Prologue – Vivian #2
The impact steals my breath—not in fear, but in something far more dangerous. His cologne hits me next: dark, expensive, a blend of smoke and chilled spice that coils around my senses until I’m dizzy.
It’s the stranger from earlier.
Up close, he’s devastating.
Sharp jaw, a faint shadow of stubble, hair a shade of gold that catches the dim light like fire. And those eyes—God. Cold, icy gray.
And right now they glitter with wicked amusement, like he’s laughing at a joke only he knows.
Heat surges through me.
Actual heat—low, consuming, unfamiliar.
Unwelcome.
My friends would choke if they saw me like this.
Little Miss Laurent pinned against a wall, flushed and trembling.
The girl they teasingly called a nun because I never reacted to men.
Never blushed.
Never cared.
But this man?
My body reacts before my mind can summon a single polite protest.
His breath grazes my cheek, warm and intimate.
His hand slides to my waist—sure, possessive, like he’s known my body all his life and is just returning to it.
His thumb traces the seam of my dress, brushing bare skin.
A shiver rolls through me.
Sharp. Immediate.
I should move.
I should push him away.
I should say something cutting, something dignified.
But I don’t.
I’m pinned—by his hands, by his presence, by the sheer gravity he exudes. And something inside me doesn’t want to escape.
My hands lift, almost without permission, resting against his chest. To push him away. But I don’t. His body is solid. Warm. Like touching danger wrapped in silk.
His lips curve, just slightly.
A smile meant to ruin.
His forehead nearly touches mine as he murmurs, “Running from something, krasavitsa?”
I swallow, breath catching where it meets his.
“I wasn’t…” I whisper, but the lie dissolves when his fingers trace my hip again, slower this time. Meaningful.
He leans in closer—so close his breath and mine mix, heat coiling between us like a living thing.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t intend to let you run.”
I open my mouth to speak, but his mouth claims mine in a kiss so fiery, my body burns. I drop all pretense and wrap my arms around his neck, pushing myself into him.
I’m a respectable lady—a lady of class and poise.
I shouldn’t be doing this. If I’m caught with a strange man in the stable corridor, my reputation and that of my father would be destroyed.
But I can’t stop. Not when his hands are roaming my body, slipping under my dress and claiming every inch of my skin as if they belong to him.
I surrender, in a way I never have in my life.
This stranger tears his lips away from mine with a growl and plugs his mouth to my throat, sucking the skin between his gorgeous lips. I bite back a moan. Then, his hand shifts my dress up my legs and bunches it at my waist.
With his other hand, he slips into my panties and touches my soaking-wet pussy. This time, my moan is loud enough to earn me an arrogant smile.
He doesn’t speak. He just sinks his finger into me and pumps hard, causing me to collapse with my head against his chest. He inclines his fingers, rubbing his thumb against my clit as his fingers hit a spot that causes stars to burst behind my eyes.
“Oh,” I cry. “Please.”
The man grabs my jaw. “Oh yes, krasavitsa.” His voice is like gravel against my skin. “Beg.”
The Laurent pride almost refuses, but the other desperate part of me accepts the challenge, eager for an orgasm.
“Please. Please. Please.”
“You beg so prettily,” he murmurs. “You’ve earned my cock.”
I gasp when he yanks his hand out of me and unsnaps his belt buckle, yanking it out of his pants. He slides his zipper down, the whole time not letting me look away from his intense eyes.
When he frees his cock, he pulls my jaw down to look at it. My eyes widen with shock. I’ve never seen a cock so beautiful in my life. Hanging at just the right size, veiny, thick.
The stranger takes one of my legs and wraps it around his powerful thighs, then he grabs his cock, pumps it a few times, and slams into me in one thrust.
I scream, no longer caring if anyone finds me here. He’s so big, he stretches me out, which isn’t a surprise since I’ve only been with one person before this. I don’t have the type of experience for a man like this, but I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy it.
He braces one hand against the wall and begins to thrust into me, his eyes darkening into molten silver, an expression of desire on his face.
Our gazes lock, and he doesn’t let me look away as he pounds me against the wall like a slut. This is crazy. This is stupid. This is beautiful.
I’m so close. So, so close.
His hand cups my breast against my dress, and he leans down to pepper kisses down my neck.
The sensation is strong, and an orgasm slams into me so powerfully that I almost crumple to the dirty floor.
He grabs my waist and holds me up while slamming into me a few more times before his orgasm takes over him.
He lets out a guttural groan and yanks himself out of me, bracing both hands against the sides of my face as the passion wracks through him. I watch him with wonder as he finally regains his composure and looks at me.
His eyes soften, and I hold my breath. He’s about to ask who I am, who my father is, maybe ask me out on a date. I’m going to say no, of course. This is embarrassing. I should never have done this, even though it was the best sex of my life.
The man doesn’t speak. Instead, he takes several steps back, adjusting his cufflinks and then pushing his hair back with a smile. The smile is so cold, I freeze.
“Next time,” he drawls. “Try not to look so desperate to be ruined.”
Then he walks away without a backward glance, leaving me feeling embarrassed and discarded like a deck of cheap cards.
I stare after him, my eyes fixed on the corridor long after he’s disappeared, my heart bruised.
I may not know this bastard’s name, but his face isn’t one I’ll ever forget.
I swear, whenever I have the chance, I’ll make him pay!