Chapter 17 #2
The man grunted. “I’ll see you later.”
The others rose. With nods and murmurs, Bastian’s friends left.
“I’m not sure your friends like me,” I murmured.
“They will, once they get to know you.”
I kept my snort silent. I wasn’t going to be around long enough for that to happen.
Leaning forward, I touched the computer and the browser I had open popped up.
It showed the latest news article about the recent murder.
Included was a photo of a smiling Tawnee with her arms wrapped around Jeff’s middle.
My gut cramped. They were so young. Beside that image was a picture of two sobbing, older couples. Their parents. God.
“You looked up the victims,” he said quietly.
My throat tightened. “I wanted to know more about them.” Suddenly, I couldn’t sit still. I leaped up. “Another family ripped apart. Two families.”
Bastian watched me, setting his wine glass down. “Life isn’t always easy, Lark. You know that. Everyone has their tragedies and obstacles.”
I stabbed a finger at the laptop. “That couple, they were nice people. They were young with their whole life ahead of them.” Just like my parents. “They shouldn’t have died,” I yelled. “Whoever this piece of shit is, I’m going to take him down.”
“And I’ll help you.”
They were quiet words, spoken with a firm tone. Something inside me stirred. I wasn’t used to having someone I could count on. I’d been taught to rely only on myself.
Bastian’s sharp gaze stayed on me. “Is this where you tell me that you don’t need help?”
“I don’t need help, but I’ll take it.”
“Good.” He sat back, sliding one arm across the back of the couch, looking like a damn king.
I closed my eyes and instantly saw that bloody bed, the hand mark on the wall. “They died as a message to me.” I opened my eyes. “I…hate that.” Spinning, I strode to the windows and stared blindly out at the lights below.
I didn’t hear him, but suddenly he was behind me. He wrapped his arms around me.
“No.” I tried to push him away. I didn’t want comfort. I didn’t deserve it.
“Easy, Lark. This isn’t your fault. Put the blame on him.”
I wriggled halfheartedly, trying to get free. He was warm and strong and bigger than me, and a part of me wanted him to hold me.
Danger, danger. My brain screeched the words. I pushed him back. He barely moved, his dark eyes on me.
“You want to fight?” he asked quietly. “Will that make you feel better?”
I slammed my hands against his chest. “Maybe nothing will make me feel better.”
He focused on me. “I’ll make you feel better.”
“You can’t just decide that.”
He grabbed for me, and I dodged. He advanced and I circled the coffee table. Adrenaline hit my bloodstream.
“Yes, I can.” Confidence rang in his voice.
I sprinted for the kitchen, but of course he was faster.
He grabbed me and lifted me off my feet. I jerked and writhed, but his hold just tightened. I felt a tug in my side, but ignored it.
I met his gaze and the heat inside me morphed into something different. Reaching up, I cupped the back of his head and slammed my mouth on his.
His groan was music to my ears.
The kiss was wild, aggressive. I bit his bottom lip, rubbing my body against his. His hands cupped my ass, squeezed. The next thing I knew, my back was hitting the couch, and his powerful body was on top of me.
“Fuck, your wound—” He lifted some of his weight off me.
I clung to him. “I barely even feel it.” I bit his lip again.
The kiss deepened, and I slid my hands into his thick hair. I needed more.
I moved my mouth to his neck, feeling the strong thud of his pulse. Yes. I licked his skin, then I sank my teeth in.
He let out a long groan, his hands clamping on me. Then his hands were tearing at my leggings and ripping them off.
He groaned. “No panties.”
“I’m not really a panties fan.”
This time I got a growl. “Tell me what you want, Lark.”
A small, needy sound escaped me. “Your mouth on me again.”
He smiled. “You liked me licking your pretty pussy?” His hands were between my thighs and stroking me. “You liked me sucking your clit?”
“Yes!” I lifted my hips, riding his hand.
Then he pulled his fingers free and lifted his hand to his mouth. I watched him lick his fingers and molten heat rushed through me.
Then he pulled back, tugging me with him. He lay flat on the couch, tugging me to straddle his chest.
“Come on, then,” he said like a dare.
I blinked.
“Straddle my head. Put that pussy on my mouth.”
My entire body flushed.
“Not afraid, are you?” he asked silkily.
My gaze narrowed. I dug my nails into his chest and undulated against his hard cock.
He groaned. That look on his face… I shifted, moving into my thighs either side of his head. Savage satisfaction filled his face.
He gripped my hips and jerked me forward.
“Bastian,” I cried out.
His mouth was on me. He ate me like he was starving.
Sensation ripped through me. I arched my back, one hand grabbing the back of the couch.
His wicked mouth and tongue worked me. I thrashed against his lapping tongue, pleasure clawing at me.
Heat formed a tight ball in my lower body, coiling tighter and tighter.
He sucked my clit and my thighs tightened on his head.
I came. Hard.
My orgasm still rocking through, I could barely think or move. Then I was moving. He pushed me back on the leather, looming over me.
“You’re so pretty, Lark.” His gaze moved over my face. “I forget it sometimes because you’re so fierce.” His fingers reached out and stroked my cheekbone.
I reached for him. This time I wanted to touch him. I wanted to give him pleasure.
The ring of a cellphone cut through the moment.
He cursed. “You’ve got me fucking kidding me. Not again.” He paused, dragged in a breath, then grabbed his phone. He stabbed at the screen before putting it to his ear.
“What?” he barked.
My gaze shifted to his erection. I really wanted Bastian. I wanted him inside me.
“Can’t Marilyn deal with it?” An annoyed sound. “Fine. Tell him I’m on the way.”
My warm glow took a nosedive to lukewarm.
He ended the call, then stared at the ceiling for a moment. “The director of my Isis and Osiris show is freaking out. We’re only a few days away from opening. I need to check on him and talk him off a ledge.”
Disappointment twisted through me. “It’s fine.”
He ran a thumb over my lips. “No, it’s not, but that’s life when you run a casino. Why don’t you freshen up then come down and find me? We’ll have dinner somewhere in the casino.”
“I had pizza.”
“That was lunch.”
I glanced at the coffee table, the laptop, my research.
“A break might help,” he suggested.
Everything had become a big blur. Maybe he was right. “Okay.”
He smiled. “It’s a date.”