Cruel Sanctuary (Wages of Sin Book 1)

by Tara Leigh

  “Fine.” The word is accompanied by a dismissive wave of his hand. “Anything else?”

  Yes. A torrent of words are bottled up in my throat. Angry words. Hurt words. Bitter words.

  Accusations. Recriminations.

  So many words they’ve become a twisted, tangled knot I probably couldn’t unravel even if I tried.

  Even if my father was willing to listen.

  And I realize—it’s just not worth it. I’d only be wasting my breath.

  My silence hasn’t piqued his interest. He sighs and turns back to his computer. “No,” I finally manage. “I’m planning to visit with Mom later this afternoon—”

  “Uh huh.”

  Realizing he’s already tuned me out, I get up, disappointment settling like a shroud over my shoulders. “Thanks for seeing me,” I say, not without a liberal dose of sarcasm. Not that he notices.

  When I walk through the door, Shelly swivels in her chair. For a moment I think she is going to open her drawer, offer me a piece of candy, and all will be right in my world. But then we both hear my father bellow her name and she jumps up, slipping through the door I haven’t yet closed with an apologetic smile and a notepad clutched to her chest.

  And that’s when I notice him. Not either of the men King has charged with watching over me, both of whom are currently standing stiffly near the seating arrangement across from Shelly’s desk.

  Damon King himself. Who is right now letting himself out of Chad’s office as if it is an everyday occurrence.

  For all I know, maybe it is.

  Angry steam expands inside my chest as I move toward him as fast as my mile-high stilettos will carry me. “What the hell are you doing here?” My question is a controlled rasp, a lethal tone of voice that has never come out of my mouth before.

  King regards me impassively, looking not at all surprised to see me. Then again, why would he be? He knows exactly where I am at all times. “I wasn’t aware I needed to run my appointments through you, Miss Granville.”

  “Don’t Miss Granville me.” I take a few steps back and enter the conference room I’ve been using as my makeshift office, gesturing for him to join me.

  I wanted privacy, but when King follows me inside and closes the door behind him, I regret not remaining in the hall. I take several steps back until I bump into the table.

  King moves in lock-step with me. He is so close that I can see the dark stubble just beginning to shadow his strong jaw, the long inky lashes that curve upward at their tips, and the small divot, not quite a cleft, marking his chin. So close that every one of my quickening breaths is laced with his scent. Burned wood, old whiskey, and raw masculinity.

  It’s intoxicating.

  21

  Damon

  Running into Aislinn hadn’t been on my agenda when I decided to pay Lytton a visit today, but there’s no denying the sharp jab of pleasure that hits south of my belt buckle at the sight of her. Aislinn’s long legs eat up the distance between us, an angry flush rising up her cheeks.

  Behind a closed door, I don’t hesitate to get even closer. The wild riot of hair that only last night had felt like threads of sunshine in my fist has been tamed, though a few escaped strands curl temptingly around the nape of her neck. My fingers twitch with the need to discover if they can possibly be as silky soft as I remember.

  “You prefer a different name?” I ask. That can be arranged, she shouldn’t even be a Granville. “How about Blaze?”

  “No. Aislinn will do just fine. But you … showing up like this?” Her glare is a flash of bright blue. “I told you I needed to tie up some loose ends. And I don’t appreciate you coming down here to check up on me.”

  “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I had business here today.”

  “With Chad? What—” A gasp sucks the air between us, suspicion pulling at her elegant features. “Are the two of you comparing notes on me or something?”

  “Notes?” I repeat the word and laugh, stepping closer to her. “I wouldn’t share a goddamn roll of toilet paper with that jackass, let alone information on you.”

  A swallow moves down Aislinn’s throat as she folds her hands across her chest, the sleeve of her blouse dragging across the fabric of my suit. “So then what kind of business were you conducting with him?”

  She has me there. “That’s well above your pay grade, sparky.”

  Her head tilts, eyes narrowing. “Ha ha. You’re quite the comedian, hotshot.”

  “I’m a jack of all trades.”

  “Master of none,” she spits back.

  “Have you already forgotten,” inclining my head, I position my lips just above the delicate shell of Aislinn’s ear, “how easily I mastered you?”

  She twists her neck in an attempt to put distance between us, giving me an unobstructed view of the spray of goose bumps that rush down her throat and along her collarbone before ducking beneath the silk of her shirt. A throb of satisfaction makes my pants feel tight.

  Aislinn returns her gaze to my face, meeting my eyes. “Really? You got me off once. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  “That sounds like a challenge.” I lean forward another inch, forcing Aislinn to arch her back over the table to maintain space between us. “Are you challenging me, Aislinn? Because if you are, I accept.”

  “Hardly,” she snaps.

  But my attention is drawn to the wild flutter of the pulse at her neck, the impulse to lick it too strong to ignore.

  The taste of her skin on my tongue … one lick isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  My hands come around Aislinn’s waist, one moving to her lower back, the other chasing the curve of her ass. A low groan vibrates along her throat. I lick. I suck. I bite. I devour her sweet skin from the soft patch of satin tucked just behind her ear to the hard line of her jaw. Moving downward, I kiss and nibble until I’m at her clavicle, then explore the delicate hollow with my tongue. Her pulse flutters.

  I can feel the vibrations of another moan. This one needier, more desperate.

  Aislinn’s legs are encased in yet another black skirt, and again I push my thigh between them. This one doesn’t have nearly as much give to it as the one from yesterday, and I’m impatient as I curl my fingers inside the hem and drag it upward.

  The windows in front of us face the river and the door at my back is a deep, smoky glass. Although it’s not locked, I have no doubt the man I assigned to guard Aislinn is standing right in front of it. No one is getting in here, although I’m not unaware that we’re in a conference room just feet away from Aislinn’s father. That only one wall separates us from Chad Lytton.

  However, the number of fucks I give?

  Zero.

  “Too bad. I really like a challenge,” I admit with a smirk. “Do you want to know why that is?”

  I can practically feel Aislinn gathering her thoughts together. Thoughts I’ve scattered like leaves in the wind.

  Me. I’m the wind. A force as capable of destruction as the softest caress.

  “Why?”

  Aislinn’s skirt slides easily over the velvety skin of her thighs, my fingers slipping between her legs.

  “Because I always win, princess.”

  “There’s a first time for everything. I won’t lose to you.” Her voice is unexpectedly strong, although the vehemence of her declaration is undercut by a wanton tremble.

  “Then it’s a good thing this isn’t a contest.” I bite her ear. “But, just to be clear—if it was, I would win it.”

  22

  Aislinn

  I growl at King’s arrogance. This man takes the meaning of his last name to a new level, acting as if it’s his God-given right to control everything and everyone. “I highly doubt that,” I manage to grit out, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of conceding.

  But the smirk on his face doesn’t drop, not even the slightest. And he doesn’t move back, not even an inch.

  I am burning up from King’s closeness, on fire from his touch. The coo
l air that hits my exposed skin is a relief. But the hand that travels up my thighs only turns up the flames.

  “Admit it, I know just what your body craves. You want this. You want me.”

  I close my eyes against the certainty so clearly evident in his. It’s like staring into the sun.

  But there’s no escape. King lowers his mouth to my ear. “You can hide from the truth, but don’t for one second think you can hide from me, Aislinn Granville.”

  King backs up just enough to spin me around. “I see you, princess. I see all of you.” His low growl is at my other ear, his wide palm cupping my heat. “And I fucking have you.”

  Whatever doubts I had last night are gone. I fucking hate Damon King with a vehemence that’s seared into my soul, for reasons I didn’t understand until now.

  I decide what I want. Who I want. Where and when I want it. Me.

  He’s weaseled his way into my head and I hate it. I hate him. For controlling my body with nothing more than the lazy sweep of his thumb against the inside of my wrist.

  The not quite gentle bite of his teeth at the sensitive patch of skin just behind my ear.

  The scrape of his raspy chuckle as it navigates the ridged column of my spine. Up and down.

  It’s distracting. Disturbing.

  Wretchedly delicious.

  One of the things I appreciated about my relationship with Chad was the space between us. He didn’t know what I was going to say before I said it. He didn’t know what I was thinking before I thought it. He didn’t know how to play my body like it had been made exclusively for his touch.

  The distance between us made me feel safe.

  Despite Damon King’s vow to protect me, and my skepticism about the danger he insists I’m in, I feel anything but safe.

  Truthfully, I’ve never felt more vulnerable.

  It’s terrifying.

  I press my palms flat against the polished mahogany of the table, my chin lifting. The movement has my spine arching, my ass pressing against Damon’s impeccably tailored trousers. My traitorous thighs inch open, needing one or two or even three of the fingers splayed so possessively over me to shift, to enter me, pierce me.

  My clit is a damn traitor, too. A swollen bundle of ravenous nerves, shamelessly incapable of remorse or regret. And, like the rest of me, desperate for King’s touch.

  His gruff chuckle grates over skin that feels as if it’s been stretched too tight. But when the pad of one of his calloused fingertips edges around the lace of my thong and slips inside me, pressing on the most sensitive part of my anatomy, I moan from relief and the fresh wave of lust surging through my bloodstream.

  I can hate King all I want, but right now I want him. I need him.

  A need that has nothing to do with the kidnapping threat of a Mexican cartel. This need is visceral, primal. My body hungers for the release King can provide. The raw, carnal pleasure I so desperately crave.

  I grit my teeth, overcome by the intensity of the storm raging inside of me.

  And then his finger stills. That magic touch disappears.

  My eyes fly open, but my pupils are too dilated by desire to focus on the view outside the window. I wriggle my hips, pressing against his hand. I am a junkie, jonesing for a fix.

  Just give it to me. One more. One last, teeth-rattling orgasm. I’ll never ask for another, I swear.

  “If you want to come, you’re going to do it with my cock inside you.”

  “No,” I rasp.

  He rips my panties with a quick turn of his wrist and touches me again. Teasing just the right spot, just the right—

  I am so close. So, so close.

  When he pulls away, I’m practically shaking.

  “Please.” I am breathless with disappointment, mindless with need.

  “Please what?” He punctuates the question with another flick of his fingertip.

  My knees buckle as a shock races through my limbs. “Please—” I choke over the word. “Damn you, King.”

  “Someone a lot higher up than you damned me a long time ago, princess.” This time, he pinches, and I see stars.

  “Jesus Christ. Just … please.”

  “Tell me what you want, Aislinn. I need to hear you say it.”

  Another slow slide and I almost—almost—shatter in his arms. “Just … Just … Shut up and fuck me.” My voice is desperate and angry, but it serves my purpose.

  A tidal wave of relief slams into me at the hiss of his leather belt sliding through the loops, at the whine of his zipper and the crinkle of the condom wrapper. I have just enough time to suck in a deep breath before every last atom of oxygen is expelled from my lungs in a single gust as King pierces me to the hilt.

  I cry out—from pleasure, from pain, from the delicious turmoil that rages inside my body.

  But King is one step ahead of me. His hand clamps over my mouth, two of his fingers pressing between my lips. I can taste myself on them, salty-sweet and almost pungent with lust.

  My scream is barely a muffled moan, trapped by his palm. If I were capable of thought, I would find it prophetic. He is silencing me, one sexy, seductive move at a time.

  But the neurons in my brain are otherwise engaged.

  As quickly as he enters me, King is in no hurry to move. His large frame remains curved around mine, my ass nestled into the crook between his thighs and the rippled plane of his abdomen pressing me to the table. I am folded in half and he has formed a layer over me. I should feel claustrophobic, but I don’t. The lights are on and all I feel … is King. Everywhere.

  His body and his breath and his scent and his heartbeat that thumps against my spine. I am overwhelmed by this man, in every way.

  And still … it’s not enough.

  I wriggle my ass against him, craving friction. His laugh is somewhere between a growl and a groan as the hand that covers my mouth moves lower, sliding around my throat so that my pulse tap dances against his fingertips. King’s other hand grips my hipbone. “No one’s getting in here, but if you can’t control yourself, everyone is going to know just what we’re doing. Is that what you want?”

  I shake my head from side to side, giving a mournful sounding “No.”

  “Okay, then. Just remember that I’m in control, princess. We’re going to take this real slow.” As he says the words, King begins pulling out of me.

  The slow slide has my senses dancing, tripping over each other in a frenzy of joy.

  “And every time you want to scream my name, you swallow it down real hard. My name is going to ring in your mind, it’s going to slide down your throat, it’s going to fill your belly just as my cock fills your pussy. You’re going to be so damn full of me, there won’t be room for anything else.”

  He pulls out all the way to the tip, then out entirely so that I give a quiet cry at the loss. It’s only for a second, but in that one second, I realize that I want King’s cock more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in the world.

  More than I want food or water or shelter. Right now, his cock is everything to me. It is sustenance and sanctuary. It is the wages of sin, the hand of God. It is mine. All mine.

  He enters me again and I nearly weep at the sensual invasion. The thick head and long length push past my slick opening, tunneling through my inner walls, so swollen and sensitive. The slow journey is both agonizing and luxurious. I let out a grateful sigh, then bite down on my lower lip as he keeps going. And going. Finally butting up against my womb, his balls firmly prodding the sensitive patch of skin where ass meets thigh.

  “My name, sweetheart, let me hear you say it.”

  “King,” I wheeze.

  “That’s one of them.”

  “Damon. Damon King.”

  “That’s right. Now get ready to chant it. But not out loud. I want you to savor the taste of each syllable on your tongue while my cock rides your pussy. The same way I’m going to ride your mouth soon enough.”

  Damon King. Damon King. Damon King.

  I say it silent
ly as the hand gripping my hip slides down my belly until his fingers are positioned just above where we are joined. He pulls out of me again.

  All the way out.

  Then, all the way in.

  All the way out.

  Then, all the way in.

  Over and over.

  Again and again and again. His dick surges and retreats.

  His fingers pinch and twist and tease.

  And his voice …

  Damon King’s darkly seductive voice fills my ears like an ex-rated lullaby. Luring me not to sleep, but into a world where fantasy exits. I know, because I’m living it.

  This fantasy is entirely real.

  You love this. You crave this. Me filling you.

  Giving you everything you never had. Everything you never knew you needed.

  But you do, don’t you? You need my cock to make you fly. To make you soar.

  Only inside my arms can you soar, Aislinn Granville. Remember that.

  Those are his words.

  Right here, right now, Damon King is my lord and liege. My captor and savior.

  Maybe he’s put a spell on me. Or maybe he’s cursed me. Because my mind is filled with only two words. His name.

  Damon King. Damon King. Damon King.

  All the while, he drills into me slowly. Methodically. His cock massaging parts of my body I didn’t know existed.

  My pussy worships him.

  I worship him.

  Silently.

  So, so silently.

  The storm conjured by King’s mouth and touch and words—and his sinful, skillful cock—becomes something that is bigger than me. Bigger than us. Bigger and more powerful than can be contained by mere bones and muscles and sinews.

  I feel his hand at my mouth again. “Go ahead, princess, I’ll catch your scream.”

  As though I needed permission, an orgasm roars over me, consuming me.

  But I don’t say those two words.

  Only one escapes before I am wordless, breathless, mindless.

  Just one word, as I soar inside his arms.