by Sweet, Izzy
Coming down on top of me as he lowers me to the bed, his hand pushes through the silky fabric of my robe, spreading it open. A knee nudges at my knees, urging me to accept him.
“After spending a night in hell,” he groans as his hand covers my breast, squeezing. “I need a taste of heaven.”
Head dipping down, Matthew nips at my breast. Teeth tugging at the silky red fabric of my nightgown.
Finding my nipple, he teases and tortures me, mouth pulling and pulling, until it tightens into a hard point that throbs and aches.
So hard, it’s trying to stab through the silk.
“Matthew, please,” I groan, ass squirming against the bed as he moves to my other breast.
I’m in no mood for a long night of his teasing. After the emotional roller coaster we’ve gone through today, I want him inside of me now.
I’m ready to help him rid himself of his demons.
“Be still, Lilith,” he growls and then his teeth nip me. “And let me have my way with you.”
The jolt of the nip has me trying to sit up, but his hand comes down on my stomach, pushing me back down.
I groan again, this time in frustration, and he chuckles. His warm breath washing over me as he takes his time torturing my other nipple.
I could push him. Could incite him to the point that he takes me roughly… but that’s not what we both need. Or want.
At least, not yet…
Only when both my breasts are heavy, my nipples tingling almost painfully, does he begin to slide down. His mouth hot against the silk of my nightgown until it looks like he’s purposely left a pattern of crimson marks all over my body.
Marking me with bloody kisses.
Hands rubbing down my sides, I shiver as he pushes my nightgown up my thighs to bunch around my hips.
His eyes burn into me and I swear I can feel the heat searing into my flesh.
Dragging his gaze down, his eyes bore between my thighs, and he clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if I’m a naughty child who’s disappointed him. “You should know better by now than to bother with undergarments in my presence.”
Yes, I should, but I love how worked up it makes him.
Grabbing my panties, he wastes no time shredding the flimsy fabric. Then he grabs my legs and pushes them open.
Cool air hits my sex followed by his warm breath. Before I can brace or prepare myself, his tongue is sliding through my lips and dragging across my clit.
He has me trained well, so well I haven’t even tried to touch him until now. The sudden sharp slice of pleasure that cuts through me though has me reaching down, pushing at his head.
Matthew growls, his grip tightening around my thighs. His tongue drags across my clit again and I push harder at his head.
“Why do you still fight me, Lily?” he asks, and begins to attack my clit in earnest.
Mouth pulling, tongue pressing… lapping… circling.
Why do I still fight him? Because the things he makes me feel, the pleasure he forces on me is so strong it’s downright unnatural.
Deep down, I know he shouldn’t have this power over me. He shouldn’t be able to ignite my body with just a look or touch…
Yet he does.
He continues to push me and push me, just like he does in every facet of my life. My fight, my hands shoving at him, only making him that much more determined to conquer me.
To win.
His tongue drags me up and up, until my hips are lifting off the bed. Until I’m pressing myself into his face, on the verge of giving in.
“You know you can’t win,” he growls, and then he sucks hard on my clit.
Fingers tightening in his hair, the sparks flashing behind my eyes are the only warning I get before the pressure inside me explodes. Sweeping me away in wet waves of bliss.
Vaguely, I’m aware of my little bundle of nerves vibrating as Matthew murmurs and groans sweet, dirty words between licks. Expressing his pleasure over my submission.
When he finally pulls away, I collapse against the bed, boneless and spent.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he smirks with self-satisfaction as he rises above me and begins to unbutton his shirt. “We’re not finished yet.”
Panting, I watch each button come undone through the veil of my lashes, drinking in every inch of his bare skin.
He truly is a model of perfection. While some men look softer, more vulnerable without their clothing, when Matthew undresses it’s like he’s shedding a disguise. A disguise meant to fool others into believing he’s a civilized man.
Belt undone, he shoves his pants to the floor and my body tenses with expectation. As he climbs over me, all hard muscles and definition, my chest tightens. Only I get to see this, who he truly is.
A primal force that’s more beast than man.
So much heat radiates off of him as he hovers above me, I find myself arching toward him. Overcome with the need to feel his flesh against my flesh.
Head dipping down, his mouth claims my mouth as his hands grab the bodice of my nightgown. One hard pull is all it takes to split the delicate fabric from breast to hem.
Coming down on top of me, he presses me into the bed.
Settling himself between my thighs, his erection brushes against my over-sensitive clit. My hips jerk and I break the kiss with a gasp.
He grins down at me, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.
Then he does it again.
Just as I open my mouth to reprimand him, he grabs his cock and guides it to my entrance.
The protest dying on my lips, I glance down to see where we meet. His flushed, velvety flesh pushing against my glistening lips.
Then all my breath leaves me in a rush as he suddenly drives forward. Impaling me on his thick shaft.
“Fuck, Lily,” he groans, grinding himself as deep as he can. “You’re so fucking tight and perfect.”
Before I can lock myself around him, he pulls back and drives into me again.
Grabbing me by the thigh, he lifts my leg.
Spreading me wide open for him.
“When I die,” he grunts, pumping himself hard in and out of me. “I want to die inside your perfect little pussy… just like this.”
God, that’s a horrible fucking thought.
Still, I’m sick enough to be turned on by it.
As if he can sense his own death hanging over his head, his hips begin to pound me mercilessly into the bed. Fingers tightening around my thigh, he spreads me until I feel I might split open. I’m so vulnerable, so spread out, so exposed, I can do nothing but take it, accept it.
Fucking relish it.
Every crack of his skin against my skin, every slap against my clit, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of madness.
Until I’m toppling over it, screaming my love for him.
But he’s not done yet. He continues to fuck me hard through my orgasm. Pushing me through another and another. Pushing himself harder, as if he’s trying to purge himself of something.
Showing no mercy, no remorse.
“When I die,” he declares. “I’m taking you with me. You’re mine, Lily. Mine. Forever. I own your mind, your body, and your soul.”
Grabbing me roughly by the hair, he tugs until I’m looking up at him. Drowning in his wild eyes through my throes.
When he finally begins to swell inside me, reaching his own release, it’s like a dam inside of him has broken. So much warmth, so much love pours out of him, I’m nearly delirious from the force of it.
My vision flickers on and off, catching only glimpses of his dark satisfaction before he finally slows and stills.
Soft touches bring me gently back to reality. Pulling me out of the fuzzy haze my mind has retreated to.
I blink up at Matthew as he brushes my hair out of my eyes. As always, his complete one-eighty in personality throws me for a loop.
Leaning down, he places the sweetest kiss against my lips, and I fall into it, savoring every second
of it. Relishing this tender side of him. Then he drags his hand down my body, placing his palm against my stomach.
I start to smile up at him until he says, “We should name her Sarah.”
I blink in confusion. Huh? “What? Say that again…”
His fingers curl protectively around me and that smirk of his tugs at the corners of his lips, threatening to break through.
“Our daughter. We should name her Sarah.”
He can’t be serious. First of all, I’m not pregnant, and even if I was, there’s no way he could already know it’s a girl.
“You’re crazy,” I groan and shake my head.
I’m way too hungover from those orgasms to handle this right now.
He doesn’t even try to deny it.
That smirk of his finally breaks free as he says, “Perhaps... But you know I haven’t been wrong yet, Lilith..."
Taking Meghan
Alexei Rastov is the most vile, evil, despicable man in the world...
And my father tried to force me to marry him.
Dragged down the aisle, I prayed to God, to anyone, to save me from a lifetime of cruelty and abuse.
Then he came... a force of nature...
Disrupting the ceremony with a storm of gunfire and death.
Massive, powerful, and handsome, the enemy of my enemy has promised me his protection if I agree to give myself to him.
But sometimes the devil you know is safer than the dark angel who wants you in his bed...
Prologue
Meghan
One month ago
Bethlehem
“I take it you called me here because everything went off as planned?” a smooth Russian voice drifts into the hallway outside my father’s office.
My father is so confident, so fucking brazen, he didn’t even bother to close the door. No, it sits wide open, allowing anyone and everyone walking by to overhear. He either has supreme faith in our household’s devotion and loyalty, or he’s grown stupider and stupider over the years.
I’m inclined to believe the latter.
“Yes. The target, Lucky Tails, is…” My father pauses. There’s a metallic clink followed by the unmistakable sound of a lighter being sparked. “No more.”
“Good… good.” The Russian chuckles and then the old, stiff leather of my father’s chair creaks. Someone inhales and exhales. “Any notable causalities?”
A wispy white cloud of smoke floats out of the room.
The lighter clinks shut and my father seems to hesitate before reluctantly admitting, “Only our inside contact.”
“I trust you’re taking care of that?”
Again, my father hesitates, and it gives me great joy to know it pains him to admit his failures.
“My men are on it. Her house is being dealt with as we speak.”
Her?
“Very good,” the Russian says, sounding pleased, and then there’s a long moment of silence.
I shift uncomfortably on my feet and glance down the hallway, my ears straining. If any of my father’s staff catches me eavesdropping on him, I’ll be beaten and locked inside my room for the next twenty years.
But I need to know why my father called me home from school. I need to know why he’s locked me up in this house. Why he won’t let me leave or contact anyone. Why all my IDs, credit cards, cash, computers, and phones have been confiscated…
And I have this awful, dreadful feeling that the answer is enjoying a cigar with him in that room.
“Alexei?” my father finally says, breaking the tense silence.
“Yes?” the Russian drawls out.
“I’ve fulfilled my side of the bargain…”
“You have,” Alexei answers simply, and it’s obvious even to me that he’s playing my father like a fiddle.
How my father retains his control over the Callahan family is a mystery even to me. I suppose most of it is due to a great deal of luck and opportunity. Most of the other Irish families in this part of the country have been wiped out by the Italians, causalities in a senseless turf war.
There simply aren’t enough powerful men left to overthrow him.
“I believe it’s time to take the next step and solidify our alliance.”
An alliance between the Irish and Russians… Just the thought makes me sick to my stomach.
What is this world coming to?
Hasn’t there been enough death? Enough bloodshed?
“Indeed,” Alexei says, sounding strangely pleased. “Is she here?”
She, as in me? Fuck. I’m currently the only ‘she’ in residence. My beloved mother passed away in a car bombing a year ago. My father blamed it on the Italians, but I know deep in my heart it was the Irish, this family, that killed her. The Italians may have set the bomb, but she would have never been in any danger if it wasn’t for this damn family.
“Yes. I called her home two weeks ago.”
Double fuck. I wish for once in my life that my gut was wrong. Why they need me to solidify their alliance though still doesn’t make any sense.
Unless… but no… that’s too old school and beyond archaic.
My father is a bastard of the highest degree, but I still refuse to believe he’d force me to marry a man I don’t want to marry. There’s still a touch of decency inside him. Still a touch of compassion for the only blood he has left…
“I trust she’s been prepared and knows what will be expected of her? I’d hate to have to break her in…”
Even as the blood drains from my face, I can picture my father’s face flushing bright red as he sputters with indignation. “My Meghan is a fine, upstanding young lass, and would make any man proud.”
God, what the fuck? Have I time-travelled back to the eighteenth century? This can’t be real.
Alexei chuckles as if he finds my father’s statement amusing, and then says, “You mean my Meghan.”
The way he says it, at first it comes off almost casual, but there’s a firmness there. Beneath the leftover amusement of his chuckle lurks something dangerous. Something that causes all the little hairs on my body to stand on end and my skin to prickle with apprehension.
To be married to that man… to be owned by him…
It’s simply unthinkable. I’m not a fucking object to be bargained off. I’m a person, goddammit.
Even my father is thrown off guard by Alexei’s declaration. “Y—yes,” he stammers and clears his throat. “Of course. Your Meghan.”
Someone inhales, then another cloud of smoke drifts into the hallway, giving this whole scene playing out in front of me a hazy, almost dream-like quality.
Maybe I’m dreaming and this is all a nightmare.
“That’s relieving to hear,” Alexei says after a moment. “Because my sources tell me you allowed her to move across the country to attend university in California. Unchaperoned. Left to her own devices. Her young mind vulnerable to the corruption of the liberal agenda.”
There’s this sad, almost desperate quality to my father’s voice as he rushes to explain. “It isn’t safe here. With the Italian bastards growing bolder and bolder with Lucifer’s backing, I let her go. I couldn’t risk losing her…”
“Still, who knows what kind of thoughts have already tainted her pretty little head? I require complete and utter obedience. Anything less is simply… unacceptable.”
“You will have it,” my father declares with entirely too much confidence.
He’s either lying through his teeth or he truly believes it. And if he truly believes it, I don’t know what parallel universe he’s living in. I wasn’t raised to be a dutiful, submissive wife. I was raised like any other normal American child. Brought up to believe I can be anyone or anything I put my mind to if I work hard enough. My mother saw to that, God rest her soul.
“If she gives me any trouble, any trouble at all… You understand, I’ll have to take certain unpleasant measures to ensure her complete and utter obedience and cooperation?”
“She will not give
you any trouble. She wants vengeance for her mother as much as I do.”
So that’s what this is about? That’s why my father is willing to trade me off like I’m chattel? Vengeance?
I hear my father huff in a deep, ragged breath before he adds defeatedly, “And she knows it’s only a matter of time before those damned Italians get me and her too…”
The blood chills in my veins. I’ve known my father long enough to know he truly believes what he just said.
Yet he’s never let on that I was in any danger. He let me believe he was indulging me when he approved my move to California.
“Ah… well…” Alexei says like he’s bored and could care less. “Once I walk out of this room, that will no longer be a worry, yes? She, and by extension, you, will be under my protection.”
“Yes… yes, yes,” my father mumbles distractedly in agreement.
“Good. Now, where is this bride-to-be of mine? I’d like to meet her in the flesh before I depart.”
And that’s my cue to leave. I need to find some way to get out of this house. Some way to escape before my father can force me to do this. Force me to sell myself to save us both.
I start to slowly, quietly back away from the door before my father calls out for me, freezing me in place. “Meghan?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He’s not the stupid one, I am. He left that door open because he wanted me to hear. He wants me to know.
“Meghan?” he calls out again while I hesitate, unsure what the fuck I should do. “Please come here.”
Run… I should run. But where to?
Every door is guarded. Every car locked. I have no money, no ID, no one I’m willing to risk putting in danger to call.
I’m trapped like a fucking rat. Maybe earlier I could have gotten away… but not now.
“Meghan,” my father says, growing impatient.
There’s no doubt in my mind that he knows I’m standing right here. I’m so fucking predictable, he anticipated it.