Shadows (Black Raven Book 1)

by Barcelona, Stella

  “I have to go for a walk,” she said, still on her knees, holding her breath, and trying like hell not to allow tears to spill. Anger seeped into her misery at his reminder that they had hacked into her medical records. Candy whimpered and gave a soft lick on her cheek, trying to make her feel better.

  The canine empathy was Skye’s undoing. She sat down hard on the flagstone floor, not caring that he was watching. She’d been brave all day, but that was due, primarily, to wanting to keep Spring calm. Now, all the feelings she had repressed sizzled through her, reducing her to a heap of anger and fatigue and misery.

  “Please. I just need to,” she pulled Candy close, and buried her head deep into Candy’s fur, barely managing to keep tears at bay. “I just need to go outside.” She never cried and she certainly didn’t want to do it in front of him. “I need to be outdoors.”

  Sebastian was silent. She wished like hell he had walked away and she simply hadn’t heard his footsteps because he was barefoot. She looked up. No. Not one tiny bit of luck was headed her way. He stood just a few inches from her, towering over her, and there wasn’t any sympathy in his frown and hard gaze.

  “I wish I had something better to tell you, but from my perspective, you just lived through the beginning, cause we have no idea where your father might be, or who these men are. You thought today sucked? You think this place is a nightmare, because it doesn’t have windows you can open?”

  He shook his head. “Sweetheart, your nightmare has just started. Unless you can help me figure a way out of this mess, unless you start telling me everything you know about your father and his business, unless you tell me where you’re so hell-bent on running to, and why, this isn’t ending. Help your father and yourself by talking to me, because otherwise, welcome to lather, rinse, repeat, and get ready for the same fucked-up shit tomorrow.”

  With his harsh words, anger won over pathetic tears. Driven by fury-filled adrenaline, she shot off the floor with her hands clenched into fists. Without hesitation she started punching his chest. “How.” Left jab. “Dare.” Right jab. “You!”

  Each punch into his hard ribcage only brought the desire for another hit. He didn’t try to stop her. She didn’t care about anything, except right, left, right. She tried to imagine her fists going through his dense chest. He didn’t flinch, nor did he try to keep her from pummeling him. With his jaw clenched, concerned eyes looked at her. Skye kept going until her knuckles hurt, until her arms were tired, until she wasn’t an arm’s length from him but much, much closer. Her hits became less of a flat-knuckled punch and more of a hammer-fisted, soft futile blow.

  She didn’t stop, until his arms were around her and he had pulled her so close there was barely room for her to move. His arms around her brought warm, reassuring comfort. Deep, deep gulps of air were only the prelude to harsh sobs, as she finally broke down and cried, without reservation, into the comforting cocoon between his arms and his chest. “I,” she gasped for air and sobbed harder, “never,” she managed to say, “cry. N-never.”

  “I know that about you, too. It’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

  She slipped one arm over his shoulder and the right one around his waist. She held onto him for dear life, as she pressed her face against his chest and cried. Time stopped. Or maybe it raced. She didn’t really know or care.

  “Let it go. You’re okay,” he mumbled, his lips touching the crown of her head.

  After long, long minutes of uncontrollable sobs, her tears slowed to shaky breaths and annoying sniffs. She could inhale again, because in his arms, being stuck inside a fake house with no windows felt tolerable. With his strong arms holding her close, the weight of her father’s world seemed bearable.

  As her misery dissipated, her body came up with a spark of an idea that had nothing to do with going outside and getting a breath of fresh air. Evidently, his body was thinking along the same lines, because there was now something between them that unmistakably spelled desire. She had no intention of letting Sebastian release her, and by the size of his erection, obvious through his jeans as it pressed into her belly, she’d bet that he didn’t want to let her go either.

  “Better?” he asked, breath almost as ragged as her own as she turned her face up and gazed into his serious eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his lips drawn together. The only motion was their breathing.

  She nodded. “Don’t let me go.”

  He didn’t let her go, but his arms loosened. He shook his head. “Bad idea. Really bad.”

  “I bet you’ve had worse,” she said. “Please hold me.” She hated to beg, but she’d been begging him all day to let her leave. What she was begging for now seemed minor in comparison, and the fact that she was pleading for it from him showed her just how upside down her world had become.

  “Problem is, I don’t just want to hold you.”

  She pressed her hips closer to his, almost panting as she felt the rock-solid shape of his penis against the soft flesh of her belly. He tightened his arms on her and drew a deep breath. “Not a newsflash. And if you think I’m only asking you to hold me,” she whispered, “I need to do a better job of communicating.”

  “I never do this on the job.” But he gripped her hips with his big hands and pulled her closer. “Never.” He bent to kiss her neck and moaned as his lips found soft skin. “Ever. Not once.”

  “Once with me won’t count,” she said, shivering as he pressed a trail of moist, warm kisses along her jawbone.

  He lifted his face, and arched an eyebrow, as serious eyes held hers. “That’s a refreshing view. You sure?”

  “More than sure. Frankly,” she said, “sex doesn’t count for anything.” Because men leave. It’s what they do. If not physically, emotionally. Her fear of getting close to anyone wasn’t just focused on men. No one could be counted on to stay. And if they didn’t leave on their own accord, she’d be happy to lead them to the door. If she had no expectations, she couldn’t be hurt. Sebastian didn’t need to hear her explanation. He just needed to know her goal. “Just release. And God, I want that now. We can act like it never happened.”

  “Even more refreshing,” he whispered into her ear. “Where the hell have you been all of my life?”

  Taking her hand, he pulled her out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the room he was using. Soft white linens and oversized furniture in neutral tones filled the room. Two bedside lamps were the only light. He lifted her, carried her to the king-size bed, and laid her on her back. Before she was situated, he unpeeled her leggings from her hips and yanked them past her knees, her ankles, and off. He tugged her turtleneck up and over her head, and unhooked her bra. Moving fast, too fast, without even pausing to look at her, he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them to mid thigh. His urgent moves took only seconds, all designed for releasing his huge penis and getting it where he wanted it to be.

  She’d barely decided to go forward, and he was ready to fuck her. There wasn’t another word for this. Surely he wasn’t just going to do it like this. But he was, as he parted her legs with his knees, without a kiss, or any kind of foreplay, he gripped her hips, tilted them up to meet him, and stroked his way deep into her.

  He groaned with pleasure as she gasped. He had moved too fast, and he was a large man in every way. It had been two years since she had sex, but the discomfort wasn’t due to lack of exercising all the parts that needed to make good sex happen. It didn’t matter how long it had been. She’d had enough sex to know this wasn’t good sex. Actually, it was bad sex.

  The. Worst. Sex. Ever.

  No one ever manhandled her like this. At least not without warning and a grant of permission, and they usually made sure there was lubrication. She mumbled, “Don’t you know what foreplay’s for?”

  He was so tall, that to look into her eyes, he had to angle his head down. He chuckled, but she didn’t see the humor. Great. The worst day of her life just took another crappy turn for the bad. She drew a deep breath. Foolish, but because he was so go
od-looking, she had assumed he’d be good in bed. Totally foolish, and there wasn’t anything to be done about it, because she had asked for it. She’d forgotten to specify that she wanted good sex.

  She shifted her hips at the same time she pushed against his chest. “I’ve changed m-”

  ‘My mind’ faded into the world of unsaid words, as her hip shift caused sparks of desire to race up her spine. While her mind was offended that he seemed to be the type of guy who only cared about his own pleasure in bed, her body suddenly demanded that she wait it out.

  Given the urgency with which he had moved, she figured she’d only have to endure a few more seconds of him. But he didn’t move. He didn’t thrust, didn’t do anything, except look into her eyes. He lifted his chest off of her, let his gaze travel down her body to where they were joined. Holding himself slightly above her as he filled her, he touched every part of her body with nothing but his eyes. Her discomfort eased, and once that happened, once her inner walls relaxed, she realized that his erection was getting bigger, pulsing as he lengthened inside of her. The sensation stole her breath. He shifted his weight so that his chest rested on one side of her, his abdomen lay across hers, and his legs were between hers. He pressed gentle kisses along her cheekbones and her jawbone.

  When she turned her face to meet his lips, he looked into her eyes. For a moment, he was absolutely still.

  He glanced at her mouth, but he didn’t touch her lips with his.

  His eyes bounced back to hers. Something flashed there as he held her gaze. Maybe it was pain. A distant memory. Whatever the thought was, it was real, and it wasn’t good.

  She lifted her face closer to his, touching her lips to his, craving a kiss and ready to take it even if he wasn’t ready to give it.

  She only managed to graze his lips, because as their mouths touched, he shifted his head, bending to kiss her neck instead.

  Flat-out rejection.

  For a second, even with him pulsing inside of her, she felt vulnerable and more miserably alone than she’d ever been in her life. This—whatever they were doing, whether it was sex or just plain fucking—wasn’t about tenderness or any kind of intimacy. For this man, intercourse was less intimate than a mouth kiss. For this man, sex really didn’t count for anything.

  Understood. Shake it off, she told herself, as she pushed her weak side away.

  Enjoy the moment, she told herself, and maybe she’d get some release. It was the only thing she had requested of him, the only thing she should expect. Focusing on the feel of his gentle kisses on the soft skin right below her ear and jaw, she lifted her hips, adjusting to him. So. Much. Better. As he traced lazy circles around her nipples with his fingertip, she shivered with anticipation of movement. When he bent his head to her breast, lightning fast tingles ran through her. Shock at his fast, hard entry became a distant memory. She knew that he could feel the tension slipping away, because he lifted his head, and gave her a slow, sultry, proud-of-himself smile.

  “Feels okay?”

  “Can’t you tell?” she asked, her voice deepening with desire, as her pelvic muscles flexed around him.

  He didn’t move his hips. He bent his head, opened his mouth on her left nipple, and swirled his tongue around it, tracing moist circles until her flesh hardened. She gripped his head, holding him to her breast. As she moaned, he nibbled at her peak, biting her almost to the point of pain, but somehow making the hard edges of his teeth bring so much pleasure she could only gasp. He sucked where he’d bitten, tonguing away the small discomfort.

  She gripped his t-shirt and pulled it up. He helped get it over the bandage on his arm. His smooth chest, with just a bit of tight, curly hair, rippled with muscles that ran across his ribcage, his abdomen was flat and hard, and just on the inside of both of his hips the muscles formed a v, pointing downward to his groin. She traced the muscles with her fingers down, to where he entered her, and spread her legs more, welcoming him.

  Her channel was now moist and slick, her breasts were tender and sending sparks through her body, and, as she lowered her hands to run them along the curve of his tight butt, he gave her a sultry-eyed smile. She wanted to move her hips. No. She needed to move her hips, because the need for release was building. His hips had pinned hers so that she couldn’t move, and he wasn’t moving. “Please,” she said. “Thrust. Or something. Now.”

  He gave her a lazy, teasing headshake before bending his head and resuming his exploration, with his tongue and his lips, of the curves of each breast and the points of each hard, raised nipple. While his fast entry had taken her by surprise, now his languid pace was killing her. She reached around to the base of his penis and stroked him there, trying to induce him to get moving. When that didn’t work, she touched herself, applying pressure to her clitoris, helping the process along. The men she’d been with before certainly didn’t need a guide map to that anatomical wonder.

  Instead of following her lead, he pulled her hand away from between her legs, then imprisoned her hands in one of his big ones, pinning them over her head.

  She drew a deep breath and waited for him to rub her where her own finger had been, hoping he’d gotten the hint.

  He looked into her eyes, arched an eyebrow, and gave her a slight headshake. He’d gotten the hint. He just wasn’t taking it.

  “Touch me,” she said, craving the instant orgasm that would come with one fingertip in just the right place. Hell, if he couldn’t figure it out, she’d show him.

  He shook his head, giving her a slow smile as he pressed his hips against hers, capturing her hips in absolute stillness. Like he had all the time in the world and planned on taking it. She wondered whether he had come and she just didn’t know it. He couldn’t have this much willpower. That thought faded as he finally started rocking his hips against hers, grinding deeper and deeper into her without pulling out.

  “Please. Touch me.”

  “Right now, I’d consider that cheating. Besides, I am touching you.” He stopped grinding. Long, hard thrusts were followed by gentle, deep pulses. He watched her reaction, looking for what felt good, as waves of pressure built from deep within her and her legs fell even further apart. He gripped her hands tighter, as though reading her mind, knowing she was dying to use her hands on him, on her, on any part of their joined anatomy. He took his sweet time, moving slowly in and out of her, and, with each hard, deep thrust, he ground his pelvis into her, giving her the touch that she had begged for. She clenched her jaw, trying not to scream with pleasure. Soft whimpers and moans escaped. She thrashed her head from side to side and he kept thrusting, watching her, studying her expression as her climax came, and kept coming, and it finally stole her breath with a scream of relief as it went.

  When she was through, and gasping for air, he pulled out, all the way. He used his fingers to part her folds, guided his fully erect penis there, pressing it hard against her clitoris. “Is this what you wanted me to touch?”

  She couldn’t answer, because she had stopped breathing. He didn’t need words. Her body talked for her, her hips arching into him as he slid his shaft along the soft groove. She looked down, mesmerized, as he created a channel for himself through her soft folds. His penis was slick and wet with her moisture, and the slide of his hard shaft made a different kind of spark explode. She lifted her hips, longing to run her fingers over the smooth, silken head. Touching, though, wasn’t something he planned to allow, because he kept her hands imprisoned. Her need for release built again. She pushed her hips up, losing control and grinding herself into him. He kept sliding through her valley of moist, sensitive flesh until she whimpered, “Yes. Yes. Yes,” over and over and over. Finally, her words faded and she could only whisper, “Coming. I’m coming.”

  “I know,” he said, as he let go of her hands. He knelt, lifting her legs so that her calves rested on his shoulders and her ankles were crossed behind his neck. Intense eyes watched her reaction as he pulled her hips closer. She felt two of his fingers penetrating her and m
assaging inside of her. Electric shocks exploded when he scraped about three inches in, using the tips of his fingers to massage where he had scraped, pressing hard.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned. He’d found her G-spot, which wasn’t something most men took the time to search for. Thank God Spring had fallen asleep with her headphones on, because now even her whimpers were loud. Once he found it, and once her moans reached a new high, he stopped before she climaxed. It didn’t matter. She doubted she had the energy to come again.

  He slipped his fingers out of her, and traced lazy, glistening circles around her nipples. “Ready?”

  “For what?” As he dipped his head to her breasts to lick where his fingers had been, she realized how silly her question was as she glanced into his eyes. The raw hunger in his gaze told her he was just beginning. A sheen of sweat covered his chest, accentuating the power in his muscles. His chest and shoulder muscles rippled, as though poised and ready to pounce.

  He gave her a half-smile as he knelt between her legs. “Release. That’s what you wanted, right?”

  She nodded.

  “And to answer your earlier question. Yes. I know what foreplay’s for.”

  She gave him a doubtful look.

  Before she could say anything, he said, “Everything until now has been foreplay.”

  She could think of no retort, because the serious, focused look on his face stole her breath. He was breathing hard, readying himself, and he’d made sure that she was ready too, because two intense orgasms had left her pliable, dripping with moisture, and compliant as a rag doll, one that he could use at will. There had been a reason why he had searched for her G-spot, because she’d watched this man all day. Every action of his was deliberate. Thank God.