by Lana Sky
Viewing him now, I realize that there is no realistic way I could ever overpower him enough to deliver an injection. My only chance is to get him to relax his guard. To have him sit on the bed of his own accord, or sleep here, even…
One solution suddenly comes to mind—I could seduce him.
And I don’t have any other choice.
Any shame or doubt, I push out of my brain as I meet his gaze again. “Why did you never come on to me?” I ask him, fighting to keep my breathing under control.
He laughs, but the question has the effect I want. He’s distracted from his anger for now, at least.
He inclines his head, viewing me from behind dangerously thick lashes. Rather than soften his features, the attribute only serves to obscure what little emotion lurks within his gaze. “I thought I was clear enough on that point? No amount of beauty in the world can disguise a soulless interior—”
“I’m not talking about marriage, Domino,” I say, sounding stronger than I feel. “I’m talking about sex. I’m sure you’ve fucked plenty of women with dirty little souls.”
Alexi, for one. Knowing he’s been with her reveals his high and mighty act for what it is. An act. Which means he had another reason for avoiding me.
“Was it because of my father?” I ask while gathering the nerve to take a step from my hiding place, toward the foot of the bed.
When I do, he narrows his eyes, those beautiful lips parting as if to order me to stop. He doesn’t.
So, I creep forward another step. “He isn’t here now.”
Despite everything, I can’t keep my voice from breaking. The reason for my father’s absence is standing right here before me while I try to… What?
Seduce him?
If it were possible to, I would have at any other point during the last five years. Perhaps I wasn’t desperate enough?
Because I think he likes this. Watching me tremble before him, toeing some invisible line. To cross it would mean debasing myself fully, forfeiting any ounce of self-worth I may have left. Then again, I am a Pavalos.
Nothing trumps survival.
I finger the neckline of my dress. His eyes track the motion, halting my next breath.
“You would fuck me now?” he asks gruffly. “Why? In hopes that I’d be so enamored by that magic pussy I’d let you go?”
I flinch as the jab strikes its target. “N-No. I’m just curious,” I whisper. “You haven’t tried to touch me.”
Not outside of a brutal context, at least.
“If you wanted me, why not?”
“Because the world doesn’t revolve around Ada-Maria Pavalos,” he snarls, closing the distance between us. “I can die a happy man without fucking you. Trust me on that.”
“But you don’t have to.” The air feels so heavy, every breath takes the utmost effort. Sweat dampens my skin, and I’m aware of how thin this dress is. How sore my back is. How insane it is to play with fire and consider fucking the man who kidnapped me and killed my father.
I’ve done far worse in my life.
But the flicker of excitement in my belly makes this time so different from the others. I shouldn’t want this...
“Why not fuck me, if you could?” I ask, my voice heavy. “Especially if you don’t plan on letting me go?”
“Because I don’t want to be gentle, that’s why.” He grabs my throat, wrenching me closer before I can react.
I panic, struggling against his grasp before I realize that this is what I wanted. His nostrils flare with my scent as his gaze dips to my breasts.
Startled, I dare to assume that my seduction attempt is working.
“I wouldn’t be,” he says with the sincerity of a promise, still on the topic of gentleness. “I’d fuck you so hard, I’d—” He bites off the rest, but my brain takes up the task of imagining what he’d say. What he’d do to me. Bite, I think, given how his lower lip is skewered between his teeth, so hard the flesh is reddened.
Fear rises up, countering the fragile logic I’ve come up with. I couldn’t willingly let someone like him have me. It would be insane. Dangerous.
“That fucking mouth,” Domino growls, his eyes on the feature in question. “The things I’ve imagined those lips doing.”
It’s like my offer does something to him, unlocking the dangerous confessions I doubt he’d otherwise voice.
“If you want to play, then who am I to stop you?” He grabs my wrist, turning for the door.
To fuck me somewhere else, far from my only bit of leverage.
“W-Wait!” There isn’t time to think or plan. I lunge for him, pressing my mouth to his, clawing at his shirt to feel the hard planes of his chest beneath.
For a second—just one—I forget. My brain overloads and melts with the sensation I’ve dreamt about for so long. Few men live up to the hype their good looks and stature imply. Tristan is a prime example. Sex with him was a chore I had to endure, moaning at the right times to keep him excited. I don’t think anyone ever exceeded my expectations.
But this…
This is violent. He nips at my lips until they part, stealing his way inside. His taste, his scent, his heat. I’m drunk on all three, dizzy and breathless within seconds.
Abruptly, he pulls away, stepping back, his lips wet. He was toying with me, of course. Just as I think the thought, he snags a handful of my dress, lifting it.
The style forces me to raise my arms to assist him. I swallow in anticipation of his expression as the final piece of fabric is lifted away.
What I find is hunger. Raw open lust so scorching my skin feels seared in the face of it. The restraint he showed in the bath snaps. Boldly, he cups my breast against his palm, groaning at the feel.
I stop breathing at the sensation of his touch. Heavy and rough—yet soft and teasing. He is a wealth of contradictions as he strokes the peak of my nipple with his thumb.
I can’t suppress a gasp.
At the sound, his eyes meet mine again, darkening as if he’s battling some internal dilemma. Whatever conclusion he reaches makes him shrug.
“Fuck it.” That gruff exhale is my only warning as he shoves me back onto the mattress. He rakes his gaze over me, settling between my legs.
At the same time, he’s already ripping open the front of his slacks, and my eyes latch onto his movements, more curious than I’d ever admit out loud.
He’s gorgeous. He’s terrifying.
Already erect, he springs free, and I’m horrified to realize that I don’t know what initially aroused him. My offer? Or seeing my back in the dining room?
Without revealing the answer, he steps forward, mounting the bed after me, and my attention returns to the task at hand. Not that he seems inclined to let me take the lead. He shoves my left thigh aside, making room for him to crouch between both. Harsh, his hands slide beneath my hips, yanking me closer.
A thrill shoots down my spine, mingling with a fiery burst of pain. It hurts, but the pain is like a welcome anchor to the grim reality. This isn’t about lust, or even fucking.
This is war. To stay alive, I have to grit my teeth and bear the agony. I have to arch my hips into him, choking out a moan the way I have so many times before.
“Don’t.” A sharper sting overrides the various aches I feel. His nails, gripping the swell of my ass, biting deep. I gasp in shock.
And he pinches me again.
“No faking,” he commands. “No pretending. I don’t want that shit. I want…”
He doesn’t tell me. Instead, he shoves his hand between my legs, sliding what feels like a thumb against my outer lips. I can’t silence a cry of alarm. It feels…
Like I imagined it would. So damn good. His skin alone sows devious friction, and I can’t stop my legs from drifting further apart, opening myself to more.
But his goal isn’t to savor me. He rams a thick finger in deep without warning.
My eyelids flutter. Holy shit. He’s rough, entering me swiftly without care. Like he’s searching for something.<
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Gravely, his voice rumbles against my ear, revealing exactly what. “Wet.” He says it with such disgust. Such awe. It’s a marvelous discovery. A trap.
As if to prove the slickness he finds is real, he eases another finger alongside the first, stretching them both. Together. Apart. Further. Too far!
I cry out, gritting my teeth at the burn of being stretched. He doesn’t take his time or rub like I’m some cheap wind-up toy. I get the sense that he’s merely testing me instead. Satisfied, he wrenches his fingers free.
I hiss through my teeth at the loss. My legs are quivering, my heartbeat unsteady. I can’t seem to catch enough air as he raises his palm to his mouth and spits. When he moves that same hand to his cock, I know that he doesn’t need the lubrication. He’s doing it to prove a point—this is what he thinks of me. A whore he can take selfishly without preparation. A slut.
Someone desperate enough not to care either way.
Selfishly, he guides himself forward while snatching a fistful of my hair with his free hand. He tugs, slamming his hips forward in the same swift motion.
There is no resistance. At first. It’s like my body has become so accustomed to average men that his balls are striking against my ass by the time I register just how deep he truly is. How massive.
My lips fly apart, my voice a squeak. “You’re so big.”
He grunts in annoyance, pinching my inner thigh—but I’m not lying.
He’s verging on the edge of painful, every thrust like being rubbed raw from the inside out. But when he eases himself nearly all the way out, the friction is like dropping a lit match over a trail of gasoline.
A strangled cry echoes back to me, and it’s a second before I realize that it’s me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt something so intense. Nerves I’d forgotten existed come alive, begging for attention.
From him.
And he somehow manages to stimulate every last one as he shoves himself back in, slamming home with a grunt.
Even his sounds feed the tempests of sensation washing over me, addling my senses. I rock my hips into his next thrust. Groan when he slides out. Again. Again.
We’re jerking across the mattress. Soon, my head slips off entirely, dangling over the floor as he grips me tighter, increasing his pace.
It’s so damn good.
I’m whimpering beneath the onslaught, feeling my belly tighten like a rubber band stretched taut. Too taut. Snap!
My spine arches, fingers grappling for a fistful of the sheets. Orgasm, I realize. I can’t remember the last time I had one like this. So intense I can feel every muscle clamping down over his cock. Every pulsating ridge of muscle ramming inside me, heedless of the way my entire body tenses.
My lips are open, but I’m too breathless to make a sound, my eyes on the opposite wall as my head lolls in time to his movements, slamming off the mattress.
“Fuck!” He lunges, sinking his teeth against my collar bone.
I can feel him coming inside me, and it’s seemingly endless. I’ll burst from the force of it, but he’s already wrenching himself free.
Don’t let him go.
The thought drives me to muster my aching limbs into motion. I grab him, finding his mouth, kissing him with all I have.
Tire him.
I don’t think. I crawl onto my knees, shoving him back.
As his eyes meet mine, I freeze, waiting for him to shove me off. His gaze narrows instead. Impatient.
Without needing a prompt, I rake my fingers down his chest, tug at the remaining buttons holding his shirt together.
“Don’t.” He bats my hands away, but inclines his head lower.
Somehow, his cock is semi-hard, practically lurching into my hands. I ignore my hesitation and lower my head, taking him into my mouth as deeply as I can.
“Shit!” His fingers grapple for my hair, grabbing chunks so hard my eyes water.
I suck him like a starving woman, ignoring the taste. Until I can’t, forced to acknowledge that it’s nowhere near as repulsive as it should be. We taste like salt and sin together. Wrong and right. So damn good it makes my heart ache.
“Enough.” He’s thickening again, swelling over my tongue, but I don’t stop. I can’t. The desperate need to keep him here dulls me to everything else. Like common sense warning me to heed him. Like fear.
When he tugs on my collar, ripping my head free, I choke out a reply as his eyes flash dangerously.
“I’ve always wanted to taste you.” My voice is so breathless, he can’t tell if I’m lying. Am I?
Confused, he watches me, but he doesn’t shove me off.
I return to sucking him, surprised by the pulsating ache between my legs. I’m so sore, overly sensitive from an orgasm.
And yet, I could take him again. God, some sick part of me wants to. Needs to. I’m writhing, rubbing my thighs together just to dull the ache.
“Jesus Christ,” he says throatily. I can’t tell if it’s my mouth he’s referring to or my arousal, tinging the air. My entire body betrays me. I couldn’t hide my pleasure if I tried.
“Get on your knees.” He pushes me back again, so abruptly that liquid sprays from my mouth, my lips still parted in an o-shape.
A smug gleam alights his eyes, setting my entire body on edge.
“Do it.” He snatches my hair to make me comply faster, forcing me to spin, putting my back to him.
He doesn’t waste time taunting me. He runs his finger down my spine before stroking directly over his new target.
I wince, real fear breaking through the lust.
Men have fondled my ass before, begging me to let them take me there. I heard that whores like Alexi preferred it, eliminating any risk of pregnancy, but I never was a fan.
When Domino nears that area, he doesn’t beg for permission. He breaches me without warning, utilizing the hard tip of a thumb.
I shudder. “D-Don’t.” My act slips. I’m afraid.
He doesn’t care, driving himself deeper as my muscles fight to keep him out. It’s such a different violation than the other. My body can’t make that part of me as ready. The only solution is to let myself relax into him and force my muscles to allow him in.
And the pleasure here is different, slow-burning and cautious.
“You’d let me take you here if I wanted?” he asks, his voice so thick I can barely make out the individual words. He thrusts in a little harder, venturing a fraction deeper, and my cry is too sharp to smother. “Hell yes, you would.”
And that pleases him. Excites him.
He shoves me onto my hands, gripping my ass, and my teeth clatter as I try not to resist, bracing myself for the pain.
He enters my pussy instead, taking effort to go deep and hard.
This orgasm is harder to find. I have to reach between my legs, stroking my clit, finding it swollen and dripping as he thrusts in again. Lightning flashes with every stroke. Finally, release.
I groan, burying my mouth against the sheets to smother the noise.
He shouts, scratching me brutally as if in punishment.
He wanted to fuck me. Hurt me.
He didn’t want to enjoy it so damn much.
Chapter Eleven
I get my wish. He pulls out of me but doesn’t go far, lying on his back within the tangled sheets. My lungs burn as I try to catch my breath while dragging my legs together, feeling his seed drip freely between them.
If my life weren’t already in question, I’d book an appointment at a clinic tomorrow—despite the implanted birth control I had placed in my arm just a few months ago. It’s advertised to be good for four years at least, but this night alone will put that to the test.
I’m never this reckless. Even Tristan never took me raw, and I don’t think he’s filled a condom with half as much as what I feel inside me now.
Sex, in my experience, is normally such a boring, casual thing.
Neither term can even begin to apply to what just happened with Domino. That was somethin
g far different and far more violating. It was destruction. Being dipped into hellfire.
My overall body throbs badly enough to have been burned. I’m moaning with every breath, shaking as the high wears off and reality sets in. My back is wet with more than just sweat. The stench of blood intrudes on his masculine flavor. It’s too much to handle all at once.
I just want to sleep.
But I can’t.
Lifting my head, I look at him, only to realize that he’s watching me. His eyes gleam, mockingly alert. I haven’t even begun to tire him.
“Your little stunt won’t get you anything from me,” he says bluntly.
Concealing my disappointment, I lick my lips and wince as my tongue strikes an open wound. He bit me. “I… I don’t want anything from you.”
“Bullshit.” He props himself on his elbows, an eyebrow raised with open suspicion. “You’re so used to seducing men; I’m surprised your cunt doesn’t have a credit card swipe. Did you think you could convince me to take you home if you fucked me? Be a good boy?”
I hate how he makes me sound.
“Then I’m sure I fit your standards,” I bite back, picturing Alexi. Only as the words leave my mouth do I remember that I wasn’t meant to see those photos.
And I might have just given away my entire fragile plan right on the verge of putting it into action.
“You don’t know a damn thing about what I want,” he counters, lying back, his eyes on the ceiling. As the seconds pass, I dare to hope that he missed my slip-up. “But if you thought to play your little mind games, it’s too late. You should have tried to fuck me that first night. I still hadn’t decided, then...”
“Decided to what?” I ask, falling right into the verbal trap he sprung.
“Sell you.”
I wait for him to laugh or taunt, or otherwise reveal the joke for what it is. A joke. When he doesn’t, I’m not surprised. Deep down, I think I already knew that his plans for me were far more nefarious than keeping me hostage.
And yet, even as my horror builds, all I can do is ask him, “Why?”
“Why else?” he replies, his tone as level as ever. We could be discussing the temperature of the room for all the emotion his voice conveys. “You are a Pavalos. You know better than anyone that the world runs on money.”
