Page 12 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
"Something wrong, princess?" he asks, laughing in my face, the sound cruel and dark and oh so wrong. My nipples perk up at the sound, and molten heat floods my core. Yep, that's me, Natalia Petrova, masochist extraordinaire. I must love pain, to seek it out so damn much.
If I were a smart girl, I'd grit my teeth, avoid making any connections with the guys (sexual or otherwise), and save the money I’ll be earning working for Blackbirch. I could take off, start over. I know I'm a bit narcissistic, but I'm pretty enough. Maybe I could make a name for myself in modeling or acting? I can't sing for shit ...
But no, here I am, panting because some glorious psycho has just pushed me into a wall, his right hand working its way under the waistband of my ugly green cargo pants. I haven't worn a skirt or a dress in weeks; I miss them.
Arsen's fingers brush the damp heat of my panties, and I gasp, my lips parting to make room for his tongue when he fits his mouth against mine. The way he kisses though, it's not like anyone I've ever been with before, this violent, almost desperate sort of taking. Arsen De Lange doesn't give with his kisses, not the way many men do, no. He just siphons the life out of me, and for some inexplicable reason, I seem more than happy to give it.
"Look at you," he taunts, slipping my panties aside and slicking a single finger along my tender folds. "Dripping for a man who'd just as soon see you dead as fuck you. Does that get you off?"
"So what if it does?" I challenge, lifting my chin, and then choking on my own defiance as Arsen slips two fingers in me without preamble. He doesn't bother with foreplay or niceties. Why should he? Doesn't do anything for him, and he's truly a selfish, selfish creature.
He laughs at me again, thrusting deep enough to coat his knuckles in my desire, and then pulls away, yanking me by the wrist and practically throwing me into the glass of the window.
My palms hit the cool glass first, and my eyes widen as a few, distinct cracks appear. These are old windows, original to the hotel which just so happens to have been built in 1916. These things are over a hundred years old, wavy and ancient, liable to break at the slightest provocation.
Arsen shoves my pants down my hips, his scorching body heat seeping into me, making me shiver. It's a nice contrast to the cool glass beneath my fingertips.
But also ...
"It might break," I choke out, my voice barely above a whisper. Arsen's response is to laugh, the sound of his zipper giving me chills.
"Then you better make sure I get off quick, huh?" he asks, and then he's shoving himself into me. Deep. Hard. Rough. I'm experienced enough, but it's been a few weeks ... It almost hurts, but at the same time, just like that glass beneath my fingertips, I'm slowly cracking into pieces.
It hurts, but it feels good, too.
A moan escapes me as I curl my fingertips in pleasure, and notice that a few extra cracks have appeared. The window isn't strong enough to brace me; it might very well break and send me flying two stories down.
Would Arsen care? Would he try to catch me?
The answer to both of those questions is a resounding I don't know, so I close my eyes, heat searing through me with each violent thrust. He pushes himself so deep that I can feel him everywhere, invading me: body, mind, spirit.
Fuck.
His hands grip my hips hard, burning finger-shaped marks into my skin as that friction builds between us, and the glass beneath my hands slowly, slowly, slowly begins to give way.
We should be using a condom, if he's fucked so many other women since last time, I think, but that thought is soon obliterated by a wave of fire building at the base of my spine and unfurling through me like an inferno.
Arsen, the master of flames.
He grabs me by the hair, groaning and coming hard, releasing himself inside of me while my own orgasm trails just behind ... and then is put to an abrupt halt as he pulls out and simultaneously jerks me back.
The window shatters, sharp shards of glass scattering across the scuffed hardwood floors and raining down on the roof like rain.
Arsen releases me, and I fall to my knees before a sea of shimmering glass. It reflects the moonlight as I shake and pant, my body throbbing with desperate need.
When I glance over my shoulder, he's simply standing there, his pants done up, his face a severe frown.
"Careful, princess. Fragile things do often break." And then he turns and takes off as boots pound up the stairs. Mace shoves past him with a huge shoulder, only to find me with my pants around my ankles, shaking on the bedroom floor.
