13
It was insane.I knew this. There was no plausible reason for me to feel the way I did. Why my body burned for this man’s touch. A man who snatched me from my world and thrust me into his, and I still had no clue why.
He hurt me. Kidnapped me. Killed a man, and confessed to many more. Yet here I was, seduced and submitted, craving a release my body had no right to demand. But there was something about him. Something familiar. Call me crazy, but was it possible that I knew about him lurking somewhere around me? That I knew he was watching me?
Maybe I did. Perhaps on some subconscious level I had always been aware of him silently watching me from the shadows. Could that have been possible? Or had I officially gone mad?
While his hand cupped my sex—stroking, touching, brushing—I felt something other than fear and hatred and cold terror. But in between the sensual longing and burning desire, there were many questions stacked in chaotic rows inside my head.
My father.
My grandfather.
Me.
Elijah.
My body craving his touch as if it had always known him.
Was this what insanity felt like? The voices tearing you apart, ripping you in two—your body and mind at war with each other?
His touch was hot, his presence heavy, and the longer I lingered within this high, the harder I would fall once I came down.
The blunt intrusion of his finger forced a whimper to slip from my lips, my hips rocking, rubbing myself against his palm.
So close. I was so fucking close I could feel it build all the way from my toes, growing stronger, demanding more.
He rubbed his cheek against mine as he leaned over my shoulder, one hand between my legs, the other gripping my hip. “If you come, I’ll take it as an invitation to fuck you.”
I leaned back, sinking into him, eyes closed and body willing as I kept control of his wrist, steadying his hand, while my hips rocked and swayed.
“You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it. Your body is ready to fucking snap in half.”
God. All I wanted was to tip over that ledge, to fall and drown in an endless abyss of depravity. Because that was what this was. Fucking depravity. A sordid kind of madness. An erotic game of power.
His hand traveled from my waist, his palm easing across the soft white silk and covering my breast, kneading while the tension built, taking control of every muscle and every thought.
“Listen to me, Charlotte.” His voice dipped low, husky, laced with a sensual allure that kissed every inch of my skin. “If you come around my finger, you better be prepared to come with my cock inside your cunt.”
It was foul and vile, something a woman like me should have found insulting and disgusting. But instead, it was like oxygen around an open fire, spurring it on to burn brighter, fiercer.
I spread my legs wider, needing more, needing it fast and hard.
“Is that what you want, my little cellist? To be fucked by me, your stalker?” I whimpered as he pressed his lips against my ear. “Your psychopath?”
“Jesus.” I launched up, the nightgown falling down my legs. My cheeks burned hot with embarrassment. “I’m sick of your goddamn games.”
“Yet you rode my finger as if you loved playing.”
“What the hell is this?”
He placed a palm on his crotch, the same palm he had between my legs a second ago, and adjusted himself before straightening. “This is a real fucked up situation with the potential to get so goddamn complicated we’ll both drown in it. But here’s the thing,” he stalked closer while I stood my ground, “as long as you play for me with that cello settled between your legs, the entire world can burn down around me.” He lifted his hand, cupped my cheek, and I could smell myself on his fingers. “I will have you, Charlotte. They won’t take you from me. They’d have to kill me first.”
“There you go again, talking about they. You keep going around in circles, giving me nothing.”
He bit his lip, and like a goddamn veil, the mask of secrecy fell over his expression. “The less you know, the better.”
“Bullshit. People always say that when, in fact, the more you know the better you can prepare yourself.” My heart raced, and my mind was on the verge of fucking crashing. “First you mention my grandfather, my father—a man I have never seen before. God, my mom never even spoke about him. And now…now you’re bringing him up like he’s the fucking topic of a casual conversation.”