Page 124 of Wicked and Claimed

Horror dawned as his meaning became clear. Someone had gotten in his grill. They were probably being watched right now. Tonight was another show—and it probably wouldn’t be their last. But why hadn’t he found some way to explain? Or give her a sign? Weren’t they supposed to be in this together?

And why didn’t it seem difficult at all for him to treat her like a stranger he intended to use for his pleasure?

Her mind raced with possibilities as he stripped down to his underwear and followed her to the bed. He covered her body with his own and tugged up the sheet. She didn’t even have a moment to be grateful for the privacy before his hands were all over her, roughly stripping her bare and tossing her gossamer nightgown aside.

Haisley scrambled to shove his hands away and cover herself. He pinned her wrists above her head, his fingers spanning both her delicate bones easily as he scowled. “Don’t fight me.”

Knowing there were eyes on them, she tried to tamp down her terror and play along. After all, discovery and death would be far worse than whatever he had planned. But none of that stopped her very-real fear.

The sheet tangled around them as Nash grabbed her thighs. “Spread your legs.”

Automatically, she resisted. “No.”

“I warned you,” he growled as he yanked her thighs apart, settled in between, and pressed her into the mattress.

His body was familiar—the same planes and muscles she’d memorized long ago. The weight of him, usually comforting, surrounded her. Enclosed her. Encaged her. She felt trapped. Everything inside her screamed.

“Please…” she whimpered before she could stop herself. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Was he really going to do this?

Then he dragged his lips up her neck. Haisley’s head spun, tilting between shock and a spark of desire.

He shoved his underwear down to his hips. She tensed. But instead of penetrating her, he wriggled against her until the ridge of his cock found her clit. Then he rocked against her, slowly, rhythmically. To anyone watching, it must look as if he was taking her, maybe even hurting her. He wasn’t. His grip remained firm, but he merely used her body to create an illusion.

But soon, the skin-to-skin contact, his heavy breaths on her neck, and the friction against her most sensitive spots took its toll on her resistance. Her body, long ago conditioned to respond to him, took over. Her head told her the physiological response to his stimulation was as unavoidable as it was predictable. But it alarmed her. Confused her.

She fought, but the primitive, primal part of her brain took over. She found herself closing her eyes, moving with him, hips jerking to meet his strokes as her fear fell away.

He took her lips with a passion that stole her breath. Fire lit her blood. Her skin stretched tight, felt almost too sensitive as his free hand beneath the sheet turned gentle and caressed her.

Her breathing turned shallow. She let out another mewled “Please…” but this one wasn’t a plea for mercy; it was a plea for more.

He lifted his head from her neck and met her stare. The softness there… The arousal and the need? They connected her to him instantly.

Nash was inside Jasper King, begging for understanding and absolution—and slowly heaping an inexorably climbing pleasure on her.

“Feel me?” he growled as he dipped his hips and prodded her swollen clit again.

She couldn’t help but nod, her breaths rapid and uneven.

“You going to come for me?”

Was she?

Her brain shied away. She shook her head.

But her body had different ideas.

“No?” He prodded between her legs again. “You sure? That’s not what your face is telling me, baby.”

God, he’d always been so good at bending her desire to his will. It was as if he alone had the secret combination to her body.

And her heart.

Time lost meaning as he continued to grind against her, unerringly hitting that one spot that began unraveling her. As she turned wet and more desperate, he got harder—and more insistent.

“Mine,” he breathed in her ear. “All mine. Always mine.”

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