Sacrifice of the Pawn: Spin-Off of the Surrender Trilogy (Surrender Games Book 1)

by Lydia Michaels

  “Let me…”

  But rather than open his shirt, he tucked her hands at her side and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, removing the clip from her bun. His fingers sifted through the weight of her loose hair, spreading the long locks over her shoulders as he studied her face.

  “You’re so pretty, Isadora.”

  His words were disarming and strangely uncomfortable to hear. “I’m not—”

  His sharp gaze silenced her. “Yes.” Deft fingers slid her blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. “You are.”

  She followed his gaze to the clasp at the front of her lace bra, her heart trembling behind her ribs. He was still dressed and her breasts wore only a light layer of fabric.

  “May I?”

  Unsteady on her legs and throat too dry to talk, she nodded.

  The lace tightened, plumping her breasts, then gave way. The garment slid down her arms, joining her shirt on the floor. Cool air closed around her, puckering her skin as he stepped back.

  Shadows swallowed the stormy pupils of his irises as he stared at her—truly stared—like no man ever had. Something dark was born in that moment and she accepted that nothing, not jewels, not exotic furs nor luxurious gowns, nothing had ever felt as good as his stare on her skin.

  With nimble dexterity, he removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, never taking his gaze off of her. Despite being a man in his early forties, his body was unquestionably appealing.

  She drew in a shaky breath as the first patch of tanned flesh revealed a light dusting of dark hair over chiseled masculinity. The focus of his attention caused a tremble inside of her that rattled from her limbs all the way to her lips.

  Swallowing hard, she took a step forward, her palm hovering just over his heart and slowly touching down. Heat. Virility. So much power rested inside of him.

  His heart beat beneath her palm and she glanced up at his face. She couldn’t recall ever touching another person so intimately. “I can feel your heart racing.”

  He tipped her chin, brushing a gentle kiss over her lips and pulling her closer. The warmth of his hand closed over her breast, cupping, pulling, fingers gently pinching as her knees softened and she moaned against his lips.

  “Your mouth is pure temptation,” he whispered, the zipper at her hip loosening as her skirt slipped to the floor.

  Kisses traveled to the corner of her lips, to her jaw, down the side of her throat as chills chased over every curve. Shivers skipped down her spine as he lifted her breasts, his lips closing over the tips and pulling tightly as she struggled to draw in enough air.

  Her body came alive, thrumming with a desire for more. His arm banded around her, arching her backward as he lowered her to the carpet.

  “Is this okay?”

  The carpet was lush and cool against her back, but none of that mattered. As she looked up at him she realized how much trust lay between them. He wouldn’t hurt her. On some level he cared about her, always acting so gentle and considerate of her feelings.

  “This is perfect,” she whispered.

  It was like a dream, one she had no desire to wake from. Hair tousled, his head dipped to her throat, kissing and teasing, while his warm hands slowly caressed her curves. She had no idea how badly she needed this until it was actually happening, no idea how hungry her skin had been for any sort of affection.

  A fire singed beneath her skin, sweeping through her with an intensity so strong she found herself clutching and pulling him closer. He subdued her excitement with gentle touches, tamed the burn into something slow and decadent.

  The delicate silk at her hips pulled away as his fingers stroked between her thighs. Soft, wet heat waited within her folds. The first caress of his fingers over her sex had her gasping, nervous and excited for what might come.

  “So soft…” He parted her tender folds and gently probed her slick flesh. Deeper and deeper he pressed until she wasn’t sure if she should cry in pleasure or beg for more.

  His mouth left her breasts and traveled lower. He slowly kissed down her belly. Her hands fumbled over their discarded clothing until her fingers sifted through his silken hair. She arched sharply as his tongue licked a straight line to the sensitive peak of her sex.

  “ Ah …” The pleasure was so acute she feared she might break from the inside out.

  Her hands tightened, as did his lips. Fingers probing deeply, he licked and kissed as her body throbbed with awareness.

  Her blood pumped, thick and hot through her veins, as if traveling toward something magnificent. Tighter, sharper, the pleasure built until control slipped away and she cried out in a rush of frenzied ecstasy.

  Her body quaked under a cool dew of perspiration and desire. The whisper of his clothing hardly registered as her thoughts floated outside themselves, drifting softly back into her bones like a feather falling to a pond, sending slight ripples of sensation to all her edges in a gentle tickle.

  Strong hands adjusted her limbs as Sawyer rose above her. The press of coarse hair along her thighs caused her eyes to open.

  “You’re ready, bella,” he whispered, tenderness banked in his stark blue eyes.

  Drawing in a steadying breath, she nodded, her body opening to him. His shoulders lifted as his strong arms supported his weight. In a moment of panic, her mind seized, her sex tightening before he could enter.

  “What is it? Do you want to stop?”

  Her heart raced. “No.” She shook her head. “I’m just … nervous.”

  “We can stop—”

  “No, I want this.” This was her moment, her opportunity to do something indulgent for herself and she couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone other than him. “I want this with you.”

  “Okay, bella.” He leaned down, his lips chasing up her neck, his fingers softly combing through her hair. “Relax a little.”

  Her body calmed, her palms resting on his broad shoulders, and her knees opening to make room for his hips. Gradually entering her with slow advances, her spine stretched to accommodate his girth.

  He peppered her throat with kisses as his breathing quickened. “That’s it, bella.”

  She blinked up at him, assured by his steady gaze borne of tenderness. Those eyes were the most adoring pair to ever set on her. They promised secrets would be kept and—perhaps only in her fanciful heart—that she might never be alone again.

  He thrust deep and pulled her body against his, his mouth finding hers as he held her with loving hands. The initial sharpness of pain was curbed by the tender way he took her mouth. Perfect. And seconds later she was lost in a whirlwind of pleasure.

  “You feel incredible, bella.”

  She loved that he already had a special name for her, one only she would know. “So do you.”

  It was the most intimate moment of her life. He was claiming parts of her—personal, secret parts—and nothing had ever felt as good as his possession.

  His rhythm built, but he paced himself. Steady, deep motions rocked her. Their bodies clung to each other, flesh slick, her pulse fluttering until there came another moment of rapture. Her muscles tightened around him and he groaned, pressing his chest to hers, losing himself right in her arms.

  She’d never seen a man so unveiled or imagined anything remotely close. Such fleeting vulnerability mixed with a flash of innocence as he finished, some unnamable glimpse of fragility that matched her own. Elusive, but there, letting her know he needed this as much as she did.

  Panting, he lowered his head to her shoulder. Her hand ghosted over the back of his silky hair, cradling him.

  “I’ve got you,” she whispered, unsure where the words came from, but feeling like his equal, now more than ever.

  He shivered and pressed a kiss to her neck, as he lingered inside of her. “My God, Isadora. It should be illegal for anything to feel so good.”

  She laughed, glad to know she’d done okay for her first time.

  Slowly, he eased off of her. Her body protested his withdrawa
l as an unfamiliar soreness awakened inside of her.

  Sawyer stilled and silently cursed. “It seems I need to take my own advice. Please tell me you’re on birth control.”

  Of course she wasn’t. She’d lectured Lucian plenty of times about being responsible, which made it all the more mortifying that she’d been so careless. Not wanting to lie, she simply said, “Don’t worry.”

  He sighed with notable relief then looked around the room. Rising, he walked— stark naked— to the bar and poured water over a linen napkin. The moment he turned and caught her staring, her blush spread across her entire body.

  Grinning with male arrogance, he shamelessly sauntered back to her, completely undaunted by his nudity or hers. She frowned as he nudged her knees apart.

  “Let me,” he said softly, pressing the cloth between her thighs. His brow pinched. “There’s a little—” His frown deepened and she pressed her thighs together, but he held her knee still. His expression blanked as he met her gaze. “Jesus. Was this your first time?”

  Her cheeks burned. Enough. Brushing his hand away, she closed her legs, but held his stare, unsure if he was more shocked by her age or her virtue. Either way she refused to justify something as silly as virginity. It was what it was.

  “Does that bother you?”

  He looked away, brow still tight. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  She laughed. “What would I have said?”

  “That you were a virgin .”

  There was no censure in his tone, but she sensed his immediate regret. No way would she let him take something so lovely and paint it in some shameful light.

  “And then what, Sawyer? Would you have taken the authoritative position and decided for me? It makes no difference.”

  “It makes a big difference, Isadora.”

  “Why?” She was an adult for God’s sake. At this point, her virginity was more of an embarrassment than anything else. She was glad to have it gone.

  “Your first time should be special.” He appeared frustrated, but his voice remained low, his tone not exactly gentle.

  She sat up, refusing to let him ruin this for her. “It was special.” Pulling her shirt to her chest, she confessed the truth. “I have no regrets.”

  He shook his head. “Would you tell me if you did?”

  “Have I given you a reason to doubt my honesty?”

  Lines of tension bracketed his mouth. “No.”

  They awkwardly sat in the shadows as her body cooled and shivered. “What now?”

  “You’re cold. Let’s get dressed then we’ll decide what happens next.”

  Though he helped her up, his eyes remained cast toward the floor, somehow filling her with uncertainty and additional disdain for her sheltered life. No matter how much she didn’t want the loss of her virginity to ruin this moment, it seemed like it was going to anyway.

  Chapter Four

  “As sure as time will fly today,

  Beautiful flowers will fade away.”

  ~Emily Patras

  The events of the last hour settled over her like a cool wind creeping in after a hot summer rain. Her fingers shook as she managed to lift the zipper of her skirt. Buttoning her blouse was not as simple.

  “Allow me,” Sawyer’s gravelly voice spoke softly behind her as the heat of his tall body seeped through the thin material covering her shoulders.

  With choppy breaths, she lowered her hands and turned to face him. Sliding each little button through its hole, his gaze remained focused on the task. His fingers gathered her long hair and lifted it over one shoulder, as he pressed a kiss to her neck—apparently over his regret.

  “Your pulse is racing.”

  Maybe she should have another drink. Her gaze skated to the bottle of scotch on the floor, thousands of dollars seeping into the priceless Oriental carpet. No, she’d definitely had enough to drink.

  Taking her hand, he guided her to the small settee, righting the coffee table on his way. As they sat, she smothered the urge to fidget, and folded her palms neatly on her lap, waiting for him to make whatever silly apology he felt she was due.

  “You’re quiet,” he announced.

  “I’m not sure what people say in situations like this.”

  “This was your first time.”

  It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer.

  With a delicate touch, he raised her chin until their gazes met. “Isadora?”

  Why was he so hung up on this? It wasn’t like she was a teenager. Most girls lost their virginity around sixteen. “I told you it was.”

  “But you’re twenty-three.”

  “And while my friends were dating I was mourning my mother and waiting for my dad to step in so I could be a kid again. You know how that ended.”

  Those sharp aristocratic eyes stared into her and he sighed. “There are twenty years between us—practically another lifetime, by your age.”

  She supposed forty-three wasn’t too much older. His features were young and their polite friendship was several years old. Time had marked his face, leaving soft lines around his temples and mouth, but there was nothing haggard or tired in his visage. He was a good-looking man—distinguished by age, not diminished.

  Sawyer was old er, not old.

  Above all, she trusted him. “Your age doesn’t bother me.”

  “Your father’s been a friend of mine since I was a young man, Isadora. He trusts me to look out for you while he’s … away.”

  “I know.”

  Although her father treated him as his protégé, entrusting him with personal matters he wouldn’t typically trust to anyone but himself, they weren’t necessarily close friends anymore. But Sawyer relied on her father and that might be what his concerns were about.

  Without her dad, the Bishops never would have become what they were today. Sawyer was now an active partner at Leningrad, one of her father’s many companies. But Leningrad was Sawyer’s only company. Was he worried about his job security?

  There was more than just a business association between the Patras and Bishop names. Their families shared a trust generations old. Lucian and Slade were best friends. The Bishops were always popping up at social events. There was no reason to assume relationships like that could be jeopardized by what they’d done here tonight.

  He was being paranoid. She didn’t see why they were even discussing her dad. They knew each other well enough to leave her father out of this conversation.

  “Why even bring my father up?” she asked. “This doesn’t concern him.”

  “He would kill me if he knew what happened here.” There wasn’t fear in his voice, only absolute certainty.

  Isadora found it difficult to imagine her father conjuring any level of passion on her behalf. Part of her wished he’d find out, just to see if he would react. But a bigger part, a lonely part, didn’t want him or anyone to know, sure that if people found out they’d somehow spoil everything.

  If their association remained a secret it had a greater chance of continuing—unpolluted by outsider’s unwanted opinions. That was what she wanted. This was her chance to do something solely for herself, something no one else could touch. “So we won’t tell him.”

  His smile was sad. “If something has to be kept a secret it’s something you shouldn’t have.”

  His gaze turned to her hands and he closed his fingers over hers. Though his touch was meant to comfort, there was an implication in the gesture she didn’t like, a level of apology she wasn’t ready to accept.

  “We can’t do this again, Isadora. It’s not right.”

  Tightness formed in her chest as her mouth hardened. “Why?”

  “Because people will eventually find out and I don’t ever want to cause you regret. Plus , you’re young, bella. You have your whole life ahead of you. Tying yourself to an older man isn’t right. It would be wrong for me to distract you from all the things you should be doing.”

  Things she didn’t do. Things she had no time or experience d
oing. “I don’t mind.”

  “You should. You’re a beautiful young woman. I’d be taking advantage of you. I can’t let that happen.”

  “You’re not. You didn’t.” Who was to say that they couldn’t make this work? Maybe he was exactly who she’d been waiting for. “You haven’t even given this a chance.”

  His gaze remained apologetic. “I lost my wife when Slade was only five. She was the love of my life and I don’t want to love someone like that ever again. I had my time and you’ll have yours—when you meet the right man. But I’ll never be that man for you, Isadora, and you don’t want me to take his place in your life.”

  Discarding all his talk about destiny and some soulmate she might someday crash into out of nowhere, she only listened to his proclamations about his deceased wife. Even if she had covered her ears, the love he still held for Chelsea was evident. It was written in his eyes and in the turned down corners of his mouth.

  Her chest tightened as something akin to jealousy coiled in her belly. Perhaps it was envy. What must it feel like to have such loyal love from a man like Sawyer Bishop?

  She recalled a time shortly after Chelsea passed away. Slade had slept over at their house the night of the funeral, though he didn’t say much. The following day, when Sawyer came to pick him up, Isadora watched from the steps. She’d been about Toni’s age and unable to comprehend what could make a man look so devastated.

  Love.

  She’d never been in love and she didn’t believe anyone had ever loved her. Her mother had loved her, of course, but that was different. Toni loved her—in a different way. Lucian… There was so much she didn’t understand about her brother, or men for that matter. Despite always having a firm grasp on reality, love was a foreign concept. Yet she wanted it as much as any other woman.

  She didn’t need to take anyone’s place. If her situation changed she’d adapt, but right now she wanted him— regardless of his warnings. Who could say if stronger emotions would develop? She was only thinking about the present. He was the one who brought up all this love talk.