She just hadn't anticipated this strange turn of events. How had it come to this? How had she let herself be drawn into Sasha's web so totally? How had she let him seduce her?
No, that wasn't quite fair to Sasha. He had attempted several times to make her leave. She had been the aggressor. She had wanted him.
God, how she had wanted him, and how she still wanted him! She'd never known such pleasure was possible. Even thinking about the way he'd felt inside of her, the way he’d looked, poised above her, so beautiful and savage, made her ache between her legs.
She couldn't marry another man. She didn't want another man.
She faced Charlie, guilt clawing her insides. He must have sensed her mood, for his expression fell. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I can't forget yesterday." Or last night.
He dropped his hands from her shoulders. "Will you at least think about it?" he asked.
She opened her mouth to stay firm in her refusal. But something in his eyes, something a bit desperate, a bit frightening – the same look she'd seen yesterday right before he'd thrown that strange fit – made her pause and reconsider her words.
"Of course, Charlie," she said, patting his hand. "I shall think about it."
WHEN Aline walked back into the study after sending Charlie off, Sasha was stooped over his desk, as still as a statue. He lifted his head and locked eyes with her, and those strange amber depths shone with an outrage so profound she felt as if he’d slapped her in the face.
She had not expected this.
"Did you just reconcile with the bone-hunter?" he demanded in a hard voice.
His imperious tone raised her hackles. She drew herself up. "What makes you think that is any of your business?" she retorted.
He pointed towards the chair he'd sat in last night. The chair.
She blushed crimson, her entire body going hot. "What happened was a mistake. We were drunk. I was drunk. You took advantage...”
Something painful flashed over his face. "I took advantage? Liar. You came to me. You wanted me just as much as I wanted you, milaya."
He was, of course, right, though she didn't want to admit it to herself or to him.
"Does it matter? Does it change anything?"
"You can't possibly reconcile with Neverfeel!" he cried.
"Why are you so worried?" she asked quietly. "Have your plans changed, Sasha? Do you no longer intend to leave me behind?"
He was taken aback by her bluntness. He just stared at her, as if trying to puzzle something out. She didn't wait for his response. She didn’t think she could bear it. "As I thought. Nothing has changed."
"I could stay. For a time..." he began.
She couldn’t help but feel stung by his suggestion. Somehow it was worse than him simply leaving. "I won't be your mistress, Sasha. I know what happens to them. You have your secretary break up with them. You'll soon tire of ... this."
His amber eyes darkened. "I'll not tire of you, ever," he said fiercely, pounding his fist so hard on his desk the wood cracked. She stared at what he'd done so carelessly, so effortlessly, and went cold inside.
She kept forgetting what he was. What he was capable of. He'd said himself he felt out of control around her, which was why he was leaving. She finally understood why he thought it necessary. Judging by his broken desk, it took very little to set him off these days. She didn't think he would hurt her, not intentionally. But his secret life was dangerous. Violent. And it scared her.
He'd ripped off a man's head with his bare hands. She could never forget that.
She wondered if she was strong enough to stay by his side at all, if it came to that. But it was fruitless to even consider these things. When he said he'd never tire of her, she yearned for it to be true. Yet she dared not believe it. Their physical attraction was one thing, but letting herself believe that he cared for her was dangerous folly.
Sasha could give her nothing she needed, besides his body. He was too damaged to even think to offer her more. And in the end, despite what he claimed, he would grow bored of her, as he grew bored of all of his women. Even if he didn't, even if this was somehow different for him, not merely a fling, he was not mortal. He would remain as he was forever, and she'd age and die. It was an impossible situation.
He looked down at what he had done and winced. Clenching his hands into fists, he came around the edge of his desk, and she could tell he was struggling to hold onto his frayed temper. "I will not let you marry him," he declared.
She was exasperated by his persistence on the subject, but it just proved that all of her racing thoughts were foolish. She doubted a future beyond a short liaison had even entered his thick, male head. "You selfish, arrogant ass! You can't have me, so no one else can, is that it?"
"Yes!"
She recoiled at his brutal honesty and backed away as he stalked towards her. "I am my father's son," he sneered. "I tried to warn you. I tried to send you away last night. You know what I am. Do you think I shall not have my way?"
She searched his angry eyes. "I know you'd never hurt me, Sasha," she said quietly.
"I don't want to. But I can't seem to help myself," he said.
"You're leaving. Would you have me spend the rest of my life alone? As miserable and ... and soulless as you?"
Something seemed to snap in him at her brutal words. His lips turned up in a snarl, and he seized her by the shoulders. "What do you want of me? What would you have me do? Do you think this feeling between us when we make love is normal?"
Make love. She shivered at his words and shook her head. "I wouldn't know."
His expression softened for a moment. "Of course you wouldn't know, milaya." He kissed her forehead. "But I know. It is not normal. It is madness. I've never felt this way before."
"Don't say such things, Sasha."
"It's the truth."
"This must stop," she whispered, pushing him away, her heart pounding. "Things have gotten out of hand."
"Is that what you call it?" he asked, trailing his long, elegant fingertips over her cheek, down her neck. She caught his hand before it could move any lower, before her defenses were completely shattered by his wicked touch.
"Please, Sasha, listen to me," she entreated.
But he didn't seem to hear her any more. He leaned into her, and she was drowning, suffocating in his intoxicating scent once more. She gasped for air.
"You must break with him," he whispered.
His words brought her out of her momentary stupor. He was like a dog with a bone. She attempted to break away, but he caught her close in his arms and lowered his head. He kissed her passionately, and she was immediately lost to the world in physical rapture, her body melding to his.
She tried to fight it. She'd been fighting it ever since the night he’d tipped her on her desk and kissed her. If that one event hadn't happened, she would have gone her whole life without ever knowing such feeling could exist between two people. She would have married Charlie and have been complacently bored for the rest of her days.
But he had kissed her, and she had felt the world as she knew it fragment around her. And it was terrifying, because she knew that more than her body had been surrendered to Sasha. He'd not asked for anything else, and he'd not want anything else, but somewhere along the way, her heart, traitor that it was, had fallen at his feet, filled with foolish love.
And she feared he would trample it.
Suddenly, she felt suffocated. She broke the kiss and wrenched free of him, gathering her wits. She needed to leave before she made yet another wretched decision. She couldn't seem to help herself when he touched her. And he knew it, the devil.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded as she stumbled towards the door.
"I'm leaving. I can't think straight here."
But before she could reach the door, he was there, pulling it closed and turning the lock.
She stopped up short and gaped at the speed with which he'd moved. It was the second time this morning he'd betrayed his in
human abilities, as if he were beyond caring. For the first time since this strange conversation started, she began to feel truly uneasy.
"We're not finished, milaya," he murmured with quiet, deadly intent.
"Yes, we are. Let me out."
"You'll not leave me. Not yet. You're mine. Mine!" he breathed hoarsely.
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You ... beast!"
He laughed darkly. "Yes, that's what I am. And you like it."
"You are unbelievable! I’m leaving," she cried, trying to push him aside and open the door, but the minute her hand touched his hard torso, she could feel her good sense flying out the window. She snatched her hand back and fumbled for the lock.
He surrounded her from behind, giving her no quarter, his body warm and solid against her back. He moved his lips to the nape of her neck in a whisper of a kiss, causing her breath to seize and the place between her legs to grow damningly hot.
She sank to her knees, and he came with her, catching her wrists in one hand, pulling them away from the lock. He turned her, and his other hand slid over her backside, pushing her hips firmly against his own, so that she could feel the hard prod of his erection at her belly. She gasped in outrage and despair as a tremor of pleasure spiked down her toes from their glancing bodies.
He tried to kiss her lips, and she arched away. "I'll bite you if you don't let me go this minute," she warned.
This did not act as a deterrent however. He seemed to grow even more against her belly, and his lips curled into a devilish grin that didn't reach his desperate eyes. "Please do."
With that, he released her hands and brought both of his to the front of her beleaguered dress. With one fluid motion, he ripped the material aside. She gasped as the cool air hit her bare flesh. She struggled to cover herself. He swatted her hands away and lowered his head, taking her left breast into his mouth. He suckled her, pulled her erect nipple taut with his teeth, sending a tremor of lust streaking through her body so fierce, so overwhelming, that the fight in her sputtered out.
She arched against his mouth on instinct, relishing the sensations he provoked, all of her resolve to never succumb to him again flying out of her head.
She felt his hands pushing the remains of her dress and corset down her body, stroking her skin as they went. Then they were under her skirts, tearing at her underclothes. At last his fingers found that perfect spot, already slick with fierce arousal.
They both gasped. He raised his head and met her glance. Lord, he was beautiful, his black hair tumbling over his brow, his clever lips drawn taut with his passion. Color stained his exotic, high cheekbones, and his eyes glittered wickedly at what he felt beneath her skirts, his breath becoming as labored as her own. As if he were as mindless with pleasure as she was.
Suddenly boneless, she fell back against the door, her back grinding against rough wood, and she gasped, more shocked than hurt. Sasha followed her on his knees, dragging himself up her body. He pulled her against him, insinuating himself between her legs, her crinolines and skirts tumbling about them.
The exotic scent of him invaded her senses, making her traitorous body want to melt against him, soak up his scent and his heat inside of her. He reached between them again and ran two fingers between her legs, causing her to quake.
His animal eyes bored into her as he stroked her. "Tell me to stop, milaya."
She couldn't form the words. He felt so good, she didn't want him to stop.
"Never stop, Sasha."
She felt him shiver at her words, saw his eyes turn nearly translucent with need. He groaned desperately, causing her heart to pound so hard against her chest it hurt. She burned like fire in her belly, arching into his hand, so near the brink already.
With fingers that trembled, he unfastened his trousers, lifting her higher against the door. Then with one stunning thrust of his hips, he was inside of her to the hilt, never taking his eyes off her. They both cried out helplessly, clinging to each other. It felt even better than before. Damn him. She still didn't see how he fit inside of her, but he did, and so perfectly that she wanted to weep.
He dropped his head back, the grimness fleeing his expression, a look of wonder taking its place. That she was responsible for it gave her a fierce, hot throb of satisfaction. He coaxed her hips down on his lap, filling her even more, then he stilled, as if he wanted to freeze them in that moment.
"I've been wanting to be here all morning," he whispered.
She couldn't disagree with that particular desire. Because as much as she'd fought it, she'd wanted much the same ever since she'd awakened to find him gone from the bed.
Her mind floundered as she tried to recall the thousand reasons why she should be anywhere but here, in his arms, joined together in the most inappropriate manner imaginable. She could not recall anything, as his lips were currently covering her face with sweet, hot kisses, as if attempting to memorize her face. He found her mouth and plied it into submission with tender insistence. His tongue tangled with hers.
Quickened desire, hot and incapacitating, stole through her limbs with his kisses. She’d lost her mind. Her body relaxed into his own, taking him further inside, to the edge of her womb. She felt so full of him, but it wasn't enough. She willed him with her hands and hips to move.
Breathing raggedly, as if remembering where he was, he drew back, nearly leaving her, and she whimpered in protest, following with her hips. He stopped her and held her in place as he thrust back inside of her, hard and swift, then did it again. It would be painful, if it didn't feel so good.
"I can't go slow," he breathed against her neck in anguish. "I want you now. Now." Then he licked her from the base of her throat to the tip of her chin, a gesture so erotic she felt the warmth of release already stirring in her blood. She cried out again and pressed closer to him, tilting her hips, opening herself to his thrusts in complete abandon. He drove into her, the power of his ardor slamming her against the door, nearly knocking the breath from her body. But she knew he wouldn't hurt her.
God help her, she liked the power of his body surging against hers, so much stronger, so much bigger. She liked the earth shattering strokes of his manhood within her. He would leave bruises from his hands, from the impact of their bodies coming together, but she didn't care.
"I can't wait. I can't ... Come for me, milaya," he whispered, pounding and pounding into her, his breath a frayed torrent against her throat.
She came for him. She fractured into a million, sizzling pieces, and for a moment in time her body and soul ceased to exist. He moaned and clutched her hard against him, shuddering from head to toe, the heated power of his own climax spilling into her.
"My God," she breathed, much later.
He held her close for a moment, caressing her with languid hands. "So sweet," he murmured. "So lovely. You make me feel so good, Aline. So young. You make it go away."
"What? What goes away?" she whispered earnestly.
He didn't answer. He buried his nose against her hair and breathed deeply, his arms tightening around her as if he'd never let her go. And she didn't want him to. She didn't think she could ever let him go. Not now.
At last, he moved away from her, repairing his clothes, his head bowed. But she could see enough of his expression to start to worry all over again. Their moment of respite had been too short. He looked ... ravaged. A thousand years old.
She shuddered to think what she must look like to his eyes. She looked down at herself. She was falling out of her torn bodice like some Seven Dials tart. She attempted to right herself, but she discovered her hands were shaking too hard.
He let out an anguished sound and reached out to help. She flinched without thinking, hating that he had to see her in such awkward disarray, and he froze, his hand halfway outstretched. When she dared to look at him again, her skin crawled at the pain in his eyes. Such utter horror. Such self-loathing.
She placed her hand in his to reassure him – though it didn't – and he pulled
her to her feet, fixing her dress for her in silence, his movements mechanical, as if he didn't truly see what he was doing. She stared at his face, grim-set, anguished, as he set her to rights, every second that ticked by widening the chasm between them.
She wished she hadn't flinched. Somehow she knew that was a critical error. Not making love with him. Not loving him. Never that. But she had flinched, right at the end, as if he frightened her, and that had shattered him. She could see it in his eyes.
"I must leave you," he muttered. "I must let you go."
Her heart plummeted. She fisted her hands at her sides to keep them from shaking. "So you are finishing with me? Now? After what just happened? Have you lost your mind?"
He barked out a laugh. It sounded raw, dreadful. "Yes. Utterly." A pause. Another wretched intake of breath. "We both know I can never give you what you need. Go back to your bone-hunter, if that is what you wish."
So he'd finally accepted the fact that he had to leave her, just when she'd accepted the fact that she could not leave him. She'd laugh at the irony if it were at all funny. He spun away, rubbing at the scar on his chest. Why had he given up now? Now, when she could still feel the imprint of him inside her, the evidence of their love-making still wet on her thighs?
Finally the tears that she'd held back all morning started leaking down her face, all of the shame and frustration she'd tried to squash rising to the fore. She'd had enough.
"Is that it? You've got everything you wanted from me, already?"
He groaned and wrenched her against him. His eyes were blazing with a righteous fury.
"I got nothing I wanted!" he rasped. "I do not want to break you. I do not want to hurt you. But that is all I seem capable of doing. My love is a poison. I am poison."
She gazed at him, thunderstruck. She'd known that he cared more than he let on. But this ... this couldn't be true. "Sasha, do you love me?"
He didn't even hesitate, which was further shocking. He gave her a fierce, devastating look. "Yes, I love you, Finch," he said. “As much as a monster like me can love.”
Prince of Hearts (Elders and Welders Chronicles) Page 22