driven haze, he groans on my lips.

  The groan is like a symphony ringing in my ears, a vibration that sends chills across my chest, hardening my nipples into peaks beneath my dress. Between my thighs is slippery, my panties soaked. The pleasure I’m feeling right now has me flying. I can’t even stop myself anymore…

  I press a hand - the one not fisting in his silky strands of black hair - against his firm chest and try crawling onto his lap, clinging to him while toeing a line. I still don’t want to push my luck and make him stop. I never want him to stop this.

  I have him right now… I have him.

  My lips burn from how hard he’s kissing me, as he breathes heavy, fumbling, not touching me at all with either of his hands, both still resting on his thighs.

  I can’t get onto his lap in this dress, which is where I want to be, and where I’m beginning to think he wants me because he’s still not stopping. I touch his hand, meaning to rip it away from his last remaining thread of self-control; his wavering resistance.

  When I try to move his hand from where it’s gripping his thigh, maybe onto my waist or my butt, I accidentally graze an impeccably firm object between us… Between his thighs.

  Oh my God… That’s his dick.

  His dick is hard. For me.

  The knowledge that I’ve made him hard sends me into a frenzy. I bite his lip and whimper, tugging it between my teeth, covering the long, hard shape with my mischievous fingers. He gasps in my mouth, a sound so deliciously verifying of a good feeling I’m giving him, it actually tastes sweet.

  But before I can touch his erection for more than a split second, he pulls away.

  Yanks back, breathless, and panting. Lazarus Weston panting is something I’ve fantasized about for sure, and it’s every bit as wonderful in real life as it is in my fantasies. The sound of it rings through my brain, becoming my new standard for what his pleasure sounds like.

  He was enjoying himself so much he’s out of breath. God, so am I.

  I just wish it wasn’t all happening as he’s slithering away from me.

  Tumbling back on the couch, I gaze up at him as he stands, purposely turning his front away from me, though I do catch a glimpse of his length straining against his tuxedo pants before he stalks across the room, grumbling to himself.

  Trying to process what on Earth just happened, I swallow hard, still tasting him on my tongue. I’m burning alive, though I have to acknowledge the cold of losing Lazarus’s heat. I was much warmer when he was pushed into me, ravenously devouring my lips.

  Sucking them, biting them. Jesus, I can’t believe we did that. Was it real?

  I know it was because Lazarus is now pacing around the room, ripping at his hair, muttering words I can’t understand under his breath.

  Then his face snaps in my direction, and he looks pissed.

  “Get out,” he snarls.

  I bite my lip, noticing how tender and swollen it feels. Touching it with my fingers, I can barely even process that he just told me to leave, because I feel high. I’m in a daze.

  “Traci,” he barks, and I jump. “Out.” He points at the door. His tone, and the look on his face, let me know he isn’t to be argued with. “Now.”

  I stand up on shaky legs and walk past him, as steadily as I can. Wandering to the door he’s now holding open, I gaze up at him on my way out. As I step through the doorway, I don’t miss how puffy his lips are, raw and smeared pink from my lipstick.

  I suck in a breath as he slams the door in my face.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lazarus

  What a fucking lapse in judgement this entire day has been.

  The past nearly two years of my life, wasted. On a selfish, boring, spoiled woman who meant almost nothing to me.

  Evangeline and I had a few decent times together, but I acknowledge now how much I was pretending. And I actually fooled myself into thinking I could pretend for the rest of my life.

  God, what was I thinking??

  I feel like such an idiot for even considering marrying her. She saved my ass today by not showing up. I just wish she could have done so, I don’t know… Like, any day other than today.

  Any day prior to the day when three-hundred people were sitting in a resort hotel, waiting for us to get married. After I dropped half a million dollars on this bullshit. Jerald offered to pay, but I was trying to prove how awesome I am.

  I snort a laugh to myself and kill the rest of my glass.

  The text message from Evangeline is still up on my phone screen, resting on the hotel bar, where I’m currently getting hammered. My goal is to get blackout drunk tonight and forget that the last two years ever happened.

  She was right. She said she knew I didn’t love her, and that I barely even liked her.

  True.

  She also said she was sorry, because she thought she could go through with marrying someone who didn’t love her, but as it turned out, she couldn’t. She never said she doesn’t love me, but I know she doesn’t.

  How would anyone love me, anyway? It seems impossible.

  My drunk mind drifts to Damien.

  He should be here with me now, but I gave him attitude earlier. I had the wedding planner instruct Jerald to break the news to the guests, since this shit was mostly his fault to begin with. Then Damien came to find me and I told him I wanted to be left alone. It’s weird because usually when I tell Day I want to be alone, he leaves me alone… For all of five minutes, before he comes right back, insisting that he needs to cheer me up.

  It’s always been like that, since we were kids. But this time he actually left me. And I haven’t heard from him in hours.

  And now I can barely see.

  I grunt at the bartender who interprets the noise properly and pours me another double of scotch. I sip it as slowly as I can, dropping my head forward, hair falling in my eyes.

  What a fucking shitshow of a day.

  Maybe it’s a good thing Damien’s not here right now. I’m not sure I’d be able to look him in the eye after what happened with his daughter earlier.

  Movement below my waist makes my jaw clench so hard my teeth hurt.

  That should not have happened. I barely even know how or why I let it.

  This little crush Tracien’s been developing the last couple years… I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. Harmless. Especially because when Evangeline and I started up, Traci seemed to take the hint, and fell back a bit.

  After all, she doesn’t really want me. I know she doesn’t. She’s just young and her hormones are going wild. Or so I thought, anyway.

  But the more she grows up, the more I’m realizing I need to manage this in her and me, apparently.

  I swear I never looked at her like that before today.

  Okay, that’s not entirely true.

  I have noticed how much she’s been changing recently. How much she looks like her mother, and how grown up she is now. She doesn’t seem like a kid anymore. She’s matu
red.

  And then today, she shows up wearing that slinky satin dress. Visibly braless, I might add. Showing off her legs and the creamy skin of her shoulders and neck…

  Fuck.

  I shouldn’t be thinking about this. She’s too young. More importantly, she’s Day’s daughter. I was there when she was born, for fuck’s sake. She’s my fucking goddaughter.

  I’ve known her for her entire life, and tonight I kissed her. Well, she kissed me. But after a while, there was no playing the victim anymore. It went on for several leisurely minutes; entertaining and distracting minutes of the desperately lustful way she was holding my mouth to hers, as if she couldn’t possibly let me go, for even one second.

  I shouldn’t have allowed it to go on that long…

  And I definitely shouldn’t have liked it as much as I did.

  Shaking my head, I take a large swallow of my drink. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I some kind of pervert?

  What thirty-nine-year-old man gets hard while a fucking teenager is kissing him?

  Okay, maybe some would. Or many, despite what they would cop to.

  But that doesn’t mean I should be like them, especially with my best friend’s daughter. I can’t entertain this behavior from her. Traci’s not a victim, and she’s not as weak as everyone thinks she is. She came at me today because she’s a force, and she fixates on things.

  I’d hoped the time she tried kissing me when she was younger was just some misguided mistake, but apparently she never got over it. So the last thing I should do is encourage her by kissing her back…

  Regardless of how amazing it felt.

  Grinding my teeth harder, I mentally scold myself for thinking with my cock, like some kind of animal.

  By the time I’ve ingested more glasses of scotch than I can count, I’m loopy, which is good. I didn’t intend on staying in this hotel tonight after I got stood up, but now I’m thinking it might be more convenient to crash upstairs in my honeymoon suite than trying to make it home.

  What I’d really like is someone to bring up to said suite. I need a body I can take my frustrations out on tonight, being that I’m overcome with a staggering incompleteness. I know I dodged a bullet with the wedding, but it doesn’t mean I’m happy about being embarrassed like that. I’m pissed the fuck off, and I want to unleash on someone.

  Someone… Someone…

  Looking around, bobbing a bit in my drunken state, I see a few attractive women nearby. And then my head swivels and I have to focus my blurred vision because I see someone coming over to me who looks an awful lot like my two best friends all mashed together in one tiny package…

  As she steps up to me, still in her dress from earlier, I curse under my breath and roll my eyes.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I grunt like the grouchy prick I am.

  “I wanted to make sure you weren’t still here drowning your sorrows,” Traci says in that syrupy voice of hers. “Clearly I was right to think that.”

  “I’m not drowning shit. Where’s Damien?” I try to sit up straight and almost fall off the barstool. Traci places her small hand on my back, like she’d ever be able to hold me up.

  “He went home,” she speaks softly, not letting my attitude deter her, and I’m not sure if I’m glad, or if it just pisses me off more.

  “Great. You should go home, too.” I bring my glass to my lips, but the little blonde girl has the nerve to snatch it out of my hand, like I’m the fucking child here. “Are you even allowed to be in a bar?”

  “Lazarus, stop,” she sighs and I catch her making a face at the bartender. “Let’s get you up to your room.”

  “I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you…” I hiccup, shaking my head.

  I’m not enjoying being this drunk any longer. I can’t remember why I thought this was a good idea.

  “Yea, I’d love to make sure you don’t drink yourself to death,” she hisses, and I smirk because she’s finally fighting back a little.

  Why do I like that?

  Suddenly a glass of water is being thrust in my face, and I flinch.

  “Here. Drink this,” she demands, to which I unwittingly obey her command. Baffling. Blame it on my drunkenness, I suppose.

  I drink the entire glass of water, and though I wouldn’t admit she was right, the hydration feels good.

  “What do you really want, Trix?” I glare at her in question. “If you were smart, you’d go home and leave me to find whoever’s gonna keep me company on my wedding night.”

  I wink at her, and she looks like she’s trying to cover up how much that comment drives her nuts. It’s amusing to me, and again, I don’t know why.

  “I just want to bring you up to your room, Lazarus. Before you make any more stupid decisions, like attempting to marry someone you have zero feelings for.”

  My mouth opens as I gape at her in shock. Did she just call me stupid? Not in so many words, but she’s insinuating that I don’t know how to make proper decisions for my own life, which is bullshit.

  Okay… So being with Evangeline was obviously a stupid idea, and the notion that I could have ended up married to her tonight, if she’d been as moronic as I am, has me sobering up more than I’m prepared to.

  Honestly, it feels like someone’s watching out for me. I’m not sure how much I believe in fate or whatever, after all the shit it’s done to me in the past. But you have to admit, I really got off easy today.

  Just imagining going upstairs to the honeymoon suite with Evangeline and having some of that uninteresting sex we used to have, as husband and wife, has me standing up.

  I need to get the fuck out of here.

  When I stagger a little, Traci wraps a slender arm around my waist, and I glance down at her while cocking my brow.

  “What? I said I’m helping you,” she grumbles. “Just shut the fuck up and let me.”

  “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue,” I sigh to cover up my amusement, allowing her to guide me out of the hotel bar, toward the elevators.

  I’m not anywhere near as drunk as I thought I was, so I end up pulling away from her as we pass the lobby. I don’t want anyone thinking we’re leaving together. She’s obviously much younger than me, and it probably looks bad.

  Stepping into the elevator, I press my floor then lean up against the rail as Traci enters and stands at the opposite side. Unintentionally, I find my eyes drifting to her.

  She looks so different than she used to. I know her growth didn’t happen overnight, but I guess I haven’t been paying much attention, because now she inarguably looks like an adult.

  She’s taller, even without the heels, and her cheeks are less rounded than they used to be when she was a kid. She has makeup on; not much, but enough to make her look like a woman. And that dress, displaying the curves of her hips… and her tits.

  I can’t believe she has tits like that now. When did that happen??

  I’m just drunk, and I need to stop looking at her. I should go to bed. Or I’ll wait for her to leave, then call someone from my phone to come over and play. I really need to get laid tonight, or at the very least have some soft lips wrapped around my dick.

  Realization dawns as my cock stiffens that my eyes are still stuck on Traci while it’s happening. Biting the inside of my cheek, I force my eyes away.

  This is wrong. Don’t do this.

  I’m not doing anything. Shut up.

  We exit the elevator at the penthouse floor and make our way in silence to my suite. Fishing the room key out of my pocket, I open the door, stomping inside before Traci, because I don’t want her to think I’m inviting her to stay. I still don’t know why she’s here, but she needs to not be.

  This ends now.

  The moment the door closes behind her, I spin and say, “Alright. I’m here and I’m fine. Time for you to go, Trix. Thanks for the help.”

  My tone is dripping with sarcasm, and she’s not amused. She crosses her arms over her chest, which pushes her tits togeth
er more, making it impossible for me not to look at them. I take a glance, then pry my eyes off, internally scolding myself.

  Why the fuck am I looking at Damien’s daughter’s tits??

  “Why are you being such an asshole?” She asks, less harsh than sincerely wondering, and it takes me a minute to remember why I am being such an asshole.

  “Because I had a shit day, and all I want is to pass the fuck out. Alone.” I jerk my chin toward the door. “So again, thanks for the help, but you can go home now, Tracien. Be smart here.”

  She bites her lip, staring up at my face, and from only a few feet away I can smell her. I wish I couldn’t, but I can, and she smells fantastic, like jasmine and lilies; clean and refreshing and so much more adult than you’d think a seventeen-year-old would smell.

  “What if I don’t want to be smart?” She whispers, stepping closer to me, slowly.

  I almost back up, but I can’t let her know she has the upper hand. I can’t let her see she’s making small stress-cracks in my resolve.

  “You have literally no idea what you’re saying.” My words come out hushed and ragged. They’re not supposed to, but she’s standing right in front of me and my eyes drop to her puffy lips. Maybe they’re always like that... Or maybe it’s from earlier.

  I have a confusing urge to touch my own. Instead, I try to swallow down my curious reticence.

  “But I do, Lazarus. I’m here because I want to help you. I can, you know.” She places her hand on my chest and this time I step back.

  If for no other reason than I can’t have her feeling how hard my heart is pounding right now.

  “No, you can’t,” I whisper, barely even believing myself.

  She can help me…

  I shake my head. No. No fucking way.

  She’s a fucking kid. I’m so much older than her, and she’s Damien’s daughter.

  He’d kill me. And Ophelia would rise from the grave to kill me more.

  But they wouldn’t have to know…

  “I can,” Traci pleads in a sultry tone that hits me right in the junk. “Let me try… Please.”

  I lean in until I’m towering over her with my height. “How would you be able to help me, Trix? Do tell.”