Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  She shook her head, cutting him off. "But I can't do this anymore. I tried so hard to just take things between us as they came and I can't. It's been two days since you moved in, and I already feel insane. I just… can't. We can't. I don't know why you make me feel like this, but you do. I don't know what to do, Tristan, and I am so tired of trying to figure it out. I'm just done. I'll tell Jason that I changed my mind. I'll…." she trailed off, another tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry." She sounded so fucking devastated as she whispered that apology, like she was letting him down and regretted it more than anything.

  His chest ached again.

  "How do I make you feel, beautiful?" He swiped at her tears, hating that he'd made her cry. Hating that she'd reached her limit somewhere in that club and was ready to walk away now when she hadn't been earlier.

  "It doesn't matter."

  "It does matter," he argued softly. "It matters to me."

  She shook her head, trying to deny him that truth.

  "Tell me, beautiful. Please."

  Lillian sighed and gave in, her bottom lip trembling though she tried so hard to hide it. "You make me feel like I need you. Like not having you may kill me. Like… like you might consume me if I let you. Like I want to let you. I don't know." She shook her head, her frustration one he understood completely. "You scare me, Tristan. I'm not the woman who lets strangers practically screw her on the dance floor, but when you're around, I want to be that woman. That scares the shit out of me, and I don't know how to stop it. I don't want to stop it."

  She felt it too, that consuming thirst. The clawing addiction and burning desperation. Knowing that, he couldn't just let go. He couldn't just let her go. Fuck. He was so fucked.

  "I'll call him-" Once again, she sounded defeated, torn. Like she already regretted making that decision.

  "No." Tristan shook his head, his decision made. It'd been made two weeks ago when he'd dragged her onto the dance floor. They both knew that, too. "Don't. I can't-" He curled his hand around her nape, dragging her closer when words failed. He shook his head, a frantic edge to his voice. "I don't want you to go."

  She groaned, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

  "Lillian…." Whatever he meant to say to keep her right there with him was lost to him the moment her body grazed his. Heat exploded between them, raging like an inferno. The breath left his lungs in a rush as relief at touching her eased every frustration and fear that'd run rampant through his mind when she'd vanished inside Trinity. He dipped his head, pressing his forehead to hers.

  "Tristan," she whispered quietly, almost reverently… and that look on her face. Christ, that hopeful, yearning look on her face. "Please."

  His lips were on hers before the final syllable of her plea fell. He drew it inside himself, telling her what she needed to hear the only way he knew how: with his body moving against hers and his tongue working in tandem with hers. Their arms tangled around one another. Moans fell from him, from her… he wasn't sure. All he felt was her sweet breath across his face and the way she writhed as she tried to move closer.

  The way she filled every space inside of him with desire and silence and a thousand other things undid him.

  "Fuck," he breathed into her mouth, his tongue stroking hers as he fell backward into the wall. He delved his hands into her hair, tilting her head so he could get deeper. He needed deeper. He needed it so fucking badly….

  She ran her hands up and down his back, setting him on fire and soothing him at once. "Tristan. God, I need… Please don't-" Her words were frantic as he swept his free hand across her body, touching her everywhere in a desperate attempt to soothe the burn.

  It wasn't nearly enough though.

  He needed her naked and screaming for him. Screaming because of him. Screw begging. He needed… Christ, he needed her and he needed in and he needed it now and he needed her to stay. The rest of it, just fuck it. If she stayed, they would figure out the rest. They had to, because he wasn't letting her leave. He couldn't. Not until he had a chance to remind her how good things could be between them.

  He lifted her into his arms, his mouth still moving with hers in a silent plea, the only way he knew how to voice it.

  Please don't give up now.

  Please don't walk away.

  She writhed in his arms, and he swallowed her matching pleas each time she offered them.

  "Shh," he whispered, stumbling toward the nearest bedroom. The way she felt in his arms and their destination held his attention. Everything else – thoughts about what came next or how that would work out – could wait. Until she cried his name and came for him – until she was his in that carnal, intimate way – nothing else mattered. And she would come for him, again and again. He would make damn sure of that. His body was the only bargaining chip he had.

  Somehow, he fumbled the door to her bedroom open and carried her inside, their bodies still moving together as he slapped at the wall in search of the light switch. "Tell me to stop, beautiful," he whispered, attacking the exposed line of her neck, giving her one more chance to save herself even as he pleaded with his lips and tongue for her to refuse the out he offered her. "Tell me to stop, and I will, but tell me now."

  "Don't," she groaned, her head falling back again as he roved his mouth over her neck, tasting her. "Don't you dare stop this time, Tristan Riley." Her breathy moan eradicated the last thread of his control.

  Growling, he tossed her onto the bed.

  Lillian bounced atop the bed, crying out when Tristan let her go. Her body ached in the most pleasurable way possible. Everything from the top of her head to the tips of her toes burned white hot for more. More kisses, touches, and greedy groans against her flushed skin and liquid heat.

  She wasn't drowning beneath Tristan's wicked onslaught. She had already drowned, become submerged completely in the slide of his tongue with hers, the press of his hips into hers, and the rough glide of his fingers across her body.

  As he tore his shirt over his head and followed her down to the bed, he seemed to be everywhere at once. He ravished her mouth with intoxicating kisses before moving on to her neck, and then on again to nip and pull at the pulse pounding wildly in her throat. He raked his teeth across her shoulder before sliding his mouth down her chest and then onto her fabric encased nipple. He bit, licked, and sucked her into a moaning, frenzied mess before moving on.

  Hovering above her on straining forearms, he worked her over with sinful precision, as if he knew exactly how to make her burst into flame. His hands glided across fabric. Fabric slid across her skin. His questing fingers soothed and enflamed her as she writhed beneath him, cried out, and then writhed again. And still he didn't stop and didn't slow. He was frantic in his worship, setting her so far ablaze, she flashed to steam.

  Fabric pulled away from her body until she lay half bare beneath him – her shirt tossed in one direction, her backless, blue lace bra in another. His gaze roved across her body as hungrily as his mouth had.

  "So beautiful," he groaned, and then he went back to work. His tongue, teeth, lips, and fingertips stroked, pressed, and glided until the only thing that mattered to Lillian was the way he made her feel.

  She panted and moaned, begging wordlessly for him to never stop.

  Still, he kept on. Touching, kissing, and unmaking her with every languid sweep of his hands and mouth. One simple thought played like a mantra in her mind: Yes, yes, yes. Lying beneath him, she couldn't deny the truth anymore. She couldn't have found the will, the words, or the desire to deny him had she wanted to, and she didn't want to.

  She so did not want to.

  She needed this with him… this press and pull and burn, burn, burn.

  "Tristan, please," she moaned when the sensations he brought roaring to life in her became too much and not nearly enough at once.

  "Tell me what you need, beautiful," he said, lifting his head from his wicked assault.

  His eyes burned that vivid, dark blue color that spoke to something wi
ld and primal deep down inside her. She fought to press her legs together, desperate to relieve the pressure building there. But her thighs were spread wantonly around his body, keeping her prisoner to the ache in her center.

  She arched against him, undulating like a wave.

  He hissed as her heat brushed the bulge in his pants, and bucked his hips into her. "This, beautiful?" he asked, grinding his erection into her center. "Is this what you want?"

  "Yes." Her answer to his question came as one long, drawn out moan.

  His lips curved into a wicked smile. He dropped down over her, holding his body inches from hers as he met her gaze. Somehow, he didn't appear hazy or blurry anymore. Everything in her system but him had burned out completely.

  She cried out as heat grew between them, crackling and snapping in the few inches that separated his body from hers.

  "Tell me what you need, baby."

  Lillian swallowed, her throat working but no sound coming out as bright blue once more stripped her of every thought in her head. She was want and need, and Oh God, please. Yes and more and you.

  Tristan dipped his head, his tongue sweeping once across her bottom lip before he reared back – waiting, wanting. "Tell me, Lillian," he said. "I want to hear you say it."

  "You."

  That one breathless word affected him as if she'd screamed it aloud. His entire body shuddered atop hers, causing the coarse hair on his muscular chest to brush across her sensitive nipples. His head lashed backward, tendons in his neck standing out as he hissed… and then he slid away, moving down the bed and her body.

  His long fingers danced up her calves, knees, and thighs, stroking and tugging her legs farther apart. He dipped his hands beneath the fabric of her skirt, lifted, and swept it away. Her skirt and little blue panties disappeared down her pale legs. Her ballet flats followed, dropped one after the other to the floor.

  Within seconds, she lay naked, spread out before him on top of her purple comforter.

  His nostrils flared.

  His cheeks flushed.

  Burning, vivid blue darkened and dilated until those gorgeous eyes were nothing but blue-rimmed, hungry black.

  She felt salacious, debauched.

  "Tristan…." She undulated beneath his gaze, arching, bucking, and begging with her body. The sensations ripping through her were too much. She needed him inside, filling and fucking her until the clawing, painful burn stopped. Until the madness shattered and she could breathe again, be again.

  Only, she wasn't sure she would. He'd seeped into every space inside her, filling her.

  "Please," she whispered, reaching out to him in supplication, no longer caring if she begged or not. "I need you."

  "Shh," Tristan answered her, carefully jerking her legs farther apart to settle between them. "No begging, baby, not now." He lifted his head, meeting her gaze when those words tore a desperate groan from her lips.

  No begging.

  It was the most significant of the concessions he'd given her tonight.

  Running his hands up her legs, he spread her wider.

  "Let me hear you scream, beautiful," he whispered, his eyes blazing with wicked intent.

  Oh… God!

  He grasped her hips and lifted. His hungry lips met her aching center. His warm tongue stroked through her dripping folds. And she was gone – screaming, crying, bucking into his ravishing mouth as he drank her down his throat, not tasting but devouring… eating her alive.

  He didn't take his time. He took her, just as he'd said he wanted to, thrusting his tongue into her pussy and fucking her with it until her mind went black with pleasure. The sight of him buried between her legs, taking what he wanted would be seared into recesses of her memory so deep, nothing would ever burn it out.

  He kept on and on, pulling her clit into his mouth, sucking and biting, until she was little more than soundless scream after another.

  When she came down, sobbing and thrashing against the pillows, her entire body numb from pleasure, he was as naked as she, a condom on his cock and his cock in his hand. The lines of ink on his chest seemed to blaze in the light.

  He stared down at her, pumping his fist over his hard length. "Tell me no now, Lillian, or I'm going to take you until you can't move," he promised her, his eyes flashing darker as he said the words she'd wanted to hear since their first night at Teplo.

  She couldn't find the words to tell him yes or please or any of the other desperate, needy thoughts running rampant through her mind. All she could do was spread her numb legs wide in an invitation to take.

  Desire flared brighter in his eyes as he looked down at her glistening center, and he fell upon her like a man crazed. He lashed his hands around her ankles, lifting them up and dragging her gently toward him down the bed, mindful as ever of her bad leg.

  Her legs fell onto his straining, muscular shoulders as he fought to hold himself in check.

  When his cock landed against her center, they both cried out.

  "Lillian…."

  She had no idea what he tried to say to her, and he didn't finish. With one smooth, hard thrust, he buried himself inside of her. She cried out as pain and pleasure at his invasion mingled.

  He stilled instantly, teeth gritted as his breath rasped in his throat.

  She didn't want him still though. She wanted that sword's edge between pain and pleasure and him moving inside of her. Not still and accommodating but hard and fast and now.

  "Tristan." She shifted her hips, causing him to strike deeper. Pleasure radiated through her. Her head lolled against the comforter.

  "Beautiful," he tried to warn her.

  She moved again, not wanting his warning any more than she wanted him slow. She wanted him as crazed as she was, thrusting and grunting and taking until he couldn't think either. Needed him as out of control as she felt… and she was out of control, so far beyond reason or rational or anything but the feel of him finally stretching and filling her.

  And she was full. So full, and it felt good.

  God, he felt good.

  She shifted once more and got her wish.

  "Fuck," he hissed, head thrown back as he slid out slightly and was sucked right back in by her little movements beneath him. "Lillian, baby – fuck."

  Had she been able to say a word, she would have echoed that sentiment. Instead, she lifted her hips, a pressure in her chest releasing as if untied when he took her silent command and began to move. Not slow or easy or gentle in any way. It was hard and fast, him pounding deeply into her as they both cried out. Exactly what they'd both wanted for days – groaning, grunting, and slick, sweaty skin against slick, sweaty skin. He held her still to his thrusting hips, driving himself into her over and over. And yet, he never put any pressure on her bad leg or held her too roughly.

  "So… good…" he grunted, "Christ… you feel so good."

  Lillian had never felt anything like him before. The way he moved, the way his cock seared her even through the condom, the feel of him slamming himself inside her. This wasn't love. It went beyond that to some level of mania she'd never experienced before.

  "Look at me, beautiful," he gasped when her eyes threatened to close.

  The feelings he evoked in her were too intense to handle with his eyes locked on hers as he drove himself into her. In and out until she writhed beneath him all over again, gasping, crying out… ready to tumble over the edge into oblivion. Into more of this, and no way out.

  "Look at me."

  She shook her head, refusing to look at him as sensation built, focusing.

  "Look at me, Lillian," he commanded, shifting his position to strike more deeply. "Now."

  She arched off the bed, crying out at his pleasurable punishment. Her eyes flew open, landed on his, and she drowned all over again. Got swept right over the edge into blue-rimmed, hungry black, with no way out… just as she'd known would happen.

  "You've always been different for me," he groaned, eyes locked on hers as he pumped into her, hittin
g every spot she didn't know she had. "From day one, beautiful."

  Yes. Oh God, yes.

  "I'm not fighting it anymore," he said, pumping into her.

  Her last clear thought was that she'd been absolutely right so many days ago. Special Agent Tristan Riley was a bigger danger to her than the Vetrov family could ever be. And she no longer cared, not with his hands all over her body and his cock buried to the hilt in her. Not with his eyes locked on hers and those little confessions falling from his lips.

  "Come for me, baby," he said, reaching down to stroke her clit with his thumb as he continued to drill into her, his eyes locked on hers. "I need to feel it on my cock."

  She came, unable to stop herself as he drove her into insensibility. Her inner walls clamped down around him. His name broke from her lips in a high pitched, keening cry.

  "Fuck, yes," he groaned as his name echoed around them. He drove his cock into her. Once. Twice. Three times and then he cried her name too, holding her still as he came. His cock pulsed as he filled the condom, filled her body, and sent her barreling over the edge again.

  "Hi," Lillian whispered, her eyes fluttering open to focus on him. Her hair was a tangle around her face, her cheeks flushed from sleep. Her gaze was soft and sleepy, the dilation of her pupils all but gone. She looked fucking perfect, and felt even better.

  "Hi," he whispered back, dragging her toward him beneath the covers he'd dragged over them after disposing of the condom. "Welcome back."

  "Mm," she groaned and stretched, snuggling into him.

  There was no awkwardness between them for once, and he fucking loved that.

  "How long was I out?" she asked, her voice still rough from sleep.

  "Not long." He reached beneath the blanket and began rubbing her bare thigh. Familiar heat crackled everywhere their bodies met. "Feel okay?"

  "Mm. Yes." She moved her leg closer to him. "A little sore."

  "Here?" he asked, laying his hand over her scar.

  Her cheeks flushed in a way that had nothing to do with waking. "No worse than usual."

  "Ah." He slid his hand up her thigh until his fingers glided through the silky curls between her legs. "Here, beautiful?" he asked, the question husky.