Chapter 17
EVA
The darkness wraps around us like a thick blanket. I can barely see with the flashlight atop the crate and aimed at the wall. But I can feel him, and that’s enough. That’s all I want right now.
I kiss him with the same reckless, frenzied abandon that took hold of me at the Royal Pombrio.
I’m famished and he’s the only meal in town.
The only meal in the world. My fingers claw at his shirt, the fabric smooth and crisp against my greedy hands.
My heart pounds as I trail my fingers down his collarbones, finding the first button on his shirt.
I pop it open with a sharp flick. Then I undo another, and another, until I finally feel the warm expanse of his skin underneath. I’ve seen him naked, kissed him everywhere, but I still gasp at the sight. He’s built like a sculpture, every inch of him carved and taut and infinitely desirable.
Impatiently I tug on his shirt and pull it free from his pants. A celebratory growl I didn’t mean to make marks my small victory. Now I can touch more of him—his chest, his abs, his back.
I don’t waste a second. My hands roam over him, demanding, oddly possessive.
His skin is hot under my palms, muscles flexing as I drag my nails lightly down his sides.
I can feel his heartbeat thundering beneath my fingertips.
It’s intoxicating, the way he reacts to me, the way he exhales this slow, throaty breath that’s practically a moan.
“Easy there,” he rasps.
His voice is so thick with want I don’t give a damn about his warning. I keep kissing him, stroking, licking his skin, squeezing the muscles beneath, reveling in his warmth, his strength, his masculine beauty. And he lets me.
I lean back just enough to see his face, his hooded eyes, his lips swollen from my kisses.
“You like that?” I tease, hardly believing my sass.
“More than you know.”
It strikes me that I was never like this with Geoffroy, not even during his twisted little role plays that always felt clinical and tepid, a chore.
Alex kisses me again, and I forget everything about the past. His kiss is hard and demanding. Gone is the self-imposed restraint. His hands slide up my back, fingers digging into my skin. I arch into him, grinding my hips against his. I want more, so much more!
He reaches down and pushes my skirt up in one rough motion.
The air is cool against my legs for just a moment.
Then his hands are on me again, rubbing and kneading my flesh until I’m burning hotter than before.
He grabs my ass. His touch is hungry and rough enough to make me moan in pleasure, but for all the squeezing, he keeps it firmly on this side of pain.
I know it’s the norm outside of my personal experience, but I can’t help but feel grateful.
A moment later, I forget gratitude. In fact, I lose all thought still lingering in my brain. He begins to grind his rock-hard cock against my front. The friction is delicious beyond words.
His lips burn a path down my neck, teeth grazing the skin at the pulse point. His free hand yanks my sweater up, and his thumb drags over my nipple through my bra. I cry out, my spine arching involuntarily.
He seizes the moment and shoves the cup down, exposing my breast to the cool air for a second before his hot mouth closes over it. His tongue doesn’t just tease—it devours, lashing my nipple until it’s so stiff and sensitive that each stroke feels like lightning striking my core.
I shiver.
To be stimulated so expertly and to feel him straining, mad with desire, sends a torrent of lust through me.
I moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip as I do.
His hands are everywhere—on my thighs, my hips, my ass.
I’m panting, writhing against him, desperate for more.
I need him inside me, filling me, fucking me until I can’t think straight.
What, right here?
The thought gives me pause. I’m not debating if we’re going to make love tonight.
That question was answered the moment his tongue penetrated my mouth.
What I haven’t decided yet is if we’ll do it right here, in this dark, damp oubliette, or if we’ll have the willpower to climb out and make it to a cozier room.
Preferably with a bed. Or a sofa. Or at least a chair.
I set my palms on his chest. “Wait. We should—”
“No,” he cuts me off. “We’re way beyond that. I’m fucking you, Eva.”
“Here in the dungeon?”
“Yeah.” He pinches my chin. “What if you change your mind by the time we get to my room?”
“I won’t, I promise!”
He squints at me as if trying to gauge if he can trust my word.
“I promise,” I repeat.
Still, he doubts.
Recognizing that I need to give him more to go on, I blurt, “We could wander for hours through every drafty hallway in this castle, and I’d still end up in your bed.”
His eyes narrow to slits. I can see he wants to believe me. He almost does. But not quite.
“Alex,” I begin.
“Yes?”
I glance down at my panties, which are soaked through, clinging to my swollen pussy lips.
“Yes, Eva?” he grits out.
I lift my gaze back up to him. “I’m wet enough to prove this isn’t just want. It’s need. Nothing else matters tonight.”
His hand slides down my stomach and slips beneath the waistband of my panties.
I gasp when his middle finger drags through my slick folds. The shameless sound of it is as tantalizingly erotic as the feel of it.
“Look at you,” he rasps.
His finger circles my clit with merciless precision. I think he’s beyond gathering proof that I won’t bail. The way he strokes me is too slow, too deliberate. It’s like he’s branding me. Or punishing me for postponing our release.
“Eva…” He bows toward me, breath hot against my ear. “So desperate for me.”
I wish I could deny it, but any attempt at denial would be pathetic. For one, I’m a bad liar. But mostly, because the truth is slickly abundant around his fingers.
Yes, I am desperate for him.
And he knows it.