Page 30 of Betrayed
Had I shown that side of myself to her, she never would have left my bed without saying goodbye.
She would have known better.
She wouldn’t have dared to leave at all. I realize she needs me to dominate, to tell her how things will be between us. I can’t hide from her any longer.
It’s time for me to erupt.
And let her know that she’s mine.
And I will chase her to the ends of the earth.
“I dreamt of this,” I whisper, dragging my mouth down her stomach. “Every moment since you left.”
She arches her back as I slide my hand between her thighs again.
“You don’t get to come,” I say, dark and low.
“What?” Her eyes go wide.
I pin her to the table with one look. “You ran. You left. You come when I say.”
I feel her grind against my hand, searching for friction.
“Lucian,” she begs.
“No,” I growl, sliding two fingers inside her. “Not until I say.”
“It’s torture,” she moans.
Perfect, possessive, punishing torture.
I work her more and more—tongue and fingers, dirty words and threats—“Don’t you dare leave again. Don’t you dare come till I say.”
Then stop just before she tumbles off that cliff into a pool of relief.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Tears well up in her eyes. “Please,” she pleads. “I can’t handle this! I can’t take any more, Lucian?—”
“You will.”
I lean down, kiss her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, her throat.
Then I shed my jeans, something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I held her in the doorway, and I move inside her with one slow, brutal thrust.
She screams.
I growl. “Not yet.”
And the world narrows to the rhythm of our bodies bumping against the table, the slap of skin, the burn of desperation.
“You left me,” I pant, thrusting harder. “Don’t ever leave me.”
“I’m sorry,” she cries, nails scraping my shoulders, hanging on for dear life.
