by Woods, Erica
I shook with the effort to stand still, to not push my hips forward, to not arch and beg and plead for the release I knew he could give me. The word ‘please’ trembled on my lips, but I held it back. Kept it inside and ground my teeth, until Lucien added another finger inside me and started gently stroking my bud with his thumb.
“Please!” The cry erupted from me as the leg grounding me to the floor collapsed. Before I could fall, Lucien had me wrapped in his arms.
“On your stomach,” he crooned after placing me on the bed.
I obeyed without thought. As clothes rustled, I turned my head to the side in time to see him shrug out of his shirt.
Something in my chest fluttered.
He was so beautiful. Muscular, yet sleek. Powerful, yet lean. His skin seemed to glow, pale and luminous like moonlight made flesh, and every inch of his body was carved to perfection.
And that gleaming, sensual smile . . .
He was the picture of sin; of chilling, ruthless desire and carnal, treacherous rapture.
Dangerous.
I clenched on nothing, a rush of heat tumbling into my bloodstream and surging to my head. I watched Lucien undress like a shameless voyeur, the sheet feeling like sandpaper beneath my sensitive skin, my heart stuttering and racing and stuttering as his hands moved to his pants.
My neck grew stiff, but I remained on my stomach, head to the side, watching as he unbuttoned his slacks.
He caught my gaze, but while I flushed guiltily, suddenly shy, Lucien smiled his cruel half-smile, indulgence edged by menace.
“Do you like what you see, my sweet?”
Despite the arrogant tone, there was a hint of resentment in his expression. I thought back to all the things he’d said, the rare moments when he’d revealed tidbits of his pasts, the way he often avoided touch, the disgust in his eyes when women stared too long or too hard. And keeping those things in mind, I told him the truth, “I do. You are beautiful, Lucien.” He gave me a small nod of acknowledgment, but his jaw clenched. “But what you look like is just a shell. I wouldn’t have cared if you were fat with a million warts and missing all your teeth. I would still have wanted you.”
“A million warts?” One brow rose. “You would have kissed me if I had one million warts?”
“I would’ve kissed each and every one of them.”
At my solemn tone, Lucien stilled. He tilted his head, gaze burning. “Then I believe you owe me a million kisses.”
“I’m ready to pay up.”
“I shall collect in good time. Now watch and see what you do to me.” The arrogance was back, and with good reason. As Lucien slowly pulled down his black slacks, it wasn’t his slim hips or well-formed, athletic legs that held my attention. No, what made my core clench and my stomach dip was the long—slightly curved—and thick length that bobbed free.
He palmed it and gave it a long, leisurely stroke while his narrowed eyes traced every inch of me with such scrutiny, such heat, that another round of shivers wracked my frame.
“Only you do this to me, my Hope. Only you make me lose control and harden at the most inopportune times.”
“Oh?” I breathed and licked my lips. “Like when?”
“I recall an instance where Jason asked you to try on a rather pretty blue dress. I could not decide if I’d rather strangle the foolhardy pup or spend the next few days with you tied down in my bed.”
A warm glow spread through my chest. He wanted me, even then? “You . . . You remember the color?”
He arched a brow. “If the color is what you wish to focus on, I take it you do not object to the tying down part?”
Heat filled my cheeks. “I . . . I don’t know.” My hand inched closer to where he stood, wanting to touch, to explore Lucien’s beautiful body, but before I could make contact, he moved and smacked my ass, once, twice, three times.
The smarting pain faded as quickly as my uneven gasps, replaced by a warm, throbbing heat that somehow traveled directly to the aching place between my legs.
“Did I say you were allowed to move?” Lucien asked.
“N-no.” I wanted to rub the abused flesh, not because it hurt, but because I wanted to see how it felt, if it was as hot to the touch as I was beginning to feel.
“Place your hands above your head and grasp the edge.” The chilled command was softened when he bent over my and placed a kiss on each of my shoulder blades. “Good,” he purred when I did as he asked. “Now spread your legs for me. Wider, yes . . .”
One hand held the back of my neck—not hard, just a reassuring touch that somehow grounded me—while the other began stroking down my back. He caressed my shoulders, my sides, the dip just above my butt, and then down my cheeks. His touch was slow, each pass over my skin leaving heated tingles in its wake until he got to my feet and started back up again.
If my belly hadn’t been filled with pooling heat and I didn’t have to use all my willpower to stop myself from wiggling on the bed, I would have luxuriated in the sheer pleasure of just being touched, in his reverence as he took his time getting to know my body and whipping my passion into a frenzy.
He stopped by my inner thighs and leaned in until I could feel his hot breath at the place I wanted his touch the most.
“So wet,” he purred, trailing a finger down my outer lips and making me arch my back—I simply couldn’t stop myself.
Smack!
I gasped at the burning sensation between my legs, a moan breaking from my throat.
“Do not move.” Lucien went back to exploring my folds. “Such a pretty pussy,” he said, wrangling another blush from me.
Even though I was not new to dirty talk—courtesy of Jason and Ruarc—Lucien spoke with such detached frankness that the heat burning behind his words couldn’t quite diffuse my embarrassment.
“Please, Lucien,” I whispered.
“Please what?” He pushed a finger inside me and just held it there. Another joined it, then three and I felt full. So full. “What do you want, my sweet?” His thumb brushed over my clit, a soft touch that made me clench on his fingers but not enough to send me over the edge.
“Please, just . . . touch me!”
“Touch you how?” he asked, then made a slow circle with his thumb. “Touch you here? Or here?” He curled his fingers and worked the sensitive, hungry spot inside me.
“Both!”
Lucien made a sound of disagreement and pulled his hand away.
I could have wept.
“I think perhaps you need something else entirely.”
I shook my head as best I could and cried, “No, please, please! I need you to touch me!”
“I don’t believe I asked your opinion.” His voice was cold, darkly so, but his hand on my neck squeezed and I understood. I understood he would stop if I asked him to, if I was truly uncomfortable, but for some reason this little game, experiencing this side of Lucien, the ice and the fire at once made me burn up from the inside.
“As a matter of fact, this is about what I want, and I cannot wait a minute longer before discovering if you taste as appetizing as you smell.” He let go of my neck and grasped my thighs. Spreading them to the point just before pain, he leaned in and plunged his tongue inside me.
I spasmed around him, all the foreplay, all the dangerous sensations flittering across my skin and pooling in my belly exploding in an intense orgasm that had me screaming into my pillow.
Lucien pulled back and let me ride it out with nothing to fill the empty ache inside. “What a bad, little human you are,” he said and gave my butt a sharp pat.
Words I had never used, curses I’d picked up from my guys, hovered at the tip of my tongue, but I held them back. Panting through the deep throb and waiting to see what he would do next.
He did not disappoint.
“Now that you have broken the rules, you will have to be punished.”
The smooth tone masked the bite of cruel intentions. But the hint of trepidation I experienced only heightened my pleas
ure, my anticipation. “H-how?”
“Why, my sweet, by wringing so many orgasms from your delectable, little body that you’ll plead for mercy.”
And he was as good as his words.
That tongue, that talented, merciless tongue forced me over the edge and into a quivering, trembling, seizing mess three times before I begged Lucien to stop.
“I am not feeling merciful quite yet,” he said, and dragged two more mind-shattering orgasms from my exhausted, tingling body before flipping me to my back and leaning over me.
“Are you ready for me, my Hope?”
Unable to speak, too tired to do anything more than jerk my head in a small nod, I nonetheless gasped when his thick length slid into me and Lucien threw his head back and hissed.
Veins stood out in his neck, his eyes were tightly shut. The expression on his regal face looked more like pain than pleasure, but when he opened his eyes and looked down at me, the only emotion besides the burning want in his gaze was something so unguarded, so dangerous and addictive and ruthless that I couldn’t help but reach up and lovingly trail the unrelenting sharpness of his cheekbones.
“It’s okay,” I said, and it seemed all the permission he needed for he growled low in his throat and began moving.
My back bowed, my fingers clenched around the satin sheets.
Lucien pleasured my body with the same tenacity that he used when kissing. Watching my face with intimidating intensity, he noted every gasp, every twitch of my eyelid or curve of my mouth. My responses tailored his actions, until every thrust, every movement felt like the most delicious torture.
“The feel of you,” he rasped. “Magnificent.”
“Lucien . . .” I gasped, a quiver in my belly, every inch of me flushed hot and restless.
He kept me close, holding his weight on one elbow while his free hand roamed up my ribcage and palmed my breast. At some point, he’d used a claw to snap my bra in two, and the black material lay forgotten by my sides.
“Your pleasure belongs to me.” He pinched my nipple, savage satisfaction rippling over his face when I moaned. “Your sounds, your scent, every twist and squirm—all mine.”
Another pinch, this one harder, longer, making me arch and gasp and cry out when he released his grip and replaced his fingers with his mouth.
My head thrashed and I spasmed around the thick length inside me, breath fast and shallow, heart thundering so hard it threatened to drown out everything else.
Lucien grabbed my thigh, lifted, and pushed in so deep I cried out.
“Yes,” he hissed. “Just. Like. That.”
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” I chanted, teetering on the verge of another release—one that felt so big, so heated and powerful that I was afraid. Afraid I’d drown in the pleasure and never find my way back to the surface.
“You can,” he snarled, smile gone, a chilling determination in its place. “And you will.”
A flash of teeth, a sharp pain in my neck that burned a path down to my center and set me aflame.
“Now.” Lucien stole my breath and devoured my mouth in a kiss so sinful, so erotic, my lungs stopped worked, my spine bowed, my toes curled and my belly danced with electric tension that felt like air. He ground his hips at an angle that jolted my clit and shot shards of pleasure-infused lightning streaming through me with every thrust. And then he grabbed me by the neck, swiveled his hips, and growled.
I convulsed and broke apart into a thousand tiny pieces. A scream ripped from my throat, raw and primal, and somehow breathy. My fingers found his shoulders, digging deep, clutching, terrified of drifting away, but Lucien only snarled and pounded into me, holding me tight, so tight we were one, until the last tremors left my body and he collapsed on top of me.
* * *
A small eternity later, once we’d both regained our breaths and lay tangled in a heap of limbs, Lucien tightened his arms around me and moved onto his back, pulling me tight to his side, my head pillowed on his chest.
“There are no words, my Hope,” he murmured. “You were exquisite.”
Cheeks heating, I pressed closer, trying to hide my face. “Y-you did all the work.”
A touch on my chin and my head was forced up. “Do not tell me my little banshee has become shy?”
“I’ve always been shy.” I bit my lip. “Banshee?”
His fingers worked their way into my hair, massaging my scalp until my eyes closed and my question was all but forgotten. “You are a little banshee. Why, your screams could rival their fiercest warrioress.”
My eyes flew open, and when I saw the way his eyes gleamed and realized the meaning behind his words, I wished I could disappear beneath the covers and not come out for a few days.
Or years.
“Do not look away,” Lucien chided. “I enjoy the sounds you make far too much to ever share them with another living soul.”
If my face heated any further I feared it would explode. “Can we talk about something else please?”
“Certainly.” He studied me for a moment. Then his eyes clouded, his lips firming. “Now that I no longer have an overwhelming desire to murder Matthew”—the way he spat his name made me think he very much still wanted to murder him—“I would like to know why you felt the need to meet with him at all.”
As soon as the words left his mouth I froze. A storm gathered in my stomach and did its best to force my last meal back up. But despite the unease, the dread, I knew it was time. With only Lucien here, I wouldn’t reveal everything, but I’d give him enough to ease his mind and promise the rest of the story when the others came back.
“We were . . . captives together.”
The muscles I rested my head on suddenly rippled, and when I glanced up Lucien’s expression was as frozen and deadly as black ice.
“Go on.” The chill in his voice did not touch any other part of him, and the hand he’d wrapped around mine gave a gentle squeeze.
“Well . . . A while back I decided to tell you guys everything, but Ruarc and Jason stopped me. They . . . they wanted me to wait until I was ready.” The memory of their selfless act tightened my throat. “And they didn’t want to be distracted during the Assembly, so I decided to wait. I gave myself”—my tongue scraped against the desert of my mouth, turning the next syllables weak and trembling—“three days.”
Lucien stilled but didn’t interrupt, so I continued.
“But then I saw Matthew and everything went wrong. I felt . . . terrible.” I had to swallow several times before I could continue, the memory of how my guys had looked at me—like I’d betrayed them and stomped all over their trust—still had the power to wound. “I knew I had to explain, but I couldn’t. Not until I’d spoken to him. As I said before, I felt like I owed him.”
“I have not forgotten,” he hissed. “And I trust you have not forgotten what I said would happen should you put your safety at such risk again in the future?”
Shivering, I shook my head.
“Good. Any honorable male would have you forfeit your debt rather than die in a foolish attempt to clear it.”
I averted my gaze. Lucien may have been right, but it didn’t change how I felt. “Anyway . . . the ones who—who kept me prisoner . . . They are horrible, horrible people,” I whispered, taking strength from the arms wrapped around me and the hard press of Lucien’s sculpted body against mine. “They call themselves the Hunters—”
The comfort shattered. Lucien stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped being a source of warmth and instead made me shudder with impending doom. He jerked upright, rolled me to my back, and loomed above me like a furious, avenging angel. “The Hunters?”
Seeing his cold, marble mask slip back into place, chasing away all warmth and affection and replacing it with a chilling ruthlessness, made my breath catch and a wide, throbbing crack cleave through my heart.
A voice in the back of my mind told me this was always bound to happen. Once all the secrets were out, they’d turn from me. I’d known
this for a while, but a part of me must have been harboring some ridiculous hope that it would turn out differently. Why else did his reaction come as such a shock? Such a terrible, painful betrayal?
Lucien’s grip was no longer reverent when he clutched my arm. Fingers dug into soft flesh with a hard, unyielding pressure, and his narrow-eyed freezing glare dragged over my face, a sharp knife on the verge of cutting. “What are you?”
62
Hope
“What are you?”
With Lucien’s accusing question ringing in my ears, I struggled out of bed, clutching a blanket tight to my front. Suddenly, being naked in front of him made me feel vulnerable. Exposed.
Stupid.
A tug on my wrist stopped me from going far.
“I asked you a question, female.”
“Please . . .” A shaky whisper. I couldn’t make myself look at him. Couldn’t stand to watch the old contempt twist his beautiful face and the passion we’d shared die its gruesome, inevitable death.
For a little while, he’d made me feel safe.
“Please? What are you pleading for? Another chance? Time to compose yourself before you finally reveal the truth you’ve denied us for so long? Or are you pleading for something else?” His voice lowered and his grip tightened. “Are you perhaps asking me to let you go?” Warm breath on my skin, his voice right next to my ear. “That will never happen. Never!”
The sinister whisper made me close my eyes and lean away. “N-no, I just want . . . Could I get dressed first? Please . . .”
Lucien dropped my hand like it was a piece of glowing coal. A crisp nod was all the permission I needed.
We got dressed in taut silence, leaving the bedroom and all we’d shared behind.
While I hesitated in the middle of the living room, cold and unsure and sick with regret, Lucien stalked over to the kitchen island and began rooting around in the cupboards. Crystal clinked then rattled as something heavy was slammed onto the counter. The freezer was yanked open; shut. And then Lucien poured a splash of something that was almost clear but somehow also the color of Jason’s eyes into a glass with a single cube of ice.