Page 54 of Irrevocably

Again, I nod, staring all the way up at him, and I see the moment he lets himself go. He doesn’t hide it. His features tighten and he lets out a snarl like a tiger’s as the orgasm hits him, then he empties himself down the back of my throat, and I do exactly what he told me to. I swallow every drop.

There’s a moment of silence afterwards broken only by the sound of his breathing slowing, and I lean forward, my forehead pressed to the denim of his powerful thighs. I close my eyes, conscious of my own panting breaths, my mouth tender and a little bruised, the back of my throat a little raw. I ache between my legs and I’m hot, and if this is the fire that he warned me about, then I’m quite happy to burn.

I’m quite happy to kneel at the feet of the villain.

Another moment passes, then he grips my upper arms and hauls me to my feet, his gaze roaming over my face. Then he bends and kisses me as a deep, rough sound escapes the back of his throat. “I can taste myself on you,” he murmurs against my lips. “Whose mouth is this?”

This time, I know what he wants.

“Yours,” I whisper.

He kisses me again, harder this time, feverish almost, and before I know what’s happening, he’s taking me down onto the rug in front of the fire. My tights and underwear are already gone, so when he strips my dress and bra from me, I’m naked. Then he gets rid of his own clothes, grabbing a condom from the pocket of his jeans and sheathing himself.

I’m still sensitive, so when he pushes my legs apart and covers my body with his, the hard length of his cock pushing inside me, I writhe and gasp, pushing at his hard, hot chest. “Too much,” I groan.

“You can take it,” he says roughly, pushing deeper. “I know you can.”

Fuck, yes, I want to. I want to take it, take him, take all of him, even as my nerves jangle at the push of his cock, and I shiver uncontrollably. He shifts, one hand cupping the back of my head, tilting it back so my mouth is ready for his kiss, and there is something tender in the way he holds it. Something tender in the kiss he gives me, warm and sweet. Slow and sensual as he eases deeper inside me. I tremble beneath him, caught on the delicate cusp of too much yet not enough, my nails digging into his chest.

He bites my bottom lip again, giving me pain as he fucks me deep and slow, tugging my leg up around his waist so he can slide even deeper. I grip his broad, muscular shoulders, scratching him, and he growls. And I want to put my mark on him. I want to draw blood. I want him to feel me as deeply as I feel him. His thrusts get faster and he releases my head, putting his hands flat to the floor on either side of my head, raising himself slightly as his hips flex and his cock slides in and out, a driving rhythm that makes me arch and gasp.

I grip him even tighter as he moves faster, and the feeling of too much becomes not enough, and I gasp into his ear that I need more and harder, please, harder. But he knows what I need.

He finds my nipple with a thumb and forefinger, and he twists it viciously hard as he ups the pace, driving into me as if he’s trying to hammer me into the ground.

The pain is a nuclear bomb detonating inside me, incinerating me, giving the pleasure of an edge so sharp that cuts me to pieces from the inside. I come hard, screaming as the climax bursts apart inside me, and then I hear his roar of release as he follows.

Then there is nothing but silence.

Chapter Twenty-Six

LUCIEN

I lie on top of her, utterly spent, the hot clutch of her cunt pulsing around my cock. I don’t want to move. I want to stay here like this, with her softness beneath me and the aftershocks of that orgasm still echoing through me.

Is this what peace feels like? Or maybe even … contentment? I don’t know, I’ve never experienced either, but those words mean something and maybe it’s the something that I’m feeling now, a soft silence filled with nothing at all.

You can never have peace. Not when you’re still his.

The thought is as sharp as the nylon garotte in my leather jacket, a reminder that I still have a mission to complete and orders to follow. That I’m wasting time fucking a woman I should be doing other things with, such as dragging her out to see her friend and using her to pump him for information.

But for the first time in my life, I ignore the whisper in my head, the imperative that’s always driving me on. I have time to sate myself with Astrid, and why not? Perhaps if I do so, this strange chokehold she has me in will finally release, and I can get on with doing what I was ordered to do.

Lazarus doesn’t need that information right this minute, and Enzo doesn’t need his justice in the next couple of hours.

I have time, so I’m going to take it.

After a moment, I shift, pulling out of her slowly. She makes a small sound of protest and shudders as I do so. It’s delicious, that sound, so I brush my mouth against hers just to taste it.

Next, I deal with the condom, then find myself hunting around for a blanket, which is ludicrous. I’ve never wanted to wrap someone in a blanket before, so why I’m even considering it now, I have no idea. But she’s naked and the room still has a chill in the air. I find what I’m looking for in a box under the windows. It’s a bit musty, but it’s warm.

I carry it over to her, wrap her up in it, carry her over to the couch, and sit down with her in my lap. Her head rests against my chest, her long pale hair flowing over my arm, brushing against my skin. It’s like silk.

Why am I doing this? Why am I sitting here with her in my lap? I’ve never felt even the slightest urge to hold a woman in my arms, and yet that’s exactly what I’m doing. As if I can’t bear not to keep touching her.

I lean back against the couch and look down at her. She says nothing and doesn’t move, her lashes resting on her flushed cheeks. Her warm weight feels good against me, and abruptly, I’m tired of questioning myself and what I’m doing. I’m tired of constantly checking for threats and weaknesses, scanning myself for vulnerabilities.

It doesn’t matter why I want to hold her in my arms and examine what’s mine. What matters is that in this moment, I can. I can indulge myself. I can allow myself this, without it meaning anything.