Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dahlia
His body is so warm around mine. I am lost in long, thick arms and a wide, sturdy chest. A tingling sensation rushes along my skin. I should be more frightened as his mere presence strokes shudders through my body.
Hairs rising.
Toes curling.
It’s him.
He pulses unlike other Xin De men because he is a Shadow. I didn’t see it before.
He awakens energy in the very air around me, sending skitters of it across my skin like dancing veins of lightning. That is why every man and woman is obsessed with him. It’s more than the obscenely muscular form, and those black, menacing eyes that silently growl heated, depravities—He arouses the atmosphere.
I want it.
This is a harsh existence. We live like mere animals in the desert. Pleasure is not easily found out here. I want to find relief from the truth of who he is, find an escape from my feelings of deceit. Just like Beauty and Sweets. I want to disappear into the electrified aura of Lagos the Rogue.
“Show me,” I say before I can stop myself. “What you talked about last night. What you were going to do to my body, to me?—”
He growls, making a dark sound that seems to thrust inside my core, making my muscles clenching around it.
“Do you want to feel a Shadow deep inside you, little flower?” he asks.
Oh, my.
“You’re already there,” I squeak, a helpless sound, both terrified and desperate. “You’ve been inside my chest, in my belly, for weeks.”
“I’ll be much deeper than that.”
I gaze up at him, instantly caught in the snare of pitch-black eyes. Lagos isn’t fighting it anymore, he’s decided.
“Let’s get you nice wet for me.” He looms over me, forcing me to my spine. “Gentle,” he warns. “You’re still fragile.”
Hot lips touch my mouth, and I prepare for more pressure, breathless for him, but he trails to my chin.
“You make the prettiest sounds when you gasp,” he murmurs darkly between kisses of deep possessiveness, tracing the column of my neck down to my clavicle. “So fragile.” He kisses the thin bone above my chest. “So soft.”
I lick my lips.
Anticipating.
Already panting, I peer down to watch this beast of a man. Excruciatingly slow, he mouths my breasts over the fabric of my white slip-dress.
He sucks on my nipple, and my hands fly up to the back of his head, nails weaving into his wavy dark-blonde hair.
I lie like a stick, straight up and down, stiff and awkward. My skin blushes with embarrassment.
“Stop.” I don’t know what I’m saying or why I’m saying it. It’s my final attempt to protect my heart. If we do this, if I let him do this, I know that’s it. For the warm affection inside me will spiral out of control. “Stop.”
“Stop?” he repeats and licks my achingly hard nipple, groaning.
I shake my head, dizzy. “No.”
“No?”
“I...”
Lagos trails down the ladder of my ribs. “You.” And breathes hot air against my belly button. “Say it again.” Groaning, he rubs his face on the supple part of my lower belly, and even through my dress, his rough beard reminds me that every inch of him is hard, coarse—male. “Mean it. Say stop and mean it." His hips thrust in the air. Even without the pressure of his body on mine, I can feel him tightening against his instincts. Restless with restraint.
I can’t say it again. I don’t want him to stop, but I need to catch my breath.
When I don’t answer, he hums. “Don’t open your thighs for me.” I roll my hips up to the sound of his raspy timbre, a sound steady with control yet somehow volatile.
Prowling down my body the last few inches, his nose meets my knickers. He inhales and growls. My toes curl and my back arches, my body obeying the beast’s unspoken commands.
“You have no idea how much I need this,” Lagos states, hunger a raspy phantom in his tone. Needy.
This need , a man’s instinctual desires and emotional burdens, is what my Trade is all about—to accompany, relieve, and soothe.
His tongue laps at the material, then down my closed legs. He teases a wet, hot trail down the valley between my pressed thighs.
I squeeze them tighter.
“It’s not your fault. Remember that, when you dream about what I did to this body, remember it’s not your fault,” he snarls and shoves my thighs apart.
My heart thunders in my chest.
Exhaling heavily, he stares between my legs. The white material, barely covering me, is damp from my arousal.
I can’t look any more, dropping my head back, brows tight, staring at the ceiling, and gripping his hair tighter.
“Do you still want to know what I like?” Lagos ducks, his mouth on my knickers, heat exploding across the sensitive area.
I hold his hair, my tether to the moment, or else I’ll fall—plummet.
Oh , that feels good.
“Yes,” I whisper, my eyes rolling back when he licks over the fabric and buries his nose at the very top, inhaling, it’s erotic and wrong, and…
Rolling his nose against me, he purrs, “I like the smell of this soft red hair between your thighs. Strawberries and cream. What a delicate flower you are.”
Spreading me further, pinning my thighs open, he fills the space with his large shoulders. One hand on my thigh, the other feeds under my knickers so a long, relentless finger can slide all the way, deep inside me.
I moan wildly. There isn’t any pain this time—only pleasure.
Until he hits something, shooting me with an unnatural sensation like someone massaging my bones from the inside.
“Not very deep, little flower, but so fucking tight. And pink…” Sliding his finger in and out of me, my arousal makes wet sounds. “Everywhere. So much pinker in here.”
Oh, he’s looking there. Embarrassment becomes a blanket of pink and perspiration.
My backside tries to pulse off the blankets, to work with his finger, but he has me locked beneath him.
“Lagos...”
“Gentle. Your hips don’t know what they’re asking for is dangerous.”
Unbridled moans cascade from my throat. There. There. Close. To that feeling… The same one I felt at the waterfall. The same one… Oh.
His tongue glides up, stopping at a collection of nerves and circles, and circles. And circles.
My head makes the same motion, my mind coiling with pleasure.
His finger moves in and out, too constant, controlled. Then he sucks, and I tighten everywhere, hands in his hair, legs around his face. The clash of his finger’s steady penetration and the violent sucking forces all my blood to that area. He might as well be licking my heart, because every inch between my legs pulses with its frantic beating.
“Good girl, come for me.”
Crying through the climax, my thighs tremble beside his cheeks, the delicate skin scrubbed by his rough beard.
His forehead presses to my lower belly, and he pauses there while I mewl with unbidden control. Pulling his finger from inside me, he crawls up my body, forcing my thighs further apart.
I look down to see his packed shoulder muscles rotating. Dragging with him, the long, hard length between his legs. It beats against my thigh.
Then he stops over me, and I blink at him. Blink. Blink. Nerves play on my tongue, not allowing words through.
“Things I like…” Lagos hums with his lips inches from mine. “Your green eyes filled with soft nerves and sweet lust.”
I part my lips, drawing in thick, buzzing air. It’s happening. He is going to… “I'm scared,” I admit. “It hurts. Doesn’t it?”
The movement of his warm fingers sliding up my side, collecting my hand, makes me shiver. “Do you want me to hold your hand through it?” Lagos entwines our fingers.
I nod. He is gentle. A gentle man with me. For me. The sickening affection in my belly swallows me whole—I love him. “Yes.”
His fingers bar mine to the blankets above my head. Eyes unwavering from mine, anchors for my nervous energy; he reaches down with his free hand and grabs hold of his dick. “Don’t look.”
“I’ve seen... it.”
He drags his lips up my face to the inside of my upper arm, peppering kisses on the soft tissue there. Intimate. Sweet. Contradicting what he is doing with his other hand, removing his briefs and using the crown of his dick to slide my knickers into the crease of my thigh.
I’m still in my little white dress, with my knickers bunched to the side, flushing across my chest and up my neck. While he is over me, completely naked like an animal—like a beast. It’s the image of being defiled.
And he is too big to kiss me while he does this. His head is clear over the top of mine. I press my cheek to his heart and pant. Ready.
Lagos notches his dick at my opening, and I freeze. Tense. The hot bulb isn’t going to get inside me.
No way.
“ Yes .” He grabs my thigh and thrusts into me.
Short. Steady. He squeezes through the layers of skin and muscle, and I cry out, digging my fingers into his hand, mewling wildly but to no end. He is everywhere. The pressure of him. The weight. The electrified air.
I wish I could see his face, but feeling a rumbling growl in his chest is warning enough. “ Tight. Mine. All mine.”
Fear curls inside me.
He pries me open.
“You're doing so good,” he groans, edging out only to squeeze in further. “Such a tight fit. You're going to feel me deep inside you. My cock is going to throb against your cervix, do you understand?”
I nod against his chest.
And he thrusts in until I feel something punch at bone, at the end of me. He tucks me under him further, bundles me into the position he needs, ready, and starts to really move.
The air around us seems to spark and sizzle. My mouth opens, cries and moans soaring together. I let this massive man use my body to work out his carnal need.
In. Out.
Oh.
A restless hand paws my thigh.
Grunting with each inward thrust, he groans long and deep to his outward draws. Over and over.
Pleasure stirs inside me.
“That’s it,” Lagos rasps. “Take your Shadow’s big cock, little flower. It’s too late now. You’re defiled. You’re mine.”
Climbing up my trembling side, his hand stops in the crook of my neck. He juts his hips in a way that strokes over the little nerve ending above my entrance.
“Come,” he demands, and my ears burn as if he bit down on them.
The room melts away again. Nothing but us. Nothing but him inside me. Making my body his. Making the space between my thighs shaped for him. Shaping me so thoroughly, I’ll never feel right without him, not between my legs, not in my lungs, or low in my belly.
I climax again, the muscles enclosing his dick spasming, my legs jerking at his backside, cries pummelling through my lips. He will feel me—feel me pulsing. I bury my face further into his hot, hard chest, mortified by that.
“Your pussy is so good .”
This Xin De male was designed to murder, but every inch of him seems built for this. To completely unravel a girl. Even with the pain—the stretch—his rhythm is flawless and exact, his attention to detail unwavering.
His thrusting continues.
He slides along tender places inside me, over and over, coiling me again and again until I’m a cluster of pathetic yearning. Feverish. Stretched.
“That’s a good girl,” he praises. “Come for me again.” And I tremble through another climax.
“Please…” I paw at him with my free hand. He doesn’t appear to be slowing or growing tired. Panic fills my chest.
I don’t know how much time passes or whether it’s night or first-light, but my body is no longer mine.
My body pulses on the blanket to his rhythm. In my peripherals, I see a blur of activity. Dropping my cheek to the blanket, I meet my own gaze. Caught beneath the huge body of the male, my legs jerking at his backside, but it’s him…
I climax again, watching him.
The sight of him over me, in me, is the most impossibly erotic sight. His hand still holds mine above my head, his arse clenching and unclenching, biceps bulking out, and his eyes… closed below brows weaved with agonising pleasure.
“I’m going to fill this little body,” he warns. “You’re going to be swollen and sore tomorrow, with my scent all over you, so there is no mistaking you’re—” He growls, “Mine.”
Soon, his pace falters, his hands paw restlessly, and every part of him—arms, back, shoulders, neck, dick— tighten and build over me.
“Fuck.” He bundles me even closer as he beats his hips, cum shooting into my depths. “Good girl. My very good little flower… Fuck .”
I close my eyes. Tingles set to race across my arms and up my thighs. The air is thick, magnetic, spinning me. I think I lose time, but…
His dick slides from inside me; his lips meet mine and we share heavy, exhausted breaths.
Heaving, I barely kiss back as his lips take over, tugging at mine. That is what he does. He takes, and I give. And I never want it any other way.
“Look at me,” Lagos demands.
I force my eyes open.
“You’re mine,” he says, daring me to object, engraving his claim into my mind while the feel of his hot cum drips down my thighs in thick rivers. “Say it.”
My voice is soft. “I’m yours.”
“If Tomar touches you?—”
“ Lagos .”
“Listen!” He grabs the side of my neck, forcing my eyes to him. “If he looks at you in a way that would displease me, I need you to tell me.”
“Do we have to do this no?—”
“Yes, we have to do this now! Because right now, I’ve claimed you, split you open, and I’m…” He shakes over me with barely contained rage. “I’m feeling violent.” I swallow. His eyes turn black. “I’m feeling like I need to hurt him. Say you will tell me everything, and I will not leave this room until I calm down.”
“I will tell you,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his and talking against them. “Are you mine, then?” I tease. “Lagos the Rogue. Are you mine, if I am yours?”
A strange expression softens his eyes, and a small grin plays in the corner of his mouth.
“That is why,” he mutters, almost to himself, almost to an incessant question reeling in his mind.
“What is why?”
“You somehow—” He shakes his head, confusion darting around his now lighter, steel-coloured gaze. “You get in my chest. Settled me. With four fucking words.” He huffs. “To control me, I’ve been brainwashed, iron coursing through my very blood, but you… You do it with four softly spoken words. How the fuck did you do that?”
My heart expands, but I just shrug, trying not to fall any further, to not lose my figurative footing entirely. “I don’t know.”
His subtle grin slides wider. “Do you want me to be yours, little flower?”
Pop goes my heart—a bloody mess everywhere. “ Yes ,” I whisper.
“Then I am yours.”