CHAPTER 23
It was the smell of death, the promise of another nightmare, that had me jerking awake.
Heart thundering, breathing heavily like I’d just run a mile, I glanced around the strange room with wide eyes, trying to remember where I was.
The faint glow of the moon through the window allowed me to pick out objects in the dark room, and after a few seconds, I expelled a shuddering sigh of relief.
I was in Thorne’s room. Thorne’s bed. Alone but not alone, aware that three powerful warlocks were sleeping only a wall or two away. I was safe here. Safe.
“I’ll kill you!”
No. No, that wasn’t true. At least, Thorne had told me it wasn’t. But I could still remember it so clearly, see the pure rage on his face as he stormed toward me, deadly lightning crackling at his fingertips.
Confused, frustrated, still struggling to push the recurring nightmare from my mind, I whipped the sheets aside and scooted off the bed. My only intent was to splash some water on my flushed face, but instead of heading for the bathroom, my feet carried me to the bedroom door.
Just one peek, I told myself, reaching for the handle. One peek at his sleeping face, and I’ll be able to rest easier.
I didn’t know why, but seeing for myself that Thorne was only a stone’s throw away would help me fall back asleep—hopefully without nightmares this time.
“I never said that I would kill you.”
Never said. Never said.
“I need you alive.”
Alive. Alive.
For his own reputation? So he could win? Or for another reason entirely?
Needing to put my mind at ease, to silence the doubts and fears, I turned the handle and soundlessly opened the door. Just one peek. Just to see that he was actually asleep on the couch, that he wasn’t concocting some plan to murder me in my sleep. Just one—
The door swung open, and I bit back a scream, nearly jumping out of my skin as a huge shadow darkened the hallway.
It moved toward me, and I raised my hands, prepared to defend myself.
At the last second, I recognized the gait, the confident and controlled movements that could only be Thorne.
I dropped my hands and stepped back instead, retreating as he came inside the bedroom after me and quietly shut the door.
Halfway between the door and bed, he erased the distance between us and stepped into my personal space.
With no warning whatsoever, his hand came around me and slid under my night shirt, pressing to my lower back.
The move drove us closer together, and I sucked in a gasp as his front brushed against mine.
In an instant, I realized two things: he was shirtless, and I’d made the terrible mistake of sleeping without my pajama bottoms.
Only a scant inch of air and a few scraps of clothing separated our bodies, and we were alone together in a darkened room. Again.
My body immediately warmed at the realization, filling me with that terrible ache I’d tried so hard to ignore this past month. I couldn’t see Thorne’s expression in the dark, but I could feel the heat coming off him in waves, the want pulsing from his body as it leaned toward mine.
It took my breath away, leaving me stunned and unable to move. He didn’t say a word, but it was his hand still hot on my lower spine, splayed out in an almost possessive way that clued me in to his thoughts.
“We didn’t do anything,” I spoke in a hushed whisper, my voice little more than air.
“I know,” he said in a low rumble, the sound vibrating through his palm and into my spine, making me want to arch against him. “I talked to him.”
“You didn’t break his fingers, did you?”
“No.”
I swallowed, not sure what to say next, worried that if I didn’t keep talking, something was going to happen. Something I wouldn’t be able to—wouldn’t want to—stop. “Can’t sleep?”
Okay, that much was obvious. Based on how alert he seemed, I doubted he’d even tried.
“No,” he replied, using the hand on my back to reel me closer. “Not when you’re in my bed, twisted in my sheets, and smelling like me.”
I blanked at the confession, wholly in denial that this was happening. Maybe I was still dreaming. That had to be it. My very first wet dream.
My nipples grazed his hard body, and I shivered at the electric sensation, feeling the buds grow stiff at the friction. Okay, this felt too good, too real to be a dream. My imagination wasn’t this powerful.
Time to stop this reality from going any further. Now.
“Thorne.”
He pressed into me, making me feel parts of him I’d never felt before. Something between his legs, something huge brushed my lower belly, and I quickly stepped back. He followed, not giving me an inch.
“Thorne, we can’t,” I warned, continuing to retreat.
“Then stop me,” he said, his body moving in sync with mine. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What the hell was wrong with me?
Doing the only thing I could, I stepped back again.
My legs abruptly hit something solid, and I lost my balance.
I started to fall backward and instinctively shot my hands up to grab hold of Thorne’s shoulders.
Instead of halting my descent, he came down with me, his hand on my back slowing my fall to his bed.
His bed. I was on his bed, and he was hovering above me, his legs planted between mine so I couldn’t roll away. Placing his free hand on the mattress beside my head, he leaned down so our faces were inches apart and quietly rumbled, “You can’t tell me to stop, and you know why?”
“Why?” I whispered, the sound pathetically weak.
“Because you need this as much as I do.”
My lips parted, and his eyelids shifted, his gaze lowering to them.
He softly hissed through his teeth, and my toes curled at the sound.
His hand still pressed to my spine shifted lower, sliding over my underwear to cup my backside.
When he squeezed, a breathy moan escaped me.
Encouraged by the sound, he curved his fingers inward, seeking out the spot that so badly ached for his touch.
“Please,” I whimpered, digging my nails into his shoulders. “Please, I . . . Please, don’t touch me.”
Please don’t, please don’t. Please do, please do.
He froze, his fingers inches away from my throbbing center. After a painfully long beat, he said, “You don’t want me to touch you?”
I do. I do want you to touch me.
I bit my lip, so hard that I tasted blood. Forcing myself to speak, I uttered a faint, “No.”
The hand immediately slid away, and I inwardly cried my disappointment.
“Fine, I won’t touch you,” he said, his voice not sounding mad, per se—more like determined. “But I know you want me to. If I were to touch your panties right now, I’d find them damp with arousal.”
Wow, the ego on this guy. Then again, he was probably right.
“I know what my touch does to you,” he went on, sliding that hand out from beneath me. I didn’t see where it went, but I suddenly heard the metallic clink of a belt buckle shift. Just like that, my pulse skyrocketed through the roof. “Do you want to know what your touch does to me?”
My mind blanked again. Utterly blanked.
Before I could respond, before I could even realize what he was asking, he slid the buckle free and tugged down his zipper.
In one swift move, he pulled one of my hands off his shoulder and plunged it into his pants, into his boxer briefs.
As my fingers connected with something thick and hard, I froze, in too much shock to pull away.
His dick. I was touching his dick.
Taking advantage of my moment of stupor, he wrapped my fingers around the stiff appendage before placing his hand over mine in a tight grip.
“This is what you do to me, Snowflake,” he said in a quiet growl, gripping my hand so hard that I had no choice but to squeeze his dick. I immediately felt it swell in my hand, becoming so thick that my fingers could barely connect around it. A sound left him, pure need, pure bliss.
I stared wide-eyed at his shadowed face, still not fully computing that I held his dick in my hand. I should have tried to pull away then, but that sound he’d made, that needy little groan.
He’d made that sound because of me. Because of my touch.
Tugging his manhood free of his pants, he kept his fingers firmly clasped over mine.
When his hand started to move, so did mine, sliding up his cock in a slow pump.
His skin was taut and surprisingly soft, but the thickness underneath was what shocked me the most. I didn’t know what I expected a penis to feel like, but not like this.
Silky smooth yet powerfully unbending, pulsing with virile energy and life.
It felt incredible.
He moved our hands in another slow pump, then another and another. My eyes widened further, my brain finally registering what he planned to do.
Masterbate with my hand. Mine, not his. Even though his hand was the one making the motions, it was my hand that was touching him, stroking him, squeezing him.
Remembering the last time he’d masterbated in my presence, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was another punishment.
I’d kept my distance from him for a solid month, not letting him touch me once.
But now that he had me in his control, in his bed, maybe he’d finally snapped.
Maybe Riku had been right about him being sexually frustrated, and he’d decided he was done waiting.
My breakdown from earlier today had been the catalyst, my own haunted past triggering his once more.
He’d said that being near me made me think of her, that I’d torn open old wounds.
That hurt, that pain was in his movements now, in the coiled way he held himself above me and the unrelenting grip on my hand.
The line between desire and hatred was razor thin, and he was teetering on the edge of both.
“Ruining you . . . like you have ruined me.”
So this was it, then. This was his revenge. Taking my innocence piece by piece, destroying it until there was nothing left. No wonder he didn’t want to kill me.