Page 131 of Born for Lace

Every thrust takes him deeper, driving me from pleasure to pain and back again until I have whiplash from one sensation to the next, and then he rears up.

Glaring down at me, his shadowed face is in full view for the first time since I saw him standing in the cabin. His dick pulses inside me, and a big hand moves from my hair to my throat. He wraps long strong fingers around my neck.

I stare into eyes void of… anything.

He squeezes my throat.Hard.Pressure. So much pressure. I open my mouth in shock, heaving, but my lungs burn with each empty gasp.

My vision warps. The sight of his lost, onyx gaze narrows to a single point. I reach up and claw at his hand, tugging it from my neck, but he doesn’t inch, doesn’t flinch.

Still thrusting into me, his panting and growling become muffled as I choke, but my heart is loud. It pounds wildly between my ears as it strains to feed my body sweet, sweet oxygen.

“Lag—” I choke. “Lag—” As my vision blurs, his face becomes a silhouette with electric edges.

My body vibrates with sorrow, shoulders quaking beneath his heavy mass. This is worse than my nightmare, than my memory of the Shadow because Lagos isn’t here to save me. He is the one hurting me.

Then—Crack.

What happened?

Lagos collapses on top of me. His death grip on my throat doesn’t release immediately. I swear his fingers grip harder, getting it done, killing me…

I can’t move.

His body crushes me.

Then his hand goes as slack as his body. The pressure disappears from my throat, so I gasp and gasp, filling my burning lungs.

And I hear?—

“Flower…” A pained gasp.

Is he okay? Lagos?

He is shifted from on top of me, rolled to the side with a careless thud.

When I have drawn in enough oxygen, my vision returns, and I blink. Fear and relief and anger mash into panic.

Tomar is standing over me with a solid lead pipe, fresh blood smeared on the cylinder, and Robert is lowering a gun to his side, expression fierce with concern.

“Breathe, Dahlia.”

Just breathe…

PartFour

The Shadow

ChapterForty-One

Lagos

Five months ago

I must have blacked out.

My fists ache. I recall beating heavily armoured Marshals to death on the roadside, the Redwind a phantom that held us in a cloak, hiding all from sight. My skin shielded me from the razor-sharp sand, my third eyelid closed, making my entire eyeball a milky colour. I’ve been told it’s fucking terrifying to see the way my body activates against The Cradle’s lashing weather. Then, I recall the pain. Each blood cell plucked from my veins by tiny hooks, the sound of my roar, and…

I’ve lost track of time.

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