Page 84 of The Alien's Cruel Starfrost Domain

The world fragments into pure sensation. I cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash through me, my body arching against his. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids, and for a moment I’m weightless, untethered from everything except the feeling of his hands on me, his mouth against my pussy.

This feels ancient, primal, like something dark awakening in my blood. My fingers clutch his shoulders as aftershocks shudder through me, leaving me trembling and weak.

The rest of my senses slowly creep back into my awareness.

But then, the moment Ivrael’s tongue leaves my body, reality comes crashing back like a bucket of ice water.

My legs slip from his shoulders, and I stumble, my knees weak and shaking. The wall behind me is the only thing keeping me upright as waves of revulsion crash through me, washing away the lingering echoes of pleasure that still pulse traitorously between my thighs.

Oh, God. What have I done?

My stomach heaves as memories flash through my mind in brutal succession—the boy’s neck snapping at the gallows, Roland counting out the coins Ivrael paid for me, being paraded through the Trasqo Market like livestock. And yet mere moments ago, I spread my legs for him. Begged for his touch. Wanted it.

Wantedhim.

Acid burns in my throat and I press my trembling hand to my mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit. My skin feels like it’s trying to crawl off my body everywhere he touched me. Not because it felt wrong—God help me, it felt incredible—but because I let it happen.

No. More than that. I encouraged it. Lost myself in it completely.

What kind of person does that make me?What kind of twisted, broken thing am I becoming that I could forget, even for a moment, exactly what he is? What he’s capable of?

When Ivrael reaches for me, I flinch away so violently I bang my shoulder against the wall. His expression shutters, those mesmerizing golden sparks in his eyes dimming to cold, silvery blue. “Lara?—”

“Don’t.” The word scrapes raw in my throat. “Don’t touch me.”

I scrabble desperately at my dress where it hangs in tatters from my waist, trying to pull the torn bodice up to cover my exposed breasts. My fingers shake so badly I can barely grip the fabric. When Ivrael moves as if to help, I stumble sideways, putting precious distance between us.

“Stay back.” The words come out as a half-sob, half-snarl, more animal than human. Maybe that’s what I am now—some feral, broken creature ruled by base instincts rather than reason or morality.

He goes completely still with his hands raised, like he’s trying to calm a spooked horse.

The icy lord of the manor reduced to placating gestures. Any other time it might be satisfying to see him off-balance. Now it just makes me feel sick.

The torn dress won’t stay up no matter how I clutch at it. My skin burns with shame, with lingering arousal, with self-disgust. Every brush of fabric against my sensitized flesh is a reminder of how eagerly I surrendered to his touch mere moments ago.

I inch toward the door, keeping my eyes locked on him like the predator he is. The predator I’ve always known him to be, even as I spread my thighs and welcomed him between them.

Fuck. I watched him casually maim a man’s hand tonight, listened to the bones crunch and splinter. And then I let those same hands caress me, allowed that cruel mouth to taste me, to make me?—

A groan of pure horror tears from my throat.

“Lara, please.” His voice is gentle now, almost tender. The dramatic shift only highlights how easily he wears different masks. “Let me explain.”

A harsh laugh bubbles up, edged with hysteria. “Explain what? How you bought me like a piece of meat? How you murdered that boyin cold blood? How you’re planning to go back and buy my baby sister too?”

“Explain that—” His voice trails off, and for once the composed duke seems at a loss for words.

But I don’t wait to hear what lies he might spin. I’m already running, fleeing across the house and down the stairs, desperate to escape him.

To escape myself.

To escape the sickening knowledge that some dark, twisted part of me is already aching to go back.

And so I race toward the kitchen, to the closest thing I have to a sanctuary in this frozen hell. Behind me, I hear him call my name, his footsteps following.

I slam through the kitchen door and throw the bolt, knowing it’s futile. Ivrael could unlock it in a heartbeat. He is, after all, the lord of everything he surveys here.

But I need that barrier between us, however flimsy.

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