Page 33 of Irrevocably

She shudders, tilting her head to the side the way she did in the alley. “Badly,” she whispers.

“Beg me, then.” I set my teeth against the chords of her neck and nip her. “Beg me to fuck you.”

A gasp escapes her, and she lifts a hand, grabbing a handful of my hoodie. “Please, please,” she says thickly. “Please, fuck me, Lucien.”

The way she grabs me and the hunger in her voice wraps around my own throat and squeezes tight. This is a mistake, and I know it, but this is the first time a woman has ever actually wanted me. The first time anyone has ever begged for me – so yes, I’ll take her. I’ll give her the pain she’s desperate for and my cock along with it, and I’ll look into her eyes as I make her come. I’ll make her see fucking God.

I sheath my knife, pull her hand from my hoodie. Then I jerk her pyjama top down her shoulders, exposing her pretty tits. The breath goes out of her, and her hands half come up to shield herself instinctively, but they’re trapped by the fabric and she can’t. So, I take my time looking at her. Her breasts are full and round, little pink nipples already hard, and so touchable that I trail the backs of my fingers over the curve of her breast.

She flushes, rose staining her cheeks and neck. Her skin is warm and smooth as silk, and I’m indulging myself shamelessly now. I cup her breast, squeezing her, weighing the softness in my palm, and she shudders. Her mouth opens on a sigh and her back arches. She’s like a cat being stroked and wanting more.

I thread my fingers through her hair then close them into a fist, holding on to the soft, silky strands. Then I slide my hand down beneath the waistband of her pyjama pants, over the shivering plane of her stomach, to the soft, damp curls between her thighs.

Another low gasp escapes her, and her eyes go even wider as I slide a finger through her wet flesh to find her hard little clit. “Oh…” she breathes softly, as I circle it, teasing it. “Oh my God…”

This is the first time she’s been touched like this. I’m the first man to stroke her clit, make her wet. The first man to kiss her.

Virginity has never interested me before, but now it’s in my head that I’m her first and I can’t get rid of the satisfaction of it. It feels as if there’s a beast inside me, woken up from a long hibernation, and it’s hungry. It’s possessive and finds the thought of being her first absolutely intoxicating. Better than heroin.

You’ve never had anything that was just yours and yours alone.

No. No I fucking haven’t.

I sift those wet curls through my fingers, tugging on them, making her shake. “No one’s touched you here, have they?” I grip her hair keeping her still while my fingers explore. “I’m the first man to touch this little pussy, aren’t I?”

“N-No, you’re not,” she stutters, panting.

I lean in again, nuzzling at the other side of her neck, brushing my mouth along her jaw. “You keep lying to me like this and you won’t get what you want.”

She takes more ragged breaths as my fingers slip and slide on her wet flesh, teasing her clit, before circling the entrance of her pussy. “O-Okay, okay … yes,” she whispers shakily. “You’re the f-first.”

I shouldn’t feel so satisfied, I shouldn’t. But the beast inside me growls and it’s pleased. It likes the thought that she’s never had this kind of pleasure before, and I’m the one giving it to her.

I sink a finger into her tight wet pussy, and her head goes back against her bedroom door, her small white teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She’s so tight and she smells so sweet, and even though something at the back of my brain is telling me this is a fucking bad idea, I don’t stop.

I can’t stop. I ease a second finger into her slippery cunt, testing her. She draws a breath in sharply, her back arching again, so I slide it in deeper, and she groans. I can’t stop looking at her face, at how flushed she is, and how into what I’m doing to her she is. I’ve never watched a woman come before, I’ve never been interested enough to bother. Giving pleasure has never been the goal for me during sex, only my own release, but it’s different with her. There’s something erotic about knowing I’m the one making her shake, making her moan, making her beg, and I can’t tear my gaze away.

“Lucien…” she breathes, her eyes half-shut. “Oh, please … I need…”

“Pain,” I murmur in her ear. “You need pain.”

She sighs. “Please…”

And that’s when I break.

That’s when I can’t wait any more.

Chapter Seventeen

ASTRID

I can barely keep myself upright. I can barely think. His tattooed fingers are inside me, stretching me, and it feels so good. His big, hard body presses me against the door, and I can smell his scent. His blue gaze blazes down into mine as if he’s never seen anything so fascinating.

I’ve never had anyone look at me that way before, and it’s so erotic. Everything about this is erotic. Something in my head is whispering that it’s wrong to let a murderer touch me with the same hands he killed with, that’s it’s fucked up. And yes, it is. But maybe that’s why I like it so much. Maybe there’s a little piece of darkness in me that somehow matches the darkness in him.

Then again, he’s all darkness. He’s all cold beauty and violence, yet he’s stroking me, his mouth brushing against my neck, lightly, almost delicately. And those fingers that did that violence, are now sliding in and out of me, making my thighs shake and my breath pant as pleasure spreads a dark spider’s web through me.

I want more. I want harder. I want the pain he’s offering. The pain would add an edge, make things sharper and more intense, but he’s pulling his fingers out of me, and I haven’t gotten what I wanted yet.