Page 61 of Blood Heir

I inhale slowly, holding back the shiver crawling under my skin. I don’t let him see it.

“Well,” I say lightly, though my voice trembles slightly at the edges, “they did. They stripped me. They humiliated me. They beat me.” My chest tightens as I force the words out. “And it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. So please—let me go.”

My hand falls free as his grip loosens, but I don’t stay. I step back, creating space between us as quickly as my legs allow. He steps closer, and before I can process what’s happening, hishand slides around the back of my neck and pulls me toward him.

My breath catches sharply in my throat, my body stiff against his. His mouth moves against mine with heated insistence, as though he’s been waiting for this moment, starving for it. The pressure of his kiss is dizzying—not soft, not patient. He’s devouring me, and my pulse hammers in my ears.

And then—just as quickly—he pulls back.

I stare up at him, heart pounding, lips tingling from the roughness of his kiss, and in that suspended moment, my mind fractures, dragging me backward into the memory I’ve tried so hard to bury.

The present blurs, melting into the past.

I see us again—alone in his room, the air thick with heat and want. I’m sprawled beneath him on his bed, my skin flushed and bare, his weight deliciously heavy over me. My chest rises and falls with shallow breaths as his hands roam over every inch of me, fingers splaying over my ribs, sliding up to cup my breasts.

My nipples are tight, achingly sensitive as his thumbs brush across them, and a whimper slips from my lips. My hips arch helplessly, grinding against the hard ridge of his cock pressing against my slick center.

“More,” I beg, my voice breathless, trembling with desperate need. “Please…more.”

His mouth captures mine, swallowing my plea, his kiss just as hungry as now, commanding, possessive. His tongue plunges into my mouth, claiming me like he owns me, like my body is his to take and use and ruin.

I feel the heat spiraling inside me as his hands travel lower, fingers slipping between my thighs, finding the wetness there that pulses for him. He groans into my mouth, voice dark and ragged.

“You're so fucking ready for me,” he growls, his breath hot against my cheek. “Beg for it again.”

I moan, words tumbling from me without shame. “Please…please, I need you inside me.” My voice breaks as I say it—raw, desperate, hungry.

His hand tightens on my hip, and he positions himself at my entrance, the swollen head of his cock nudging against my slick folds—

And then the memory shatters.

I’m back. Back in the present. Back in the hallway, staring up at him, lips still burning from the kiss he just stole.

His gaze searches mine—dark, intense—as if he knows exactly what memory just ignited in my head.

And my legs feel weak beneath me.

His eyes darken as he watches me, as though he can see my pulse pounding beneath my skin. Without warning, his hands seize my waist, and before I can catch my breath, he lifts me effortlessly, carrying me across the office toward the heavy desk.

His body crowds mine, the heat of him sinking into me, making me dizzy.

His hands cup my face, fingers rough against my cheeks as he leans in again. This time, his kiss is slower, deeper, but no less demanding. His lips seal over mine, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, his tongue tasting me like he can’t get enough. He tastes of cigarettes and alcohol—sharp, smoky, intoxicating. Thescent of him fills my head, thick and heady, and I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, surrendering to the press of his mouth.

I feel his breath hitch as my hands slide up his chest, fingertips tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath his dress shirt. He breaks the kiss briefly, his gaze sweeping over me, hungry, almost predatory. His hands drop to the straps of my dress, his fingers curling under the thin material and pulling them down, exposing my shoulders.

I swallow hard, my breath shivering as he tugs the dress lower, inch by inch, until it pools around my waist. The cool air kisses my bare skin, and goosebumps rise along my arms. His hands find the clasp of my bra next, deft fingers releasing it with practiced ease. The straps slide down my arms, and the cups fall away, baring my breasts to him completely.

His eyes flash with something primal, his breath deepening. “Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, as though seeing me like this strips away whatever control he was clinging to.

I gasp as his mouth descends, hot and hungry. His lips close over my nipple, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak, making me arch my back and press into him. A moan escapes me, unbidden, as his hand cups my other breast, thumb circling the aching bud.

“God—” I whimper, clutching his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

He switches sides, giving my other nipple the same attention—wet, warm, insistent—his stubble scraping gently against my skin, making me squirm beneath him. I can feel the wet heat gathering between my legs, my thighs instinctively pressing together for relief.

Still kissing, sucking, biting softly at my breasts, he works one hand down between us and shoves the dress further up around my hips, exposing my panties. His touch is rough, purposeful.

Finally, he pulls back, his breath ragged, chest rising and falling sharply as his eyes meet mine. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for his own shirt, yanking it up over his head and tossing it aside. The muscles of his chest ripple beneath the dim office light, his skin flushed with heat.

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