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That much healing, and Lach still wasn’t back. Two hours later, I finally gave up and headed to my room. I didn’t bother turning on a light, the fire in the hearth providing enough for me to slip free of my robe and find a nightgown. After debating for what felt like an eternity, I left the door cracked. But just as I had suspected, sleep refused to claim me. I twisted, shoving down the sheets that ensnared my legs, and stared at that open door. Listening for his footfalls, hopeful that he would accept the invitation of that open door and terrified that I should heed his warning.
Tonight had proven two things.
Lach was as deadly as I’d always suspected.
And the world was even more fucked-up than I thought.
Maybe it was that second realization that canceled out any hesitation over the first, but I wasn’t sure I could fight this anymore.
I considered finding Ciara to talk this out. I was too stuck in the middle of it to see which way to go. The entire day had given me whiplash. It felt like a lifetime had passed since I’d woken up this morning, hungover and embarrassed. And now everything was different, but nothing had changed. Not entirely. Were we just hurtling toward an even bigger mistake?
Time was running out. He had reminded me of that this afternoon. I had less than three weeks left to figure things out, or the bargain would be permanent. I didn’t know if letting him in would doom me or save me, but I wasn’t sure I had any other choice. Because one thing was abundantly clear. My entire body warmed, an ache growing between my legs, as I remembered just how clear he had made it. And then in the bathroom…
There was no ambrosia to blame. I was alert after the attack. My head was entirely clear. At least as clear as it could be with the memory of how hard and hot he’d been in my hands—that I remembered very, very distinctly. And I was tired of waiting on him to come home.
I curled my fingers around the pendant just like I had done around his cock and let my right hand drift to that hollow ache between my legs.
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a challenge.
It took approximately five seconds for Lach to appear at the foot of the four-poster bed.
Was I counting?
He stood at a distance, offering little more than glimpses of his silhouette, but I detected no new bloodstains. His guns were gone, his holster left behind. I bit my lip, wondering if I’d missed him coming in. If he had ignored my open door.
He didn’t move from where he stood. Firelight danced across him, casting sparks of red in his blue-black hair. His eyes fixed on the sheets wrapped around my ankles, at my spread legs and the hand between them. We had crossed a line earlier.
Now, I was invading.
My fingers stilled as his gaze narrowed, riveted to them. Lach prowled forward, never looking away, the dark his natural habitat. No hesitation. No uncertainty. I braced myself for him to pounce, but he stopped and planted both of his hands on the footboard. He dragged his glazed eyes from the hand between my legs to my face. “Don’t stop.”
The command lacing his words sent a surge of arousal slicking my fingertips. I didn’t move. I was pretty sure I didn’t have to. I could probably climax with one word from him.
He gave me three. Each clipped and punctuated by his perfect lips. “Touch yourself, princess.”
I shifted in the bed, eyes rolling slightly, and released the pendant.
“Don’t.” He shook his head, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. “I want to hear every filthy thought in that beautiful, fucked-up mind of yours.”
My breath caught, my body completely at the mercy of that sinful voice, half growl, half promise. I wanted him on top of me, wanted to feel the weight of him, wanted him to fill that ragged, gnawing hunger that grew more demanding with each passing second.
“Show me how you want me.” Something desperate edged his words, matching the need I felt.
I was powerless to resist. I dipped my hand lower, sliding a finger inside myself, followed by another, and pumped slowly. I thrust deeper with each stroke, imagining it was his cock, near ready to beg until it was. My hips rose as I rode my fingers harder until my skin was tight and my eyes clenched.
“Eyes on me, princess.”
They snapped open and found his peering back, wrenching a moan from my lips. A crack split the air, and my eyes dipped to find his white-knuckled hands clutching the broken footboard. I knew that when those hands were finally on me, no part of me would be left untouched. He would own my body as surely as he owned my soul. And I would let him, if only to see his masterful restraint slip, crumble, dissolve entirely.
A dark chuckle reminded me that he was privy to my thoughts, so I let my mind fill with every dirty fantasy I’d ever had. Now all starring him. Teeth and tongues and sweat and skin. I writhed on my fingers as I imagined riding him, never taking my eyes off him as he claimed me without a single touch. My body arched as I splintered like the ruined bed, his name spilling in moans from my lips. I wrung out the last shattering pleasure as he watched, and when I finally sagged in a boneless heap against the pillow, he started toward me.
Lach circled the bed, taking his time as his eyes skimmed over me and lingered on the bunched nightgown at my hips, on the release glistening on my skin. He paused just short of the bed. “Thanks for the show.”
The ownership in his voice should have disgusted me. It should have turned me off.
It did not.
He leaned over me, and I sucked in a sharp breath, my lips parting for a kiss that didn’t come. He took my hand, eyes capturing mine as he brought my fingers, still soaked with my climax, to his mouth. His tongue curled around them and sucked. It swirled and licked, as if he refused to waste a single drop. The world stopped and re-centered on him. There was only him. He occupied every atom of my being. He owned me. And when he finally pulled away, only to bring his face to mine, air hitched in my throat.