Page 23 of Draven

I catch sight of the open palm aimed squarely at my face just in time and capture her wrist, then shove her arm behind her back while grabbing the other one at the same time. The movement brings her flush to my body, her gasping breaths forcing her tits against my chest. I squeeze her wrists, hard. She hisses in pain, her cheeks now an angry red as she glares up at me.

“You play a dangerous game, little Lola. One you’re definitely not equipped for.”

“Oh, yeah?” she provokes. “Try me.”

I crash my mouth down on hers, the kiss cruel and punishing rather than soft and coaxing. She wrestles to free herself, to get me off her, but within seconds, her fighting spirit gives way to a more pliable response as she virtually melts against me.

I tongue deep inside her mouth, showing her what fucking me will be like: hard, fast, brutal, possessive. I’ll take and take until she has no more to give, and then I’ll demand even more.

Once I’m fairly certain she won’t slap me, I release her hands, and she burrows them into my hair, tugging on the roots. The harder I tongue-fuck her mouth, the more she yanks on them.

A growl erupts from deep within my chest, and I burrow a hand underneath her shirt, my large palm covering her left tit. Delving into the cup of her bra, I easily find her erect nipple, and I roll it between my thumb and forefinger, then squeeze. I’m not gentle, but then again, I doubt she expects me to be.

She tears away, gasping for air, but I grip the sides of her neck, angle her head, and ravage her mouth again. My heart beats wildly, like a trapped bird of prey eager to escape the confines of its cage. Eight years of pent-up anger, frustration, and longing go into this bruising, ferocious kiss. I want to hurt her, to drive her mad, to have her beg for me to stop, then in the next breath, implore me to carry on.

I hunger for her.

Hate that I do.

Love the feel of her body against mine.

Crave more now I’ve had a taste.

Eventually, she makes another attempt to free herself, and this time, I let her go.

Stepping back, I take a few seconds to pull myself together. My scalp burns from where she almost tore my hair out by the roots, but that pales in comparison to the ache in my balls.

The tips of her fingers gingerly dab against her swollen, bruised mouth, but she refuses to meet my gaze.

“Lola,” I say in a gentle tone I wouldn’t have thought myself capable of.

Slowly, she raises her head. Confusion swirls in the depths of her eyes, but beyond that, her desire burns deep. “What?”

I reach for her hand, and she allows me to take it.

“Let’s find Kiera, then we’ll fuck.”

She blinks up at me, her eyes wide and teeth nibbling at the inside of her bottom lip. “And what if I don’t want to fuck you?”

I grind out a laugh. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetcheeks.”

Chapter 10

Louise

Bracing my hands on either side of the sink, I stare into the mirror. Gazing back at me is a woman I barely recognize, and not only because of my swollen lips—evidence of Draven’s punishing kisses yesterday. No, the greatest change can be seen in my eyes. Draven ignited a flame—one I don’t know how to smother. For the first time since Kiera disappeared, I look alive, full of hope, and that’s all down to Draven.

Find Kiera, then we’ll fuck.

Does that mean he doesn’t hate me anymore? Or perhaps hates me less. Or maybe he wants to punish-fuck me. Whatever his intentions, I hadn’t had a chance to question him further, because he’d immediately launched into his plan to unearth where this gang has taken my sister and the other women. Although he’d kept the details brief, which raised my suspicions. The intervening years haven’t changed Draven one bit. Once a rule breaker, always a rule breaker.

Still, isn’t that why I came to him for help in the first place? I unlocked the cage and set the lion free. No use trying to coax it back inside now. All I can do is try my best to manage the situation, and pray I still have a career once we reach the finish line.

I add a light covering of makeup without making it look as if I’m trying too hard, and brush my hair until it shines. With a final check to make sure I don’t have mascara clumps on the ends of my lashes, I head into the kitchen and grab a to-go mug of coffee as I glance up at the clock on the wall.

He’ll be here soon. I guess that explains the clammy palms, prickling skin, and a heart that’s flip-flopping all over the place. I pace while I wait, watching the seconds tick by.

Will he mention yesterday or pretend like it never happened? Should I bring it up?

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