I only have one anchor here.
My hands are wrapped around his neck.
My lips press against his, open and hungry and dying for something to take me away from this night, take me away from who I am.
He told me he loved me.
I need to sink into those words.
I need to believe them.
I’ve heard them before.
From Cyril.
From the men before.
Maybe a man after.
But not like this.
Not with the conviction of a man on death row, a man who knows he only has the truth and nothing left to lose.
And so I kiss him like I have nothing left to lose too.
Because I don’t.
I kiss him and kiss him until he’s really, truly kissing me back, and I feel all the power of him take over, the way he grabs my wrists and pins them back against the floor, the way he takes my lower lip between his teeth and tugs hungrily, grunting and moaning and filling me with so much fuel that I’m afraid I may just combust.
“Blaise,” I say breathlessly.
But there isn’t much more to say. Nothing I can convey with words.
I almost died tonight.
I need him to make me feel more alive than ever.
My hands go to the bloody collar of his shirt, the wound on his head bleeding less now, and I try to undress him as he tries to undress me. We’re both a wild mess of torn, bloody clothing and feral appetites.
He rips my blouse down the middle, the buttons popping until they expose the lacy trim of my bra.
I gasp and his lips start nibbling up the tender soft skin of my swells, then pulling the flimsy lace aside until my nipple is exposed.
He licks and teases and flicks and sucks until I’m groaning and gasping and holding the back of his head against me so he can’t escape, so he can do this to me forever.
My eyes are closed, and I’m drowning in the feeling, and then he’s tearing the rest of my clothes off me until I’m like a dog on the floor, rolling around in heat. I feel his fingers grip me beneath my elbows, and I’m brought to my feet. I can barely walk as I’m led over to the decrepit love seat, barely in charge of my limbs, barely in charge of anything.
At this point, I just want to be taken.
And Blaise takes me, he takes me and possesses me like that’s the only thing he was meant to do.
I’m naked before him, legs spread and panting. Totally vulnerable.
But this kind of vulnerable is different from what I felt earlier.
This vulnerable is something I want him to see.
He told me he loved me.
I’m telling him I’m his to take.
I run my hands down my thighs and spread them wider, watching the hunger in his face turn into something uncontrollable; I’m pushing him to lose control.
Take me, I think. Make me yours.
Undo this mess.
And he does.
He does by removing his bloody shirt and then his pants and socks and shoes until he’s completely naked, standing before me.
I’ve never been with him like this before.
Had I known he was sculpted the way he is, I wouldn’t have pushed him away to begin with. I certainly wouldn’t have second-guessed any of his martial arts training in Thailand, because the man is fucking ripped, every single hard and rippled part of him.
And of course there is his cock, long and hard and thick, which made me blush when I was younger and now fills me with a wild sense of need.
This is so fucked up.
I’m his cousin.
He’s mine.
Family, if there ever was such a thing from one side to the other.
We’re both naked and succumbing to our desires.
But if it felt wrong at one point in our lives, all I know is that now it feels right.
All we might have needed is each other.
Blaise places his strong hands over my hips and helps to lift me up over on his lap as he sits back on the love seat. I straddle him, feeling his cock jut out between us, hungry for him.
He grabs my breasts hard, kneading them before taking my nipple into his mouth and going at me like a wild beast.
I groan, head thrown to the ceiling, back arched, giving him access to every part of me. I’ve never felt so exposed and explicit, but I’m vibrating on a whole new frequency now.
Taking control, I put my hand against the back of the love seat, taking on the weight, and then I lift myself up so I’m just brushing against the tip of his cock. It feels lush and wild and taboo, and I’m still so aware that I should be curled up in the corner and crying, yet everything is making sense. This desire is just the desire to live and the need to be with the one person that makes me feel like I’m alive.
Blaise grabs the base of his cock, the whole length jutting out in front of us, and I meet his eyes.
They aren’t full of the same chaos that surrounds me.
They’re full of something obsessive and singular.
Me.
Because he’s only wanted me.
I hold the couch as I slowly and carefully lower myself onto his cock, knowing he only wants what I’m giving him.
I’ve never felt so free.
His eyes go back in his head as I slide down, pushing on the ridge of his cock.
His lips part.
He moans.
He looks like he’s been transported to another planet.
And then he opens his eyes and fixes them on me, and I know I’m not his version of a drug den.
He sees me.
Every part of me.
He sees me and he wants me. His hands slide down my waist to the curve of my hips, and he holds on tight, moving my body up and down and up and down until there’s a rhythm.
And where there’s rhythm, there’s magic.
And where there’s magic, there’s belief.
Belief that I can escape this night and everything I’ve been feeling, everything that has been torn apart can be put back together again.
With him.
Only with him.
I rock on top of Blaise’s stiff and commanding cock until his fingers find my clit, and his mouth comes up to taste my skin. Then I’m just a swirling mess of emotions, close calls, sins, and renewals, and I know that Blaise isn’t just someone who will make me forget everything that happened now and before now and forever.
He will remind me that it happened.
And he will remind me of who we are in the midst of chaos.
This is my chaos.
This is my Blaise.
This is me, coming so hard that I can’t speak, that I’m bucking and I’m feeling, and no matter what has happened, I know I’m alive.
I’m alive.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BLAISE
I wake up on the love seat, naked, with one leg on the floor. Seraphine is lying on top of me, her head on my chest, her black hair spilled around her like silk. My coat lies on top of both of us.
The air is cold, and I can see my breath when I stir, yet the heat between the two of us is palpable. I lean my head back toward the window and see the sun just starting to rise above the buildings of the 18th arrondissement, filling the cold, empty, stark room with a warm glow.
Seraphine begins to stir, and I run my palms down the naked planes of her back, feeling the dip and rise of her curves. My dick is already hard as a rock and pushed up against her. I fight the urge to just start fucking her again, because now that we’re in the clear light of day—in an abandoned apartment, no less—all the dangers and worries and fucking craziness of the night before come flooding back. The sex was something I’d dreamed about, and it was better than my dreams, but while we gave in last night, those wants and needs have to be shoved aside for now.
This is a matter of life and death.
And I need to keep my promise.
To never let her feel alone. To protect her and keep her safe.
To
keep loving her.
I close my eyes and drift off a little, warmed by my thoughts, until she stirs again and lifts her head.
I open my eyes and stare right into hers.
“Good morning,” I say softly, pushing her bangs behind her ears.
“Good morning.” She gives me a small smile. “I honestly didn’t think we’d make it through the night.”
“But we did,” I tell her. “And naked too.”
Another quick smile, this one fading as she looks at the window and the rising sun that makes her brown skin gleam like gold.
There’s nothing in this world more beautiful than her, not even a million rising and setting suns.
“We should probably get out of here.” She gets off my body as I try to sit up, and she’s quick to pull my coat around her shoulders, shivering. She stares down at me, naked. “Though with you, you wouldn’t know it’s cold out at all.”
I glance at my cock, still hard and throbbing, the hard, thick ridge of it spanning up to my stomach. The more she stares at it, the more I want to grab her and make her ride me, maybe throw her up against the wall and fuck her until she’s crying my name.
God, this is fucking impossible. How can I be around her after this and not want to keep feeling her inch by inch from the inside?
“Blaise,” she says, clearing her throat, looking me in the eye. “We can’t . . .”
“Can’t what?” I challenge, ignoring everything I had decided before she woke up. My willpower has been thrown out the window. “Don’t pretend that you didn’t like what happened last night, that you didn’t want it.” I pause as fear washes over me, the fear that last night was it and won’t ever happen again. At the moment it’s just as powerful as the fear for our lives.
I know that look in her eyes. She’s trying to find a way to argue because arguing with me is what she loves to do best, perhaps even more than fucking me.
“Speechless?” I ask, getting to my feet.
I walk over to her, my cock bobbing in front of me, not minding the cold, and I grab her gently by the back of the head. “Just because you’re not talking doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’re saying,” I say gruffly, pulling her lips to mine.
The coat slips off her shoulders to the floor, and I press my body against hers, her soft skin against my hard torso, my erection against her hip. I kiss her softly at first, but that quickly turns to hunger, a ravenous, wild sort of hunger not unlike last night.
That feeling that each moment we have with each other might be the last moment we ever have.
I know she feels it too.
I can tell by the way she kisses me back, matching me with wild abandon.
Her hands disappear into my hair, making a fist, and I bring my mouth to her neck, biting and licking and kissing down to her shoulders until her head is back and she’s moaning breathlessly.
We don’t have a lot of time.
All we have is now.
I reach down and shrug her plump ass into my hands and then pick her up, spinning her around until she’s pressed up against the wall. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I grab my cock, guiding it into her.
She’s slick as sleet, and I slide into her with one hard push, the breath leaving my lungs as I fill her to the hilt.
“Fuck,” I swear hoarsely, pushing her up against the wall as I slowly pull out. I glance at her face, our noses rubbing against each other as we succumb to every note of pleasure.
She stares at me through her long lashes, mouth wet and open. Even though danger lurks outside these walls and our lives have been forever changed, what we have right now between us is more powerful, more raw, more primal than anything. It’s overriding the fear and replacing it with connection, that deep-seated need we have for each other, that tells us we belong.
I belong with her.
And she with me.
Just as it always should have been.
With each hard, strong thrust as I pump inside her, with each squeezing pulse as she wraps herself around me, together we rock each other until we’re heating this cold place with just our bodies. Sweat rolls off my nose and drips onto her chest, and her fingernails dig into my back, and I spread my legs, steadying us as I rut faster and faster.
I’m close to coming, and I slide my fingers down over her puffy wet clit and press, swirl, and tease, and then she’s gasping, breathless, greedy.
“Blaise,” she cries out hoarsely, and I close my eyes because she’s never cried out like this before, never said my name with such need and reverence, and it’s something I never knew I needed to hear.
“I’m coming,” I say through a groan, kissing the side of her mouth, her jaw, her ear, and then she’s coming.
Her cry is choked off, and she starts quivering, her limbs jerking as she pulses around me, hot and wet and tight and . . . heaven.
“Fuck me,” I cry out, the words escaping me as the orgasm sneaks up on me and nearly takes me out. I do what I can to stay upright, to keep rubbing her clit, to keep thrusting my dick deep inside of her, harder and harder and harder until I’m sure we’re going to go right through the wall.
When we’re finally done and she’s milked everything out of me, I gently lower her to the ground, and she nearly falls over on shaking legs.
I hold on to her arm, keeping her steady. “Easy,” I tell her.
She glances up at me, her cheeks flushed, lips red and wet, eyes shining, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so beautiful.
“You made me forget how to walk,” she jokes softly.
“Glad I have that ability,” I tell her. “And I’ll be happy to make you forget over and over again.”
She grins at that, showing her perfect white teeth, and then it fades as she picks up her clothes, clothes that are dirty and torn from last night’s fight. My own are splashed with blood. Thank God our dark coats will cover up everything.
Reality has come knocking.
It’s just outside this door.
It’s waiting for us, and we have no idea what to expect.
We dress quickly and soundlessly. She goes to use the washroom but looks disgusted when she’s done, which suggests things in this apartment have been untouched for a long time.
Even though our rocking moved the love seat, it’s still blocking part of the door, so I move it out of the way.
We step outside into the hall. There is some sound in the building, the soft murmur of a TV from the apartment across, and I guess we’re just lucky that the sound of us fucking didn’t make anyone think twice, although I wouldn’t be surprised if most places in here are used for exactly that.
We make our way downstairs and out the front door, looking up and down the street. I expected to see police cars, maybe investigating the sound of a gunshot or the spilled blood in the park, but there’s nothing. It’s cold and calm as the city slowly wakes up, and birds are calling from the trees.
“It’s like it never happened,” Seraphine muses quietly.
“We both know it did,” I tell her, opening my Uber app on my phone. “Now, do you have a friend you can go stay with for today?”
She looks at me in shock. “A friend?”
“Yeah. Someone to harbor you and keep you hidden.”
She stares at me for a few seconds, and it’s like everything is becoming real to her. “I can’t go home.”
I shake my head and grab her hand, holding it tight. “I know. That’s why you need to go to a friend’s house. Or call Olivier and see if he can arrange something for you at one of his hotels, but you can’t go home right now.”
“What about your place? Where are you going?”
I look off into the distance and frown, not liking what I’m about to do. I exhale loudly. “I have to talk to Pascal.” I pat the side of my coat where the gun is. “And I won’t leave until he listens to me.”
Seraphine clutches my arm. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m his brother. He has to listen to me.”
�
��Don’t be so naive, Blaise! He’ll throw you to the wolves. Fuck, he is the wolf!”
“Even wolves can be tamed,” I tell her. “So give me an address.”
“I won’t let you do this alone.”
“You have to let me. This is the only shot we’ve got.”
She stares at me pleadingly, the pale morning sun bouncing off her face. Her breath hangs in the air as she speaks. “You said you’d never let me feel alone again.”
Fuck. She’s got me there.
I lean in and kiss her hard, my features contorting as I feel everything, just everything. I pull away, holding her. “This is the only way we can be together. If I don’t do this, we don’t stand a chance.”
“You mean I don’t. You’re not the one who had one of my father’s henchmen try to abduct you.”
“No, but whatever happens to you happens to me. Besides . . . don’t you think by now that the men talked? That they gave my description to Jones, and then Jones gave my description to my father? I’m surprised he’s not calling me right now. Maybe he thinks I’ll walk into work like nothing’s happened, my face busted up like this, and sit right down at the conference room table.”
“And that’s exactly why you need to—”
“What? I need to do something, Seraphine. If you think we can just go on the lam like Bonnie and Clyde, the family version, then you’re not thinking clearly. I have to set things right, and I can’t do that until I know you’re safe. So please, I need an address.” I wave my phone at her.
She closes her eyes, her lips moving though no sound is coming out. Finally she says, “Marie. My friend Marie. She’ll still be home, she doesn’t go to work until ten. She lives in the thirteenth arrondissement.” She opens her eyes and takes the phone, scrolling through the map until she enters the Nationale métro stop into the address bar.
It turns out there’s an Uber just around the corner from us.
We get in the car, and it takes forever to reach Marie’s place; it’s on the other side of the city, and the morning rush hour is thick.
“Are you going to your apartment first?” she asks me.
I shake my head. “I can’t risk it. People could be waiting for me.”
She studies me, frowning deeply. She glances at the driver and then leans in, whispering, “Do you really think your father won’t hurt you?”
Disarm Page 19
