Thrill Me (Teased and Broken Book 2)

by Ashley Black

  My belly roared with desire.

  Blood heated and hissing.

  I would never look at roses in the same way again. Ever. They would set my panties ablaze or make them involuntarily fall to the floor.

  I would scare some poor old lady in her rose garden and get myself off on these damned things.

  They were … quite simply … wonderful in the skilled hands of my rather insane rock star. Thornton Darko.

  “Ah,” unbidden the noise fell over my parted lips.

  Thorn issued a low growl. An assent of triumph over my succumbing to defeat.

  I was done for.

  “More,” I insisted in a voice I barely recognized. I sounded greedy. Primal.

  The friction of the roses had deadened. I had wetted them with my arousal.

  “You made my roses wet.”

  Thorn sounded disappointed and put out.

  “I want a full bouquet of those all over my pussy right now,” I gasped, my lower half squeezing around the span of his shoulders.

  “This. This is what you want?” he rumbled behind me and pressed several of the damned things against my trembling pussy that hungrily flexed and writhed against their velvet cool texture.

  “I couldn’t tell if you wanted me to, perhaps do …. This.” He began rubbing them decisively up and down my lips. “You are panting like an animal Elena.”

  I cried out and bucked. I wanted that finely velvet textured smoothness right over my slit.

  “Faster!” I groaned. “Press them harder against me.”

  Thorn said nothing but I could feel his smile. The flash of perfect white teeth. His formidable energy rolled in delicious waves all over … my ass.

  I blushed.

  He delivered. His fingers spread my outer lips and he rubbed the bouquet over my roaring center at such a speed, I didn’t think were possible.

  Because … it wasn’t.

  Normal.

  Because … he wasn’t …

  Normal.

  Was he?

  Fuck.

  My fear wanted my body to stiffen, but pleasure didn’t give a fuck. I screamed and bucked against the sensuous velvet silk lashing of the roses. I was breathing hard, when I felt a rude slap of cool air to my rather worked up pussy as the roses fell away.

  Everything clenched in disappointment.

  I sensed Thorn shifting behind me. He then he pressed his lips against my pussy and spoke to it.

  “Thorn!” I protested.

  “I selected roses with the larger bloom heads. Their thicker more velvet textured petals produce a more robust … fragrance.”

  “Ah…” I groaned. He had begun to studiously stroke his thin artistic nimble fingers over my very excitable juiced inner folds.

  “And let me say, your petals smell exquisite and rather, robust.”

  I doubted that very much, but it was nice of him to say.

  “I want to sip your juice,” he sighed wistfully. “Why should the roses have all the fun?”

  I think I whimpered.

  “Then I will gulp from you greedily. I can’t help myself, your essence is most powerful,” his hand rubbed hard over my mound. “Here.”

  “So you are a vampire then?” I surmised. “That feeds on pussy juice instead of blood for your sustenance?”

  Thorn’s low dark laugh sent chills through me.

  “Now that would be a wonderful affliction? Is that your idea for your next book series? Fellatio Vampires?”

  “That is a disgusting title!” I protested.

  “It is what it is,” I could almost see him shrug behind me.

  My eyes went wide as he took an experimental lick. Running that polished metal of his tongue ring right over my swollen clit.

  “Do not move,” he ordered.

  His huge hand lay curved around my hip and tapped out a few playful beats, gripping hard.

  “Can you?,” he asked, and I heard the smug smile in his voice. “Move for me, love?”

  I tried an experimental wiggle, but I literally could not move …anything.

  A shiver of anticipation rippled through me.

  “What is this? What have you done to me?”

  “I want you perfectly still so I don’t miss a single drop of you.”

  I sniggered. “You do know how female anatomy works right? You do that again with that fucking hot tongue of yours, I am going to get more juiced.”

  “Well I am a pussy juice vampire,” Thorn laughed harshly.

  “And I am rather famished, so yes, my intention is to take my fill of your wetness, and Elena, I must warn you, you are going to get rather wet love, and I am going to lap up every single drop of it, because I must feed.

  I am going to feed so hard your pussy is going to forget how to juice.”

  Oh.

  My.

  Wow!

  I should have been shaking at his words, but my body was frozen, helpless to his sensual assault.

  And so it began.

  He licked up and down, starting outside my lips, and then plunging the tip of his exquisite tongue with the silver round polished stud embedded in it, right into my wet slit.

  My panting echoed loudly around me. I wished I panted prettier.

  He burned a trail of fire bright kisses. Sucking gently at my arousal, and then parted my lips with that tongue. His warm breath hushed over my opening, and I felt myself open wider still. Inviting that devastating mouth to exact upon me what it wished.

  He lapped playfully at first and then in under a minute brought on my first orgasm by swirling around my nub and because I couldn’t move, or writhe away, the sensation of that tongue and the friction of the polished metal of the ring became truly unbearable.

  My body was pumping urgently, helpless, my mind fallen away from it.

  Nothing but his mouth.

  And what it was doing to mine.

  Gods, it was every.Fucking.Thing, right now.

  My cries but they sounded far away. The sheer bliss of release made my pussy and mind explode.

  He simply wound his arms around my waist and laid his warm cheek against my bottom. Waiting for me to ride out my release.

  The gesture was oddly intimate and respectful.

  And then with a wicked laugh he relished in the wetness of me. Taking his ‘fill’ as he put it. Starting with a soft, teasing caress of his lips and then urgently sucking.

  He made me come three times and I had to beg him to stop.

  My pussy was overstimulated.

  She felt broken.

  I was fearful she could not get wet again.

  He had taken all of my essence.

  Like a pussy juice vampire.

  I was spent.

  “You teased me Elena, let me thrill you,” Thorn invited my ass.

  “What?” I managed to croak, I was incoherent.

  “My own personal project, from which, you will benefit beyond your wildest, darkest, kinkiest dreams.”

  So many words were on my lips in response to that, but expended desire forced my eyes to fall shut.

  Seven

  “Vile Witch!”

  Well, Thorn was clearly in a shit. So much for his ramblings while drunk on my pussy juice. What was it? Oh, yes, Project Thrill.

  I was startled awake.

  Holy shit! What the fuck? Where was I?

  Last I remembered I was passed out stuck in a cave tunnel, at the mercy of Thorn’s rather deliciously wicked mouth and tongue. Damn me. I had never ever had a man in my life with a tongue ring before.

  Everything came slamming back into my heart as I moved slowly into a seated position. Amidst a mess of white satin sheets.

  Oh. What?

  I was lying in a decadent, ridiculously over the top bed made of curved wrought iron that clasped yes, of course, a fucking raven creature, ornament, with rubies for eyes, my hand fled to the cursed raven necklace, and clasped hard.

  I was in a glassed room.

  Seriously, it was as if I was in a mu
seum.

  Being exhibited.

  Oh.

  Revulsion strangled my heart as I drew the white sheet up around me and moved toward the sound of his voice beyond the glass. I couldn’t see him for the infuriating impenetrable glass.

  My gaze slid up to a yawning opening at the top of the cave with a blue sky and clouds racing overhead.

  Shit.

  What an idiot.

  What had I gotten myself into here?

  I thought of Thorn’s collection of cars in the garage in that damnable tunnel near his castle. Was I just that? A collectors item? Now imprisoned in my glass cage in this cave? Another Enchantress brought undone by a powerful warlock.

  Because, that is exactly what he had done to me.

  I was unravelled.

  And he had an unfair advantage.

  I knew I came from a line of bodacious powerful enchantress babes who be-spelled folk. He, well, he was a practising all powerful warlock with the power of tremendous fame, celebrity and funds behind his rather taut muscular and delicious ass.

  I was as good as fucked.

  Brett!

  Dead.

  But Thorn apparently didn’t kill him.

  I believed this.

  Even still, I shouldn’t be here.

  Thornton Darko continued to lie to me.

  Liars pissed me off.

  Everything, dormant inside of me as a magical beast that I stuffed down and wanted to deny, fought to the surface with a single plea, Get out of this! Get away! NOW!

  I moved from the bed with the blanket about me, and surged toward the glass.

  “Elena.”

  The sound of his voice.

  What was this?

  I pressed my hands against the glass. Uncaring of the sheet dropping, and stared fixedly out at him. Blinking, I made out a tall hulking outline of a figure before me.

  I moved.

  The figure, moved as well.

  “Thorn, what the fuck is going on?”

  “I need to go away. I won’t be long.” He sounded apologetic.

  “What! Why?” I exploded at the glass that separated us.

  “I need to find out who killed Brett. Who is trying to kill you.”

  “You’re leaving me?” I gaped stupidly. “Alone, here?”

  “I won’t be long, and the only person I told where we were going was my Father. He will be here soon.”

  As much as I loved Bob, the man didn’t seem to be a big fan of mine, I wasn’t as calmed by the mention of his arrival.

  Thorn was keeping me prisoner.

  Fuck him.

  I fled from the glass, diving across the bed quickly for my phone.

  I would find my own way out of this.

  The crazy asshole couldn’t just keep me locked up like some demented museum exhibit.

  This was beyond creepy.

  I found the phone.

  No signal.

  Damn why?

  Aaron. He was my lifeline in this insanity.

  “We are remote.” Thorn informed, snidely. As an afterthought he added. “You can contact your fat bodyguard again when we get to the main city.” He seemed to add this as as an afterthought.

  I screamed in frustration. “Where?”

  “The Capitol, Mexico City, and don’t be angry with me,” his voice seemed to trickle like dark silk into the room and slivered all over my skin.

  Something shifted inside of me.

  “You killed the love of my life, drugged me and raped me with your mouth!” I snarled at him. “Damned straight I’m angry.”

  “I am trying to protect you Elena. I am an intense person. I have explained this before. All of this. You in my caves fitted out rather luxuriously I might add, is my rather intense way of protecting you. I can’t explain it all now. Some one very powerful has fucked me over. It has to do with that damnable necklace I gave you. I need to do some reconnaissance. I just found you. I won’t lose you. You are everything … Enchantress.”

  “You don’t even have me,” I spat bitterly. Folding my arms across my breasts because I felt his pupils drilling tiny hot holes into my skin. “I am not yours to lose Thorn. I never was. I don’t want to be.” My eyes fell shut as the sight of Brett on the floor, blood trickling from a gash in his forehead, the explosion of his little studio burned in my mind.

  Dead.

  “Don’t,” he begged softly. “Don’t say that Elena.”

  Fuck me, the man was insane.

  I hated it.

  I loved it.

  I wanted all of it.

  What he did to me.

  I should be happy he was going away.

  I needed space from his crazy to think.

  Brett had died in that fire.

  Gone.

  My artist. My warrior. My honorable soldier.

  My soon to be, husband.

  Brett.

  “I am truly sorry about Brett. I understand you are grieving. I want to respect that.”

  He sounded like he meant it.

  “Your misery enchants me”

  Then he said fucked up shit like that.

  Tears rushed down my face, I buried my face in my hands, I didn’t want him to see me cry.

  Brett.

  Dead.

  Gone.

  I wanted vengeance.

  I wanted folk impaled.

  And Gods help Thornton Darko if he had anything to do with the death of Brett Argosy.

  I would do more than enchant him.

  I had read that scary old book my Grandmother gifted me upon her passing.

  Enchantresses could be bad ass bitches too.

  Especially, and particularly, to powerful bad ass Warlocks.

  Eight

  I need your help. I am lost. I wish I had paid more attention to my grandmother because that lady had it going on with all this Enchantress shit. Me? I think I’m going to need to know more. Brett died because of me. I fucked up. Because I don’t understand myself. I’m scared.

  I yearned desperately for Clarissa, the white witch who had promised to help me if I needed. The little hussy bitch who had almost taken Brett away from me. Even still, I wanted the knowledge she could impart. I sighed in frustration at the lack of signal on my phone, but sending her a message anyway. Willing my energy into it, pushing it into her face, even though the notification pinged FAIL.

  Damn.

  I could cry.

  I did.

  It occurred to me I should put on clothing.

  Bob was coming.

  I wondered if I might be able to convince him to release me.

  He worried I would break his son’s heart.

  I would.

  I already had.

  This was going to end badly.

  It was going to end with Thornton Darko dying.

  It was foretold I was his end.

  That is what his crazed little minions were worried about. Why some of them had gotten it into their heads to kill me.

  Holy shit what the hell was that?

  I wrapped a sheet around me. Fuck it! Where were the clothes in this place?

  Something, someone had landed atop of the glassed roof above.

  Their face was painted white, and their eyes dramatically outlined in black. Dark red eyes peered down at me.

  Flaring as if in interest, or vague amusement.

  Oh shit.

  The Cellrager army, the crazy little fuckers, had come to kill me.

  Then I heard a laugh that sounded like dry leaves tumbling, and scratching over one another.

  It sounded familiar. Like a memory I had been forced to forget.

  Shadows. I was in a bathtub full of shadows.

  I was seven years old.

  At my grandmothers.

  He, this figure above me, or something that sure looked like him, had been in the corner of the room licking his lips.

  A demon.

  Well, that is what my confused child mind had made him up as.

  “He bound h
imself to you! What a fucking idiot. I shall enjoy his imminent death. To see the look on his face when he realizes it’s all ending. To witness the vanquishment of the last Darko, makes what I did to him all the sweeter.”

  “The fuck!?” I shouted up at him.

  It was more a statement, I admit, than a question.

  No one is vanquishing any one! I have no idea how to do it!

  But the figure was gone.

  Unbelievably the craziest question was upon my lips because I could not imagine ever wanting Thornton Darko to end, but I sensed the answer would mean everything. How, do I do it?

  How do I vanquish him?

  “Elena?” A quiet familiar voice gently interrupted my freak out.

  Bob had arrived.

  I actually found myself hugging the man.

  “Did you see that dude?” I squeaked. What the actual fuck?”

  He awkwardly patted my back, and then stepped back from me. He was wearing a CELLRAGER beanie, with beat up jeans and a denim shirt.

  So adorably cute.

  His permanently watery blue eyes narrowed on me in concern as he placed a bag on the bed. “Clothes,” he answered my confused stare. “And to answer your other question, yes, I saw him. Look, I have some things to say about Thornton. Things he will not like me saying, but need to be said nonetheless. Will you listen?

  Do you even want to?

  You lost someone.

  Maybe tomorrow.”

  I watched my hand flick out and wind around his wrist. “Maybe now, Bob. Spill it. I want all the dirt on that crazy mother fucker.”

  “Please, don’t call him crazy,” he begged me softly. “My son is many things, but crazy is not one of them.”

  “Bob, until your son shows me otherwise, I am sorry, but the man is certifiable. He killed Brett, or in the very least, had something to do with it. He drugged me, he,” I blushed. “Did other unspeakable things,” I blushed even harder when Bob noticed my legs slam shut, and I wriggled, “and then imprisoned me here.” Oh my God, I think I finished the last part of that on a pant.

  The old man gently freed his wrist from my grasp, looking saddened and bitterly disappointed at my words. “Get dressed. I’ll tell you as much as I can. What you call imprisonment is my rather intense son’s idea of protection, Elena. I am sure he would have tried to explain that to you.”

  I was poking around in the bag of clothes now. There was some pretty expensive, crazy, glamorous shit in here, most of it white, still with the ludicrous price tags. They all looked like wedding gowns, I realized.