Chapter 6 #2
"Interesting," he whispered, "how your nipple darkens with just a soft kiss… a dark rose hue. And your eyes…" His grip relaxed slightly as he moved to stand before me again. "The way they turn almost black when you're... aroused."
When he mentioned those specific details as if he gave them thought on every day of his life, my shock must have shown on my face.
"So you—" I began, then stopped myself.
His smile was full of lust yet predatory at the same time. "It seems none of us can forget the other."
Rage burned through me—how dare he? After all that happened—he and Ronan had killed my father! They both deserved to burn for that. And whatever had happened between me and Alexander before all of that was something I never wanted to repeat.
Yet, I balked at my body’s betrayal, at my own vulnerability, at the way I instinctively responded to him when he got close.
"We both know this isn't just about information anymore," I said, deliberately provoking him, creating the illusion of intimacy to further cloud his judgment. "You're enjoying this too much."
Something shifted in his expression—control slipping for the first time.
His hands moved to my thighs, sliding upward in a motion that began as verification but transformed into something more primal, more …
deliberate. My skin burned beneath his touch, my breaths became shallow and fast despite my efforts to remain unaffected.
"Am I?" he asked, voice rough.
Our eyes locked. "Yes," I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it.
His fingers continued their path upward, pausing just below the juncture of my thighs. Heat pooled in my core, undeniable.
"Tell me about the O'Malley supply routes," he demanded again, voice steady despite the tension crackling between us.
I remained silent, unwilling to surrender even as my body betrayed me. His hand moved to my throat, not squeezing but resting there—a reminder of my vulnerability, of his power. His thumb traced my racing pulse, his gaze holding me prisoner.
"Your heart's racing," he observed matter-of-factly. "Fear... or something else?"
Before I could answer, he tangled his other hand in my hair and pulled my head back to expose the column of my throat.
When he spoke this way, acted this way …
was I supposed to be able to form a coherent thought?
I gasped at the sudden pain, my body arching involuntarily into that appealing darkness…
"Both, I think," he murmured, his breath on my neck. "How interesting."
He released my hair but kept his hand at my throat, his thumb tracing my jawline with unexpected gentleness that contrasted sharply with the steel in his eyes.
"You're not what I expected, Aoife O'Malley," he said, studying my face with disturbing intensity. "Not at all what I expected. Since the first moment I laid eyes on you."
His thumb moved to trace my lower lip, the touch feather-light yet burning. Against every instinct for self-preservation, I parted my lips slightly, my breath warm against his skin.
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes—hunger, calculation, something primal that made my heart race faster. He leaned even closer, his breath now mingling with mine, the tension between us building to an almost unbearable pitch.
"I could break you," he whispered, his lips nearly touching mine. "Right now. And part of you wants me to."
I forced myself to meet his gaze, refusing to look away despite the truth in his words. "You could try."
His laugh, though muted, rang in my ears. "Such defiance, even when bested."
He knelt down before me. The zip ties bit into my wrists, cutting off circulation. I flexed my fingers, imagining wrapping them around his throat, showing him exactly what I was capable of. The overwhelming stench of mould in the room clung to my nostrils, almost as suffocating as his closeness.
His fingers hovered at my waistband, deliberate and unhurried. The metallic click of my button unfastening echoed in the silence. The slow rasp of my zipper being pulled down tooth by tooth sent ice through my veins.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my lungs suddenly unable to fill completely.
"So you're going to use me while I'm all tied up?
Is that what makes your cock hard, Alexander?
" My voice betrayed the new level of fear coursing through me.
Was this his endgame? I wouldn't put it past him. Men like him existed in a moral vacuum.
"I have something much more interesting in mind." His voice dropped to a growl. "And my cock is already hard."
He reached behind me, his chest pressing against mine as he yanked my black jeans down to my knees.
Exposed skin prickled in the cold air. Vulnerability crashed over me in waves.
His scent—expensive cologne barely masking raw male—enveloped me.
Before I could spit out another accusation, he buried his face in the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply while his fingers danced lightly across my inner thigh.
"You're a fucking pig!" The words scraped out of my throat, vibrating with fear I couldn't conceal.
"Liar," he murmured against my skin. "I bet if I touch you there, you'll be soaking." His lips trailed gently over my ear, sending involuntary shivers down my spine. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of my underwear with practiced ease.
I threw my head back, eyes squeezed shut. This isn't happening. This isn't real. But my body betrayed me. Despite the exhaustion, despite the pain, despite the hatred burning in my chest, heat pooled between my legs.
"Go fuck yourself," I hissed as his lips traced a path down my neck, gentle in contrast to the rough circles his thumb made against my most sensitive spot.
"You're dripping for me, Aoife." The words rumbled from his chest as his mouth descended to my collarbone, teeth grazing skin.
I bit back any sound, knowing my voice would betray me.
Every cell in my body screamed in conflict—my mind revolted while my flesh responded.
His thumb continued its relentless rhythm, stoking a fire I didn't want ignited.
My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything but the sensation of his lips on my skin, his fingers against my core.
"Stop it," I rasped, sweat beading on my forehead. "Just stop." But the plea lacked conviction even to my own ears.
He lifted his head, eyes locking with mine. His expression was unreadable as his fingers continued their skilled assault. I swallowed hard, my throat clicking dryly. The pressure built, coiling tighter with each targeted touch.
"I don't think you want me to stop," he said, voice like velvet. "I think you want me to get you off like that, princess. And I want you to beg me." He slid two fingers inside me with deliberate slowness.
A half-moan escaped before I could trap it behind clenched teeth. My eyes fluttered shut. The edge was so close—just a few more strokes and I'd shatter. The zip ties cut deeper as I pulled against them, pain mingling with pleasure in a dizzying cocktail.
"Never," I growled through parted lips.
He continued thrusting his fingers, thumb working in tandem. The pressure built to a crescendo, my muscles tensing in anticipation. I arched back, teetering on the precipice, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as I bit through my lip—
And then nothing.
The sudden absence of his touch left me hollow, panting. My eyes flew open to find him standing over me, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.
"No!" The word tore from my throat before I could stop it.
He watched me struggle to regain control, chest heaving, thighs trembling. Then, with deliberate slowness, he knelt before me again.
"Say please, and I'll let you come." His voice was silk over steel.
I gathered what little moisture remained in my mouth and spat directly in his face.
"Fuck you!"
His expression remained eerily calm as saliva dripped down his cheek. Only his eyes betrayed him—twin infernos of fury. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, then, without warning, he returned his fingers to my aching centre.
"That made my cock hard, Aoife," he murmured, increasing the pressure and speed. His gaze never left mine. "Don't worry. We have all night for me to punish you."
True to his word, he brought me to the edge again and again. Each time I thought release was imminent, he withdrew, leaving me gasping with wetness coating my thighs. Occasionally, he stood and circled me like a predator, allowing brief respites that only heightened the torture.
"Come on, princess," he taunted during one such break, my vision swimming with exhaustion and denied pleasure. "Just say please, and this torment ends. I bet your tight little cunt needs my cock, right?"
Tears mixed with sweat streaked down my face. Used. Violated. Yet still, impossibly, desperate. I opened my eyes, summoning what little strength remained.
"Fuck you," I rasped. "Fuck you a thousand times. I'm going to kill you!"
Then he knelt for the fifth time, resuming his methodical destruction of my resolve. His mouth on my neck, my chest, his fingers working their terrible magic. My nipples strained against the fabric of my shirt, my entire body a live wire. I edged closer to relief, so close I could taste it—
His touch vanished. Again.
"No, no, no... don't stop, don't—" The words tumbled out unbidden.
He brushed sweat-soaked hair from my face as I broke down completely. The throbbing between my legs had become almost painful, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. His thumb gently wiped the tears streaming down my cheeks.
I cried until I had nothing left, teetering on the edge of begging but never forming the words. And he never touched me again. He simply watched, silent witness to my disintegration.
After what felt like hours, he stood, visibly collecting himself, reasserting the control I had momentarily fractured. "We'll continue this tomorrow," he said, straightening his cuffs with deliberate precision. "Perhaps after some reflection, you'll be more forthcoming."
"Go to hell," I panted, though the words lacked their usual edge.