Chapter 6
Chapter Six
LUKA
I can hear her soft, sharp breaths behind me. Those lips parted just so.
Even if I couldn’t hear her, she’s practically vibrating with emotion. Where the fuck did Dardan find her? God knows what he planned for her. Not that it matters.
I tell myself that this was in no way a rescue. I’m the last person to be in the rescue business.
I took her because I could. Because I like to take what’s not mine. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I pour another drink.
My voice, when it comes, sounds eighty percent normal. “Then strip. Now. Unless you don’t care about the dress. Keep the heels on.”
No sound, not even the rustle of fabric. She’s probably still where I put her, glaring at me with her full wattage. I pull off my tie. Maybe I’ll use it. Maybe I won’t.
She’s fucking delicious, and I have this sense that I might not ever get enough of her, which is probably a good reason to send her away. But I won’t be doing that .
I turn to her. “What the fuck are your clothes still doing on? You don’t like the dress? Is that it?”
“I hate the dress,” she whispers, eyes sparkling.
She’s different. I should ask her about Arianiti’s eagle, but that’s not the point. It’s the spark that’s the point.
I approach her slowly, my eyes never leaving hers.
When I reach her, I grasp the edges of her plunge-neck bodice between my fingers, feeling the delicate fabric and sensing her breath quicken in anticipation.
With deliberate slowness, I pull the sides apart.
The fabric surrenders with a soft, satisfying tear, parting down the middle to reveal the swell of her breasts in a push-up bra, her skin flushed and warm.
“You like it better now?” I ask, my voice dropping to a whisper as I take in the sight of her. “I know I do.”
She watches me from under her eyelashes, this indignant little girl who’s thrown herself to the wolves for whatever reason. A little lamb to the slaughter. I don’t have a taste for lamb, but I do enjoy a few things that would make her quake in her ten-dollar hooker heels.
“Take off the bra and touch them,” I growl.
She frowns. Doesn’t move. She’s thinking about it a little bit. Struggling with herself. She’d do it if it were her alone or with anybody else, but she doesn’t like that I told her to because she doesn’t want to take orders from the Antichrist or whatever I am to her.
She’s just too fucking delectable, and she has no idea.
I take her hands and put them on her breasts. “Not a request. And don’t just phone it in.”
She takes off the bra to expose pretty breasts and nipples, pink and swollen.
I narrow my eyes as she moves her trembling fingers around on her nipples with a disdainful glare.
“Jesus, yes. Whatever you do, you can’t stop looking at me like that. ”
“Looking at you like what?”
“You know what. The heat. The hate.”
She purses her lips, doing that judgmental thing where her top lip swells slightly over her bottom one, creating that perfect pout of contempt.
“What are you thinking when you look at me like that?”
She shakes her head.
I fist her hair and force her to sit up. “Tell me the truth—or else. And I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“I—I’m thinking… you’re a bad person.”
“You got that right. There’s not a good bone in my body. What else?”
“You’re a horrible criminal. You take what doesn’t belong to you, and you deserve none of it.”
“Meaning you? I took you, but I don’t deserve you?” I ask, all the better to provoke her.
“Yes. You don’t deserve me.”
“No, I don’t deserve you. But look at me about to take you. I’m the twisted-up criminal who’s gonna use you like a little whore and make you love it.”
“You won’t make me love it. You think might makes right, but you’re wrong. It doesn’t.”
“Did you actually just say that? But might does make right, doesn’t it? If it didn’t, you’d be in charge. But you’re not, are you? Tell me who’s in charge.”
“Have you always been this horrible?” she asks.
God, people so rarely show me their edge like this.
“Oh, no, I used to be a good little boy, but that turned out to be a farce.”
“Being good is never a farce.”
Fuck, I cannot get enough of her and her prim act and her cherry-smelling lip gloss.
I let her go and cross the floor to the desk where I left my drink. Like a signal to myself that I’m in control. I’m running this show.
I take a nice big swig. There are a lot of things I should be doing right now. Acting on some of the information I learned tonight, for one.
But here I am.
Sometimes, you just have to get a thing or a person out of your system: hunger, thirst, a man who needs killing, a woman who needs fucking.
I turn. “Change of plans. Scoot back and pull up what’s left of the skirt.”
I can practically hear the thoughts racing in her mind.
“Now. Fast, or you won’t like it. Panties off. Leave the stockings.”
She shimmies off her panties, down her long legs and past her thigh-high stockings, and scrambles all the way back so she’s sitting against the headboard.
“Legs open,” I say. “Keep touching your tits and looking at me like that. I am so enjoying the angry vibe. That’s what I’m gonna fuck out of you. You’ll be smiling when I’m done.”
“I won’t,” she whispers.
“What was that?”
She keeps gripping her tits and showing me her pussy, but it’s the scorn I crave. “I won’t smile.”
I take another sip.
“My smile is mine,” she adds, glaring at me.
“Well, this is getting better by the second.” I put my glass down and pull off my belt.
Her pulse beats rapidly in her neck.
The fact that she came before and still wants more is part of the reason she hates me right now.
We both like wrong things—that’s what I know right now. And we both need to get each other out of our systems.
She glances toward the window now, defying me .
“Look away from me one more time, and I’ll bring this belt into the mix. The tie. The belt. Or maybe you’d like that.”
That gets me the look back.
“My tie binding your wrists. A hard leather belt against the tender flesh of your ass. Nothing you can do about it. Nothing whatsoever...”
Her breath speeds. She’s picturing it—me tying her up and hitting her with the belt.
“Or is that what you want?”
“Doesn’t matter to me either way,” she tries. “It’s all the same.”
“Little liar.”
Her gaze flares, nourishing something inside me.
I unbutton my shirt slowly, letting her watch as each button slips free. I peel it away, then strip off my undershirt in one fluid motion, my St. Michael medallion catching the light as it settles back against my bare chest. My pants follow, and my cock springs free, hard and ready.
Her chest rises with a sudden intake of breath. I let her look her fill, and she does, cheeks pink.
Most whores are on drugs, but I can tell this one’s not. She’s raw to everything—I see it in her eyes. The muffled sounds from Middleton Road coming up through the triple-pane windows. The cool feel of fine linens under her ass, the soft kiss of the air between her legs.
I give her a wicked smile. “The tie sounds a little good, though, doesn’t it?”
She raises her chin. Wordless defiance.
I unwrap a condom, still holding her gaze.
She looks younger with her makeup smudged, her honey-colored hair messed up, and all that fire in her green eyes. The freckles. This—this is the real girl, I think.
Not that it matters. This is a one-time transaction.
I toss aside the wrapper and roll the condom on with ruthless efficiency.
Her eyes shine with a look I know well. She’s on the edge of something, but everything’s too real.
She’s new at this, no question. If I was a good person, I would make her leave right now.
Too bad I’m not a good person.
I sit at the foot of the bed and set a finger on her ankle.
She hisses out a breath as I trace a line over the top of her foot, slow and steady toward her toes.
“I’m too old for you.” I pause at the tip of her middle toe. “Too rough. Too wrong. And it’s working for you, isn’t it? All the dagger stares in the world won’t change that.”
She snorts in contradiction.
I continue over the ball of her foot and watch her face as I hit the tender underside. She’s determined not to show me anything, but she’s already shown me everything. Except how she knows the tattoo, but the night is young.
I—I’m thinking… you’re a bad person.
I get up from the bed and loom over her.
You’re a criminal.
I wrap my hands around her ankles.
Her gaze burns.
I yank her down in one swift motion, bedding tangling around us as I pull her beneath me. With deliberate movements, I part her legs and position myself above her. Still holding her gaze, I nudge her entrance with the thick head of my cock, the silent tension between us electric.
And wait.
She arches up just a little, needing it, even as she tries to keep a blank expression.
Yeah, we both like wrong things, but I’m the only one here willing to revel in it.
I pulse in, little by little.
She gasps, breathy now with excitement .
I push on, enjoying every inch of her magnificently tight, wet cunt.
She grips my biceps, nails digging into my flesh like she’s trying to hold me there, keep me inside her.
Good with me.
I thrust all the way in finally, seating myself deeply inside her. Right then, something in me stills, like some essential calm has settled over me.
But then I’m back to business, focused on what we’re here for, namely fucking her and consuming her. But instead, I’m losing myself inside her.
Her angry gaze fades as pleasure takes its place. Something swells in my chest at this, as if her pleasure is everything.
“Stop that. Don’t start acting like you like it. Got it?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t like it,” she snaps.
“Good, because that’s not what you’re here for. This is a transaction.”
“Wasn’t... liking it.”
I bury myself so deep in her. “Ungh. So tight.”
She makes a little sound of pleasure, followed by a haughty snort. “Whatever. You’re horrible!”
“I am horrible. That’s why I’m in charge.”