by Stone, Piper
“We’re not finished yet. You need to watch me fucking you.” Lucian gathered me into his arms, taking long strides then putting me down near the dresser. He wasted no time before shifting me around to face the mirror, pushing me against the edge.
I stared at our combined reflection, my entire body aching from the need he’d created. Now his touch became rougher, rubbing his hands down the length of my arms to my waist, brushing the tips of his fingers across my skin.
“Every inch of you belongs to me.” His voice was deeper than before, the tone like smooth velvet sliding across my skin.
When he opened my legs, pressing his hand between them, I dug my fingers into the wood, rising onto my tiptoes.
“And you’re very hungry,” he added, laughing softly as if already knowing the answer.
“Fuck me.” Just saying the words made me feel dirty, guilt rushing over me, but I knew what I craved, the feel of his hard cock throbbing deep inside of me.
His smile of satisfaction sent a burst of heat dancing down the backs of my legs. Wanting him was so easy.
Lucian rubbed the tip of his cock up and down my pussy then thrust it inside, pushing into me with enough force the wind was knocked out of me.
“Yes,” he hissed, closing his eyes as he remained fully seated inside. “Perfect. Watch me fuck you.”
His command was not to be questioned. I did as I was told, staring into the smoky mirror as flashes of the last few days rushed into my mind. He’d managed to unravel me, the unbridled sin of our coupling forbidden but far too delicious. As he pulled out, he lifted his head, his eyes boring into mine.
The moment became a delicious blur as he plunged in several times, forcing my muscles to accept. They clenched around the thick invasion, pulling his shaft in deeper. The world of rapture claimed me again, my body tingling. With every brutal thrust, I was thrown closer to absolute ecstasy.
As the sounds of our hard fucking floated around us, I was no longer connected with anything but the man taking me like a true savage. This moment was all that mattered.
“Tight. Hot. Wet,” he muttered as he pressed his body against mine, intertwining our fingers together. “And all mine.”
As seconds turned into blissful minutes, I slumped against the dresser, uncertain if I was even breathing any longer.
Close to exploding deep inside of me, his chest rising and falling, I whimpered then clenched my muscles around him.
The sound of his roar as he filled me with his seed almost set me free.
* * *
Vibrant colors splashed across every building as far as the eye could see. The day was beautiful, only a few fluffy clouds spilling over the bright blue sky. While the air was humid, the heat only added to the festive setting. Music seemed to blare from several directions, cafés keeping their doors wide open with seating shoved all the way to the edge of the street.
I’d been shocked that Lucian had actually followed through with his promise of allowing me outside of the hotel. While the man Lucian had called Brick followed us, he kept his distance, never approaching or making any requests.
Yet I knew he was prepared to fire his weapon that he’d carefully hidden under the waistband of his jeans. Even more surprising was how casually Lucian was dressed, his short-sleeved polo and the thin fabric of his trousers more fitting to the setting.
He’d left our bed just as sunrise crept in through the cracks in the blinds, taking both his phone as well as his gun with him. I’d remained under the covers, holding one of the pillows in a lame effort to return to sleep. I’d finally given up only thirty minutes later. After insisting on breakfast being delivered to our room, he ate almost nothing although he’d remained at the table. From what I’d been able to tell, he was checking his email.
Back to business.
A return to silence.
Now, as we walked the street, he remained hidden behind dark sunglasses, constantly scanning the street as if searching for a monster in disguise. Almost anything I touched he purchased, from colorful scarves to a tropical dress, even a necklace that had caught my eye. He didn’t seem to understand that he could never buy my loyalty or my trust.
As we wandered the shopping area, I wanted to find the right words to say to him, but I honestly didn’t know what was appropriate or even if I wanted to expose anything else to the formidable man. He was entirely different in the daylight, the mafia king ready to take on the world.
I overheard him talking to Brick as we passed by what appeared to be an art gallery. Drawn by the evocative paintings in the windows, I couldn’t help but go inside. My father had made certain to let me know that my art meant nothing to either him or the rest of the world. The moment he’d destroyed everything I’d created, I’d felt an immediate sense of loss, as if a loved one had been taken from me.
Seeing the displays of pottery, the pieces carefully crafted brought everything back. All the years I’d studied online, the amazing few months I’d spent in Europe, all the books I’d read and the classes I’d taken had been stripped away. As I walked closer to a vase that was so similar to one that I’d made only a day before my father’s vicious tantrum, a single tear slipped past my lashes. I couldn’t help but notice the sight of a pottery wheel behind a set of open slatted doors. A cold ache furrowed inside of me. When I felt Lucian’s presence behind me, I wiped the tear away as quickly as possible.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, moving beside me.
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I love pottery.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes, but I could tell he’d followed my gaze. Damn it. Even my heart was racing. What did it matter? I wasn’t going to have the opportunity to explore what I loved ever again.
Lucian inched closer to the piece, studying it intently. “You’re a sculptor.”
“It’s called a potter. Although not according to my father. That no longer matters. He destroyed my pottery wheel. You don’t have to worry about clunky pieces of clay that have no purpose in life.” I used my father’s exact words, a bitter taste left in my mouth after spewing them with hatred.
Sighing, he studied the piece in front of us for several seconds. Was he going to add insult to injury, confirming what my father had said? Oh, what did I care?
“Why don’t you take your time in the shop. If you see something that you’d like, let me know.” His words sounded heartfelt, but he obviously had no understanding of what it meant to create a work of art, not just purchase it. Even if the bowl or vase was irregular or the colors uneven, they were a creation from the heart.
“Okay. Thank you.” My words were stilted, and I still found it an impossibility to look at him. At least the pleasant atmosphere would remind me of everything I loved. I walked away on purpose, shifting my attention away from the sculpture displays. Within seconds, I found myself lost in the beautiful paintings, every other one depicting Cartagena life.
“Excuse me, miss?”
The deep voice was gravelly, the accent native. I turned to face the aging man, his warm smile catching me off guard. “Yes?”
“I understand you’re an artist.”
I searched the gallery but couldn’t locate Lucian. How would this man possibly know? “I’m not an artist any longer.”
“But you’re a potter?”
“Yes, I’ve enjoyed creating pottery in the past.”
His smile was bright, so inviting. “Would you like to see some of our pieces in the back? They might interest you.”
“I’d love that.”
“Excellent. Come with me.”
I followed him toward the doors I’d seen before, once again taking another look around the gallery. Lucian was nowhere to be found, but I had no doubt he’d spoken to the owner.
When the man led me inside, I pressed both hands over my mouth. Just the sight of the various pieces of clay ready to be molded, various glazes positioned in cans and jars was almost too much of a reminder of what I’d lost. There wasn’t a single wheel but several, two in use. The scent of
raw clay and the sound of the wheels being turned were more fulfilling than anything else I’d seen in the lovely city.
There were various pieces of finished art on several shelves, every one of them creative in design.
I moved closer to one of the instruments, rubbing my hand on the edge.
“We have many students who come here as well as guest artists,” he said as he flanked my side. “As you can see, some of the work is exquisite.”
“Yes, just gorgeous.”
“Would you like to try your hand?”
“Oh, I couldn’t. I mean…”
“Nonsense,” he said. “Please. I would love for you to enjoy. Perhaps you’ll create a work of art of your own.”
For a third time I looked in an effort to find my husband. The thought of our relationship forced a sigh from my lips. “That would be very kind of you.”
“You will make an old man smile. Use whatever medium you would like.”
As I glanced around the room, I breathed in, trying to understand why Lucian would do such a thing. A moment of happiness washed into my system as I selected the perfect lump of already wet clay. When I sat down on the stool, everything that had happened over the last week faded away. I no longer cared about anything but the task at hand.
I started the wheel, waiting for a full minute before placing my hands around the piece. Within seconds, I fell into the same place of peace I’d always felt when working, adjusting my technique to the pedal on the floor, adjusting the speed until everything felt just right. Only a short time later, a creation began to take place.
A rush of adrenaline flowed through me, the sensations the wet clay made against my skin dazzling.
“You’re fantastic.”
Lucian’s voice sent a thrill through me, although I was also embarrassed that he was watching, something I hadn’t tolerated before. I’d always been self-conscious about my work, never considering it good enough.
“I’m just a beginner,” I said, trying to keep my tone light.
“How does this work?”
I dared take a glance at his face. Did he really think I’d buy that he gave a damn? When I noticed he was actually paying attention, his eyes darting around the wheel as it turned, I was surprised. “It’s all about the feel. You learn by the texture of the clay, the softness in comparison to the ridges, the way the water splashes over your fingers when a piece is forming correctly.”
“That’s truly amazing.”
Sighing, I returned my concentration to the project, yet my heart continued to skip several beats. He was going to stand there watching me the entire time. Was he just yanking my chain, or did he actually appreciate my abilities? Why not test him? “Would you like to try?”
He seemed taken aback, his face remaining pensive for a few seconds. Then a smile broke out across his face. “Yeah, I would. What should I do?”
I scooted forward on the stool, nodding over my shoulder. “Sit behind me.”
When he straddled my legs, pushing his body against mine, I was at a momentary loss for words. After swallowing and slowing the wheel, I pulled myself out of the mesmerizing moment. “Put your arms around me.”
He did as instructed, scooting even closer.
“Place your hands on mine.”
When he did so, another bolt of current rushed through both of us, the heat of his body oppressive.
“Do you feel a tingle?” I asked as I kept light pressure on the clay.
“Yes, vibrations.”
Why did the man have to smell so damn good?
“Keep your grip firm,” I instructed, my breath skipping. There was nothing like the feel of his hands on mine as the clay slipped through our fingers and although I couldn’t concentrate on the work, it honestly didn’t matter.
He seemed to enjoy the activity, peering over my shoulder and studying every turn of the wheel, every shape as it altered and morphed.
Returning my attention to the piece, I fell into the rhythm of creation, sliding our hands along the bulbous end, moving upward ever so slowly until a vase began to take shape. There was no time as we worked, just a simple process that took two pairs of hands.
As I started to slow the wheel, I was able to hear the sound of his heavy breathing. I felt lightheaded, unable to think clearly, but I was determined to finish the piece. Only when I was satisfied did I pull our hands away, allowing the wheel to finally stop.
“You are an amazing woman,” Lucian whispered into my ear.
As I tilted my head, he lowered his, keeping his lips hovering over mine. “What are we doing?”
“I’m not entirely certain.”
When he pressed his lips against mine, a rush of something entirely different shifted through me. Perhaps the man had a slice of decency after all.
He slowly slid his tongue inside, taking his time as he swept it back and forth across mine. There was no brutal gesture, no need for his usual domination. There was simply a moment in time, two people sharing a burning attraction.
The sound of the owner clearing his throat brought a blush to my cheeks. I pulled away, lowering my head and laughing softly.
“I can see that four hands are better than two,” he stated in his rich accent. “After this has dried, I hope you will return to finish such a beautiful creation.”
“Thank you. I hope I can.” I bit my lower lip, trying to keep from laughing again.
“You can wash up over here.”
When we headed out of the gallery, the buildings seemed even more colorful than they had when I’d walked inside. While there should be no reason, the sun just as bright as when I’d walked in, I couldn’t help but notice the change.
But as we headed back to the hotel, a strange and very unsettled feeling pooled in the pit of my stomach.
The man I’d labeled as evil, the one who’d stolen my innocence was the same man I was falling in love with.
Chapter 9
Lucian
“Art must be an expression of love or it is nothing.”
Marc Chagall
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The jarring sound ripped me out of what little sleep I’d had. I instantly reached for my weapon, flicking on the light.
“Wake up,” I instructed, reaching for Genevieve. When my hand rested on an empty side of the bed, I growled. “Genevieve. Are you in here?”
There was utter silence. She’d left not only our bed but the suite. I could sense it.
I grabbed my pants from the floor, struggling into them before checking the ammunition clip. As I moved out of the bedroom, another serious of pounding noises occurred, the sound coming from behind the door to the suite. Before I was able to open the door, it swung open. I was prepared to fire.
“Whoa, boss. That’s why I knocked first.” Brick huffed, wide-eyed as he stared at my weapon.
I shifted my gaze to the fact he had his hand wrapped around Genevieve’s arm.
“What. The. Fuck?” I snarled, yanking her out of his hold.
“Let go of me,” she hissed.
“I found her coming into the hotel,” Brick admitted, his expression one of sheepishness. While I’d only brought one soldier, a decision I already regretted, the fact she’d gotten away from both of us was ridiculous.
“I was getting pastries from a little place just next door.” She shoved the bag in my face, shaking her head. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Brick moved further inside, darting a look around the suite. “I hate to interrupt, boss, but we need to get the fuck out of here.”
“Why?”
He shifted his gaze toward Genevieve first, forcing me to nod.
“Soldiers. I got word that Morales has sent a brigade of soldiers to the city and I doubt it’s for some upcoming festival.”
“Fuck.” The bastard I’d spoken with had either tipped off his leader or had gotten himself killed. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t risk the three of us being found in the city. “Get the plane ready.”
“Alread
y made the call.”
“Five minutes. Then we leave.”
“I’ll secure a driver.” Brick immediately pulled out his phone.
A damn driver. At this point, there was no way of telling who was working for Morales.
Keeping my grip on her arm, I yanked her into the bedroom, shutting the door. “We’re leaving now. We’ll talk about your indiscretions later.”
“My indiscretions?” she barked, slamming the bag in my face. “I’m not your prisoner.”
I dragged her onto her toes, using both hands to grip her firmly. “Hear me. We are in danger. Get moving.”
“Did he say soldiers? Did you cause this?”
“No time to ask questions. Get dressed and pack whatever you can manage within five minutes.” When she didn’t move, I shook her several times. “I’m not fucking around here, Genevieve. There are some men who will be arriving in the city within minutes. We need to get to the plane. Do. You. Understand?”
I’d terrified her but she nodded, moving toward the closet. Fury wrapped itself around me, the kind of anger that produced visions of blood. After dressing, I quickly tossed what little I’d brought into the single bag, sweeping through the bathroom and dragging everything into the case. I didn’t want a goddamn thing that we’d brought with us left for the bastards to find.
She didn’t say a word as she did the same, although I could hear her scattered breathing.
Fuck. Why the hell had I taken this kind of risk?
When we were set, Brick dragging our bags from the room, I pulled her close, rubbing my hand against the side of her head.
Jerking away, she glared at me with hateful eyes.
“Everything is going to be all right.”
“No, it’s not,” she whispered.
There was no time to console her. “Stay behind me. Keep a grip on my shirt.”
“Yes. Sir.”
As we left the room, the predawn hours allowed us to pass through the corridors sight unseen. When we were at the side entrance, Brick pulled his weapon into his hands, nodding before heading outside.
She stood huddled against me, not a single noise passing through her lips.
