The Dare Collection January 2020. Lauren HawkeyeЧитать онлайн книгу.
me around. I want to look at you.’
‘Demanding, too.’ He pressed harder against me. ‘Why? Have you forgotten what I look like?’ His teeth scraped gently over the sensitive part of my neck where it met my shoulder and I shuddered. ‘Do you want me to remind you?’
He was teasing me, the bastard, and part of me liked it. ‘Please...’ I groaned as he bit me, arching. ‘Please, Damian...’
‘Fuck,’ he muttered as my butt came into contact with his hard cock. ‘You do present a powerful argument, I have to admit.’
His hands firmed and I was spun around, the glass against my back and him in front of me. He was over six foot of pure muscle, the silver ring in his eyebrow echoing the gleam of his eyes, which had gone molten with desire.
I reached for him, wanting to see the bright inks on his skin, wanting all the colour and life and heat that he represented. Wanting to touch it, get it on me somehow. Wanting to take it for myself.
And he seemed to understand because his hand dropped to his fly and he was undoing the button and zip of his jeans, getting that magnificent cock of his out. I touched him, traced the ink of his tattoo as he got a condom out and sheathed himself, his skin so hot he burned.
He’d gone quiet, the way he had last night, the lines of his face hard, no amusement there now. Only pure masculine desire.
He reached for me, gripping me as he lifted me against the window with pathetic ease, and then he was pushing inside me, the stretch of his cock making me shudder and both of us groan.
But he didn’t move, not quite yet. Instead, his gaze dropped to the jewels around my neck before rising again to my face, looking deeply into my eyes. And the sense of exposure returned. Only it wasn’t the city and the stares of unknown strangers that I was afraid of.
It was him and his silver gaze scanning the contents of my soul.
He wasn’t going to forget me the way I’d hoped; I could feel it in my bones. Yet it wasn’t that which made me feel afraid.
No, it’s the opposite. You’re afraid he’ll discover that he was wrong; that there’s nothing so very remarkable about you after all.
But I shoved the thought away, reaching for him, burying my hands in his black hair and pulling his head down, kissing him hungrily.
And he let me. He knew I was hiding, I was sure of it, but he didn’t protest. He only kissed me back, just as hungry and desperate as I was.
Then his hips flexed and he was moving inside me, hard, deep. Driving me back against the glass, every thrust sending brilliant, electric shocks of pleasure through me. I gripped his hair tight, groaning as he kept me pinned against the glass before reaching down and hauling one of my legs around his waist, opening me up so he could slide deeper.
God, it felt so good.
I might not have been anything very special, but right now, in his arms, I felt as though I was. I felt brilliant and beautiful. Sexy. Interesting. All the things I’d never thought about myself, but somehow still secretly wished I was.
He made me feel these things. It was all him.
That should have been a warning then and there and I should have stopped it. But I didn’t. I wanted to take what he was giving me, so I did.
And he gave me more, his mouth finding my nipple, sucking and biting it gently, teasing it with his tongue, making me pant and moan as he thrust steadily into me. Making me glitter and sparkle with pleasure, blazing as bright as the jewels around my neck.
Until I shattered, turning my face against his warm neck and sobbing.
Damian
THEA SAT AT the breakfast bar in the kitchen of my apartment, dressed once more in my black shirt, the Red Queen glittering around her neck.
It was possibly a mistake to let her keep wearing the necklace, but I liked the red glitter of the rubies on her skin. She could of course disappear on me, taking the necklace with her, but I was taking the chance that she wouldn’t.
Not after the way she’d come apart against the glass in my office so spectacularly. And probably not after she’d answered all my questions with what I thought was the truth.
The real issue right now though was that the answers should have satisfied my curiosity. Should certainly have helped me make a decision about where to go from here. But they hadn’t. If anything, they’d only made me more curious, which I really didn’t want to be. Not to mention more possessive, which was another thing I didn’t want to be.
It was more comfortable not to be interested, and way more comfortable not to give a shit, and yet here I was, standing in my kitchen with her dressed in my shirt, wearing my jewels, and all ready to eat the breakfast my housekeeper had prepared. Again, potentially concerning.
Or at least it would have been if it was possible for a pretty little thief to be a threat to my emotional wellbeing. And, as it wasn’t possible, I shouldn’t be concerned.
So I wasn’t. But curious? Oh, yeah, still fucking curious.
How had she got into the ‘reacquisition business’ or whatever the hell she’d called it? And why? It sounded shady as shit to me, yet I didn’t sense anything shady about her.
No, the only thing I’d got from her was hunger. For me.
When I’d turned her around against the glass in my office, she’d looked at me as if she was starving and only I could feed her. And I had the sense that her hunger went beyond physical need. That it was something deeper, though I wasn’t sure what.
Dangerous fucking territory, bro.
No, it wasn’t, not if I didn’t want it to be, and I sure as hell didn’t. If she was hungry for something more than sex then she was shit out of luck, because sex was all I had to give anyone. A bit of pleasure, fun and a bit of luxury; that was it.
Anyway, even if I’d had something more to give, I wouldn’t. Not when I’d only just met her and knew exactly zero about her.
The breakfast my housekeeper had left me on the counter consisted of bowls of fruit and yoghurt, bacon and my favourite, scrambled eggs and toast.
I put some food on a plate for Thea, spooning out some scrambled eggs, and she watched me with those beautiful dark eyes as I did so, not saying a word. For some reason, I didn’t feel the need to say anything either.
A silence fell and it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was...restful, which I hadn’t expected. Every day I was surrounded by people and noise, bright colours and sparkle, the frenetic pace that was doing business at Black and White, and normally I preferred it that way.
I’d always liked the sense of moving forward, away from the memories of my happy, pretty mother slowly wasting away from her battle with cancer, taking all the joy and sparkle from my life with her.
So many clear, vivid memories. Memories that would never fade.
Of her laughter disappearing. Her smiles vanishing. Of Morgan, who’d been such a happy little thing, getting more and more anxious. More and more frightened. And Mum telling me it was up to me now to look after her, to be the light in her life. Up to me to make things less terrible, less awful.
Because I was the serious one. The dependable one.
So I’d helped her; I’d saved her from pain. And I’d done my best to look after Morgan. Tried not to be so serious, to make her laugh, to make her believe that there were good things left in the world.
Never again, though. I was never going to be responsible for another person’s happiness, another person’s entire life, ever again.
So