Page 89 of Born for Lace

But I want her. And like a bullet to the head, I realise I decided she was mine weeks ago at The Bite. When I held the back of her head and called her mine aloud for anyone—for everyone—to hear. Mine until she is safe. Mine today. Tomorrow. Even the day I leave her at the community, to be safe from everything I am.

Even then.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Dahlia

His body is so warm around mine. I am lost in long, thick arms and a wide, sturdy chest. A tingling sensation rushes along my skin. I should be more frightened as his mere presence strokes shudders through my body.

Hairs rising.

Toes curling.

It’s him.

He pulses unlike other Xin De men because he is a Shadow. I didn’t see it before.

He awakens energy in the very air around me, sending skitters of it across my skin like dancing veins of lightning. That is why every man and woman is obsessed with him. It’s more than the obscenely muscular form, and those black, menacing eyes that silently growl heated, depravities—He arouses the atmosphere.

I want it.

This is a harsh existence. We live like mere animals in the desert. Pleasure is not easily found out here. I want to find relief from the truth of who he is, find an escape from my feelings of deceit. Just like Beauty and Sweets. I want to disappear into the electrified aura of Lagos the Rogue.

“Show me,” I say before I can stop myself. “What you talked about last night. What you were going to do to my body, to me?—”

He growls, making a dark sound that seems to thrust inside my core, making my muscles clenching around it.

“Do you want to feel a Shadow deep inside you, little flower?” he asks.

Oh, my.

“You’re already there,” I squeak, a helpless sound, both terrified and desperate. “You’ve been inside my chest, in my belly, for weeks.”

“I’ll be much deeper than that.”

I gaze up at him, instantly caught in the snare of pitch-black eyes. Lagos isn’t fighting it anymore, he’s decided.

“Let’s get you nice wet for me.” He looms over me, forcing me to my spine. “Gentle,” he warns. “You’re still fragile.”

Hot lips touch my mouth, and I prepare for more pressure, breathless for him, but he trails to my chin.

“You make the prettiest sounds when you gasp,” he murmurs darkly between kisses of deep possessiveness, tracing the column of my neck down to my clavicle. “So fragile.” He kisses the thin bone above my chest. “So soft.”

I lick my lips.

Anticipating.

Already panting, I peer down to watch this beast of a man. Excruciatingly slow, he mouths my breasts over the fabric of my white slip-dress.

He sucks on my nipple, and my hands fly up to the back of his head, nails weaving into his wavy dark-blonde hair.

I lie like a stick, straight up and down, stiff and awkward. My skin blushes with embarrassment.

“Stop.” I don’t know what I’m saying or why I’m saying it. It’s my final attempt to protect my heart. If we do this, if I let him do this, I know that’s it. For the warm affection inside me will spiral out of control. “Stop.”

“Stop?” he repeats and licks my achingly hard nipple, groaning.

I shake my head, dizzy. “No.”

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