31. LYLA
Chapter thirty-one
I saw it in his eyes.
That hunger. That raw lust aimed right at me. Like I was his prey, and he was done circling.
My bottom lip found its way between my teeth as I stared up at him, and my heart hammered.
The crystalline aqua irises of my captor’s eyes had vanished, leaving only the onyx black orbs of his pupils—like twin wells that promised ruin.
The threat in his expression was only eclipsed by the arousal pulsating throughout his body and his rigid cock standing at attention between us.
I couldn’t tell which desire would win out—his want to murder me or his need to consume me.
I stepped back, my butt hitting the vanity’s edge, and braced my palms on it. Though I tried not to let my nervousness show, I knew he saw everything. He always did. I’d never known someone who could pierce right through me with one look, like he could see inside my mind.
God, I hated him for it.
Or maybe I hated myself.
Because no matter how ruthless, how cruel he was—my body didn’t care. It wanted him anyway.
And he could obviously sense that.
That was what pissed me off the most.
He’d seen the way I came apart under his hand. He’d seen how I melted, even while my mouth spat venom at him. He had the audacity to know exactly what I’d never even admitted to myself—that I wanted someone to take control, to force me to surrender.
Without meaning to, I’d become soaking wet and rubbed myself against his thigh, against his hand like a bitch in heat.
My entire body had betrayed me, and I wanted to scream.
But instead, I stood here, acting like a deranged girl with blood smeared down my face, a wet T-shirt clinging to my every curve, my legs trembling as he lorded over me.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I didn’t even recognize myself. This wasn’t a version of me that made any sense. The one I knew was driven, focused, hellbent on achieving her dreams in a world that rarely offered success. No, this was someone who wanted to be ravaged by the very man she should hate.
But somehow, I didn’t hate him.
Not really.
That was the worst part.
This wasn’t about survival anymore. It was about the edge I stood on, and what I was about to give up.
He, a man who took what he wanted, had no way of knowing that he held a woman who had never been taken. He had no idea I was still a virgin, that I’d never done any of this before.
I’d kept it to myself, thinking I would know when the right time would be for my first lover.
And now, somehow, the right time looked a hell of a lot like being pinned against a wall and fucked by a man who’d stalked me for weeks.
Was I seriously going to let him be the one?
He’d invaded my life like a damn virus. From the first moment at Cipher, when he’d sat down at my table, he’d been watching me. Learning me.
And now here we were.
Trapped in this violent storm of blood, lust, and power. And all I could do was stand here—barely breathing—as he devoured me with his eyes.
I didn’t know why I was fighting him so hard.
Maybe it was because I wanted him to prove he was interested enough in me to fight for me.
Maybe I was resisting him because I was fighting for my dreams, and he was trying to convince me to walk away from them.
This man didn’t know who I really was, didn’t know what drove me to give up everything and come to the city and work my ass off to succeed. He had no idea how it felt to go without. He’d been born into money and power.
Maybe I was acting like a holy terror because it wasn’t my identity he was trying to extinguish. It was my sister’s. I’d never imagined it would come to this. I’d wanted to make it big using her identity and see her name up in lights.
Maybe I wasn’t fighting him to get away.
Maybe I was fighting so he’d come closer.
His gaze locked on mine, his eyes full of that predatory lust, and the second he stepped forward, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Not because I was afraid, but because I wanted him too badly to stop him.
He gripped my face in both hands, pressing his thumbs along my jaw and forcing me to look up at him.
Then he leaned in and kissed me like I was the only oxygen left in the world.
It wasn’t sweet.
It was hot, hungry, and furious—his mouth sealing over mine with brutal need, his tongue claiming mine.
I raised my hands to his chest without thinking, pressing my palms onto his solid muscles, relishing the power radiating off him.
His stubble scraped my face, adding a sensual sting to his movements.
I moaned into him, and he drank it down like he’d been starving for the sound.
Then his hands dropped—rough and greedy—sliding down the length of my back, grabbing my ass, and tugging me against him, his cock standing hard between us. One of his hands fisted the hem of my damp shirt, and he jerked it upward, pulled it over my head, and tossed it onto the floor.
The sudden rush of cool air made my skin prickle and break out in goose bumps—but I barely noticed.
In the next instant, he dropped to one knee, yanked my shorts down my legs, removed them from around each foot, and tossed them aside.
His large hands skated up my thighs and over my ass cheeks before wrapping around my ribs.
He didn’t hesitate. He touched me like I was a woman, not like the guys my age had. He knew exactly what he was doing to make me submit to his every desire.
He shifted his hands to grip my breasts, brushing his thumb over the tip of one until it pebbled hard.
His mouth closed over the other, and I cried out—half in pleasure, half in disbelief.
He groaned like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted, then switched and took the other nipple between his lips.
It was all I could do to keep breathing while he nipped, sucked, and licked.
His touch lit up my core like a fuse, and there was no turning back. My knees buckled. My fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to him as my balance wavered.
He looked up, and his hands closed around my hips, anchoring me.
“Don’t worry, little lamb,” he said, his voice a low rumble against my skin as he dragged his lips along my breast. “I’ll always catch you.”
Then his mouth curved into a smirk, and he growled something that was equal parts threat and vow: “Hate me all you want…you’re still mine.”
My head dropped back. I couldn’t argue—not when my entire body was turning to liquid under his mouth.
My fingers clung to my captor’s shoulders as his mouth went back to work on my breasts. He squeezed, his thumb grazing the hard tips again until another moan came from deep inside me.
I’d never been touched with this kind of ruthless confidence.
Every guy I’d dated before had been vanilla at best. Awkward. Sloppy kisses. Fumbling hands and whispering, Is this okay? It seemed like they were more afraid of rejection than excited about making me come.
But this man? He wasn’t asking.
He was taking.
And I fucking liked it.
The heat in my body pulsed low in my belly, crawling down my thighs like wildfire. His mouth was pure torment, sucking hard enough to leave marks, and every nerve in my chest felt like a live wire.
I tipped my head down to look at him—and froze.
Holy. Shit.
He was huge.
His cock—thick, long, and already fully hard—stood proudly between us like a damn threat. He didn’t even seem to notice me gawking at it. Or maybe he did—and he liked it.
There was nothing shy about this man. No self-doubt in him.
He was the type of man that took what he wanted. And right now, he wanted me.
A nervous thrill jolted through me. That…thing was going inside me?!
I swallowed.
Would it hurt?
God, he had no idea that I’d never done more than lie in the dark with some mediocre guy who thought two minutes of clumsy fingering counted as foreplay. Mr. Captor was in a whole different universe—a dangerous universe with rough hands and zero fucking patience.
And I was a hopeless little idiot, leaning back against a vanity, letting him devour me like I was dessert.
What the hell was wrong with me?
He was my stalker. A criminal. A man who was holding me prisoner, a man who had destroyed my life, ruined everything I’d worked for. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t even know his name!
But all it took was for him to graze his teeth over my nipple and squeeze my ass with his rough hand, and my resolve melted away, right along with my common sense.
This wasn’t some little high school crush.
This was fire.
And I was seconds from being burned alive.
His mouth was still on me when he reached sideways to flip the shower handle.
The water roared to life.
Soon the air turned thick with a mixture of steam and the primal heat radiating off him.
In one fluid motion, he rose to his feet, grabbed my hips, and yanked me against him like he already owned me.
My bare chest collided with the solid wall of his abs—hard muscle and heat.
The silver pendant dangling from his neck swayed between us.
The tiny wolf caught my attention, glinting like it was watching me. I didn’t know why, but the sight sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.
He caught my hand and tugged me toward the shower. With a push of his shoulder, he opened the glass door and backed me into the spray. Warm water hit my spine in a sudden rush—then his mouth was on mine again, and every coherent thought vanished.
Warm mist hit my shoulders as he dropped to his knees.
My heart stopped. Oh God, oh God, this was really happening.
He lifted one of my legs and slung it over his shoulder, sliding his wide palm up the back of my thigh. My heel pressed into the hard muscles of his back, and the fingers of my other hand tangled in his short hair for balance.
He looked up at me—hunger carved into every inch of his face.
The anticipation of feeling his mouth on me sent my pulse skyrocketing.