Mmm. “Which nobody at Markus’s funeral?”
He ignored her and fixed a fresh plate. He flicked his brows up when the fork was once more at her mouth.
“Tyrant,” she whispered before parting her lips.
♦ ♦ ♦
As was becoming common, frustratingly so, Lucian found himself watching Yasmeen’s emotions play out across her face. The desire that had emanated from her after her mild punishment had settled once more. As suspected, spanking this woman was another of life’s pleasures. The firmness of her flesh under his hand. Her willingness to accept the discipline without protest. His ability to show his displeasure. So satisfying. But none of that compared with feeling her enjoyment of the act. She’d been so aroused her tight little pussy had taken his fingers in with ease, her inner walls fluttering, teasing the hell out of him because it had made him think about how incredible those small pulses would feel on his cock. She was lucky he’d heard Sorin walking down the corridor. Otherwise, he’d have put her on the table and fucked her right then.
As he once more demonstrated his authority by making her wait for her food, the shadows that had writhed in her dark eyes as she’d spoken of her past began to fade.
A question came to him out of nowhere, and he posed it before he could stop the words from tumbling out of his eager mouth.
“Would you be opposed to wearing a collar?”
TEN
Her mouth remained open, her glistening tongue taunting him as Lucian watched interest war with a woman’s instinctive need to stand against anything she thought might debase her. He sent the fork in past her full lips, and when she took the food he offered, he was content. He wasn’t sure why he so enjoyed that she allowed him to meet her needs, so he didn’t bother dwelling on it. Just as he hadn’t dwelled on another task now added to his list. When he returned to the U. S., he had to find a particular professor and put him in a body cast.
“I would also purchase a matching leash.” His blood heated as he pictured it.
She chewed and swallowed. “Do you seriously need me to address that? You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all. By collar, I do not mean something black with spikes. And by leash, a dirty leather lead does not interest me. If I were to put anything other than my mouth on your flawless throat—I will have to consider it further before marring its perfection with any item, no matter how valuable—it would be elegant and subtle. As you are. Your lead would be delicate. A fine silver chain perhaps. Or gold, if you prefer.”
“And you would hold the end and drag me along behind you.”
“Or wrap it around my hand and pull down. The tether would allow me to hold you where I want until I was finished using your mouth.”
Her pupils expanded and she shivered hard enough for him to witness it. “Jesus, Lucian,” she breathed as her nipples became two hard points. “Why do I not want to slap your face for that?”
“Because you are coming to accept that you want to please the man who owns you.”
“You don’t own me. I’m lending myself out. I’m staying with you because I want to.”
Was that what she thought? That she had options? He brought her more food, and she took it, but not quietly.
“I can feed myself.”
“I know this.”
“Then why don’t you let me?”
“Because I prefer to do it.”
“May I ask why?”
“You may ask anything you like. The trick is to get your answer.”
He brought more eggs to her just in time to see her lip twitch. His gaze rose the few inches, and their eyes met. Something shifted inside him when he watched the exasperation disappear from her expression as it softened with humor.
He lowered the fork and went in to rub his mouth around that positive emotion. His lips remained closed and barely touched as he drifted around the face that haunted him, the high cheekbones, the long, elegant nose. And finally, that mouth he craved to the point of madness.
“Your beauty is so much more than what most men will ever see.” He kissed her softly before drawing back and lifting the fork again, annoyed with himself over another gesture of affection that was going to make her expect more.
“I wish you’d stop doing that.”
He liked how bright her eyes were now. The confusion in them was a nice touch. The tenderness bordering on sympathy wasn’t. “Doing what?”
“Speaking in a language I don’t understand. It’s very rude.” She opened, chewed, and swallowed before adding, “You’re very rude, but I guess I shouldn’t expect anything less from the self-indulgent rich guy you are.”
“Am I self-indulgent, Yasmeen?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
He placed his hand on her knee and ran it up in a slow caress. “Yes. You are here. And others are in the city we call home, living their lives. If I were self-indulgent, as you claim, that wouldn’t be the case.” What some might consider a smile pulled at his lips as he allowed his fantasy free reign. “If I were self-indulgent, loved ones would be traveling to Manhattan as we sit here enjoying our breakfast. There would be tears and distressed cries over how something like “this” could have happened.” He could almost hear the helplessness that would fill the streets. “There would not be enough churches, or cemeteries, for that matter, in our great city to accommodate the mass casualties I dream of causing. If I were self-indulgent, you wouldn’t see the color of my skin for the blood coating it.”
The stunning color of her skin caught his eye, and he traced his fingertips all the way to the crease below her hip bone. He saw not a blemish. How was it possible the human body could be so perfect? he wondered as he came back down to close his fingers around the fragile bones in her knee.
“Though yours would be in a similar state because after I violently took those lives, I would return to you.” He lifted his gaze to hers, and paying no attention to her stricken expression, shared how that satisfying day would end. “I would use this masterpiece until you were too exhausted even to think of running from me. Then I would bathe you and watch with disappointment the gory evidence of my vengeance flow down the drain.”
Realizing his self-indulgent rhetoric—maybe she’d pegged him after all—had caused her breakfast to cool, he pushed her plate aside and, for the third time, fixed a fresh one. When he speared some eggs and brought them to her, coaxing her to open with a tip of his chin, she was blinking rapidly.
“Do not do it. Open.”
She opened, and it took some time for her to chew and swallow. He offered her some juice, knowing her fear of him had dried her mouth. As he put the glass to her lips, a lone tear overflowed her right eye to slide down her cheek. She dashed it away, but the damage was done.
With a low sigh, he waited until she finished her drink, then he stood and hurled the crystal juice glass into the dishes scattered across the table. It shattered on impact and sprayed shards all around them. None hit his pet’s exquisite face as he’d already placed his free hand over it because he’d known what was coming.
As Sorin flew into the room, Lucian bent and gripped Yasmeen’s quivering chin. He used the hold to bring her to her feet. “You will find the self-control needed to guarantee I will not see this again. I do not want your emotions. Do you not yet understand how pointless they are? Bury them. Destroy them completely. I do not care. But do not reveal them to me again. You will not do things your way by discounting my warnings. You will accommodate me. Do I make myself clear?”
She put a hand over her mouth, trying to smother the sound of the sob that jerked through her chest and made the tendons in her neck tighten as they did when she orgasmed for him. At seeing she was making an effort, his anger was soothed. He scooped her up and walked her out of the glass as she was barefoot. At the door, he handed her precious body off to Sorin. Mainly, because he found he did not want to. His temples pounded as he forced himself to release her.
“Bring her upstairs. You will leave her at th
e bedroom door.” He lifted Yasmeen’s head when she laid it on Sorin’s shoulder. “You will not lean on him,” he growled, feeling as if it wasn’t only him talking anymore. “He is transportation.” Seeing the glitter of crystal shards in her hair, he sighed once again and felt a calm steal over him. “Run a bath. I will be up shortly to remove the debris from your hair.”
“I c-can do it myself.”
And again she figuratively put her head down and chose to butt back against his will. “Is your need to rebel against me deliberate, draga, or is it something you cannot help.”
“I can’t help it.”
The helpless note of frustration in her voice was endearing, and his acknowledgment of it lasted long enough for him to share a look with Sorin.
“Go. I will join you in a few moments.”
He stood there and watched the only man he trusted enough to carry away a frightened, tear-stained woman Lucian would be inside again in the next few hours. As they disappeared around the corner, he turned back to survey the damage his tantrum had caused.
“You may clean it up,” he said quietly in Romanian.
Three of his staff rushed out from where they’d been hovering at the hidden door in the corner that led to the kitchen. He went over and picked his phone up, shaking it of glass slivers. As he left the room, he was dialing.
As it was mid-afternoon in New York, one of his most dangerous men answered on the second ring.
“Please, tell me Pivchenko has surfaced,” Lucian unabashedly begged.
“I’m sorry,” Zlatan said with a mix of apology and frustration in his voice. “There is no sign of him yet.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Yasmeen shut down the hair dryer and let her arm fall to her lap. She was sitting on the cushioned stool in front of a vintage makeup table that took up a good chunk of square footage in the bedroom. Tired of her reflection, she was now looking at the table itself. It was fragile and beautiful with its detailed carvings and spindly legs. Just lovely.
She glanced at the door through the mirror, her interest waning. Lucian had left her about fifteen minutes ago. Where had he gone? And why was she so anxious for him to return?
He’d come in shortly after Sorin had brought her up and left her at the door, as instructed. She’d just submerged herself in the bath, and after invading her privacy by watching her for a few minutes, her bad-tempered owner had made her lay her head back and he’d meticulously gone through her hair. She’d wanted to talk to him, but she wasn’t sure who he’d been at that moment; spoiled rich guy or murdering mobster. She would like to have told him it was difficult for her to turn off her compassion when he revealed the depth of his grief. She would have said he hadn’t frightened her with his tantrum but that she’d cried because he was obviously in pain. It was too bad she’d been too unsure of what his reaction might be to be honest with him.
After he’d washed and conditioned for her, he’d had her get up. He’d dried her, lingering as he made sure to get every droplet of water with the soft towel. She hadn’t understood the gentleness in the kisses he dropped on her shoulder and the side of her neck. Feeling guilty? Embarrassed because he’d overreacted? Hoping to appease her so she’d have sex with him later? Who knew?
She blew out a loud breath and gave up, tired of her merry-go-round thoughts. After putting away the dryer, she flicked the switch to turn on the hair straightener. While it heated, she picked up a makeup brush. Would have been great to have her phone so she could listen to some music, but it had disappeared. On their way up, she’d told Sorin she was fine to walk. He’d told her she had to learn how to follow simple instructions. When she’d huffed that she only wanted to get down so she could take her phone from her bag on their way by the table where it sat in the foyer, he’d told her it had been put away.
Tipping the large pallet of every color of eyeshadow she could ever want, she began applying some makeup. Lucian’s parting instructions had been to ready herself for her morning out. She was going into town with his meathead. Maybe when she got him alone, she could pick Sorin’s brain about his boss.
She efficiently dusted a pale taupe on her lids, then lined her eyes with a fawn pencil, finishing with two perfect wings that pointed up on the outer corners. After applying minimal blush and not bothering with foundation because she’d never had a need, she lengthened her lashes with a few strokes of the mascara wand, used a pale lip stain in place of lipstick, then spread a thin layer of gloss. Rolling her lips together and quietly smacking them, she jumped a mile when Lucian spoke.
“Get that off your mouth. Your lips need no enhancing. The shape and color are what women strive for, and you are hiding them.” He came into view in the mirror behind her, holding a garment bag. He watched while she took a tissue and cleaned her mouth.
“I’d like my phone back.”
“Would you.”
“No.”
Their eyes met in the mirror.
“That’s what I meant when I said I wanted my phone back. That I didn’t. That I don’t want it so I can’t play the music that isn’t my favorite, so I can’t get out of my head that I’m sooo loving being in right now. Is there a dock around here that I wouldn’t want to use?”
She could have sworn she saw a flash of humor streak across his expression as he turned to hang the bag on the corner of the screen used as a decoration rather than to separate any part of the room. “I will see if I can arrange something. Stand up and look at me.”
She kept her expression as bland as his while she obeyed. Maybe if she smiled at him, he might smile back. She’d try it later.
He lifted her face up by clasping his entire hand under her jaw.
“It isn’t polite to stare, you know,” she said. “Do you still need work done on your tattoos? The ones on your hands don’t make sense to me.”
“Then you should know I have observed you being impolite on more than one occasion in the last few days. They are complete.”
Her cheeks heated knowing he’d seen her staring at him.
“I prefer you in your natural state. Your eyes also need nothing in the way of enhancement. When you are made up like this, you appear more worldly. It makes me want to use you harder than I have.”
“This is the same face I wear to work,” she defended. And she’d gone lighter than that even.
“I prefer you natural. Makeup free, scent free, with hair on your body that reflects you survived puberty. I would rather taste the moisture from your skin than have my tongue polluted with creams and perfumes.”
He turned away as she went weak. Idiot body didn’t have a clue it was supposed to dry up and close tight when he said crap like that. Instead, her pussy was blooming like a flower to the sun.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re spoiled?”
“Not to my face.”
“Consider yourself told.”
“I do not forget these comments, pet. You might wish to grow quiet and simply brighten the room with your presence rather than continue to earn strikes.”
She quieted then, but only because she had nothing left to say, and watched the way his shoulders rolled as he reached up to unzip the garment bag. He turned and caught her staring. He tsked and shook his head but didn’t comment.
“What does your ink mean?” she mumbled as she blushed brighter and pretended she’d been looking at the outfit he’d unveiled. Her focus narrowed on the riding gear. “If you start waving a crop around my ass, I’m outta here.”
“That will come later.” He slipped the white shirt off the hanger and handed her a package. “Put these on the table, please.”
She took the plain white box and placed it on top of the eyeshadow palate. “What is it?” Was he joking? Or was he into BDSM? Sure, he’d spanked her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to strap her down and whip her with a cane before he fucked her silly. Did it?
“Pasties. With your breasts as firm and perfect as they are, I didn’t waste time with anything else. Put the towel asid
e.”
As he undid the top three buttons and put his hand through the shirt, readying to put it over her head, she unwrapped her naked body and laid the towel over the back of the chair. She looked at her breasts and felt a boost when she didn’t want to. “I always thought they were on the small side,” she said as she accepted and put on a nude thong.
“Arms up.”
She put her arms up. He slipped the shirt over her head but held it from falling past her neck. She gasped when his warm mouth covered her nipple. He took a few slow pulls that she felt right between the legs then he licked all around it and blew lightly to dry it before dropping the shirt the rest of the way.
“If they were any bigger they would not be so tempting.” He peeled the tab off the already applied two-sided tape and covered her hard nipples with the pasties before buttoning the shirt.
She eyed him when he held up his hands. He’d linked his fingers together and was holding his arms straight as if giving her permission to cuff him.
“What’s this? Role reversal? Are you into BDSM? Will we play with that?”
He gave her a stern look and nodded at his hands. “I have some ideas,” he murmured as she looked down.
Her attention was immediately captured. “Oh, my God.” She took hold of his wrists and brought him closer as a fascinated laugh escaped. “What…how did…oh, wow.” The detail in the work of art was unparalleled. “I’m speechless.”
“I should have shown you sooner.”
She slapped his hands and jerked them back when he went to lower them. “Don’t you dare. Lucian, this is incredible.” What looked to be half-finished tattoos on his fingers and the backs of his knuckles, when brought together as they were now, made up a crest of some sort. “What is it?”
“Kingdom of Romania; Coat of Arms.”
Okay. His accent couldn’t have been sexier as he’d said that. “Fabulous. I would so let this guy do me. Anyone who thinks tattoo artists don’t deserve the title of artist needs to see this. I’ve looked at your hands quite a lot—I mean, at your tattoos—and could never figure out what I was missing.” She pulled his long, manly fingers apart and then linked them together again. She grinned. “I love this. It’s like a puzzle.”
Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5) Page 11