Page 35 of Sinful
Lucinda’s breathing becomes deeper, making me turn my attention back to her. The shawl has slipped slightly, showing off her shoulder and the top of her tits. She feels fucking weightless in my arms. I can see why Letterman grabbed her ass. It’s taking every ounce of control I possess not to do the fucking same, but I’m not the letch he is, so I run my arm under her shawl and around her waist. I take her other hand in mine. She seems momentarily confused and unsure of what to do.
“Put your hand on my waist,” I tell her.
She does what I ask without question, her perfect lips parting slightly as I pull her body close to mine. All kinds of thoughts run through my mind about what I’d like to do with those lips and what I’d like her to do to me with them. I feel like a fucking fifteen-year-old boy who's just discovered he’s got hormones. Through the dark glasses I see that she’s staring ahead, somewhere around my chest. I want to rip them from her face and make her look up at me, but I can’t do that, so instead I guide her around the dance floor, feeling the weight of the stares on me. This should be good. I’m making an impression, which is what I came here for, but instead, I just want to dance her right out of this room and rip that fucking shawl from her and take her. I want her. The realization that I’m no better than Mercier or Nix or one of the millions of men that fawn over Lucinda Waldgrave sobers me up for a second, but it’s not enough to stop the aching need within me. Just because I can recognize it doesn’t mean I can do anything about it. I don’t want to do anything about it, because right now, nothing else matters. I just want to taste her and feel her lips on me. I want everything and most of all, I want the world to know that she’s mine. I pull her tighter, moving her right hand up to my neck. As if she knows what to do, the hand on my waist moves up and joins the other, circling my neck and leaving my hands free. I snake one round to her ass, cupping it through the fine material and pulling so her crotch is pushed against mine and she can feel the effect she’s having on me. She gasps lightly and bites her lip, which only makes her all the more delicious. Then she does something that almost sends me over the edge. She leans forward and snuggles her head into my shoulder. Fuck, I want her so badly and I don’t care how insane the thought is anymore. I was crazy to think I could not succumb to her when every man she’s ever met has not been able to. Dancing with her, we’re practically vertically fucking in front of everyone. Her body rubs against mine as I spin her round slowly, sensually. The shawl has come away from the broach and has fallen lower, showing off those gorgeous tits of hers. The restraint I’m showing by not licking the top curve of them over the top of her dress is astounding.
“You saved me,” she whispers, almost making me cum in my pants. She’s a fool if she thinks I’m saving her. At the moment, she’s in a lot more danger with me than she ever was with that odious old perv. He would have groped her and stopped. I plan on claiming her and making her mine. Fuck what I told myself. Letterman made me realize that I don’t want every other man thinking he can lay claim to her. I want her and I’m going to have her. Lucinda Waldgrave. All mine. Just the thought alone has me imagining the feel of her pussy. My cock is straining by the time the music segues into another piece.
I pull her hands from my neck and grab one before she has a chance to run away. “We’re going.”
This time she doesn’t argue, but follows me through the crowd. Everyone is watching us and I don’t give a shit. Let them. I shouldn’t have told people she was my cousin, but I wasn’t expecting to even speak to her tonight, let alone do the things I plan to do. To think I’d planned to let her sit at the side while I talked business. My head is in a dark place as I wait for the valet to bring the Merc around to the front. If anyone asks on Monday, I’ll say she wasn’t feeling well. I’ll pass her resting against me as a headache. I still don’t know why she chose to cuddle up against me. Maybe it was because she was afraid to trip, but she didn’t seem to have that problem when she was dancing with Letterman. In fact, she was dancing as far away as his short pudgy arms would allow. No, there was another reason for it. One I want to explore.
The valet parks right in front of us. “Get in,” I urge, more forcefully than I planned. She’s silent the whole drive home. When I sneak a look at her, her eyes are closed and I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. She only had two glasses of champagne, but they seemed to affect her more than they would most people. Especially people like Lucinda who probably pour champagne on their cornflakes.
Just having her in the passenger seat while I’m driving is distraction enough. She moans slightly, and it nearly sends me over the edge. All kinds of filthy thoughts run through my mind as I navigate the late night Manhattan traffic. I never thought I’d want Lucinda Waldgrave. The whore of the elite, the desire of the common man. I was above such desires, not needing an image in a magazine or on a screen to get off, but now she’s sitting next to me, flesh and blood. I finally understand the appeal and I want her. I want to do things to make her forget the other men she’s been with. Forget Nix. He gave up on her. I want all of her. I’m salivating over the thought of tasting her.
I don’t want her asleep, nor do I want her inebriated. I want her to be completely aware of everything I’m going to do to her. By the time I screech into the apartment block’s underground parking lot, my cock is aching from pressing up against the inside of my pants. Driving home with such a distraction was downright dangerous, but the only danger in the air now is what I’m going to do to Lucinda. Sin. That’s what Nix calls her, but right now she looks the very opposite. Even with the strange haircut Mercier gave her, she still looks like a fucking innocent angel. I let out a low breath. It’s this and this alone that stops me from taking her right here in this parking lot. She might have fucked half the men in Manhattan, but the way she holds herself says otherwise. Even with unseeing eyes, there’s fear in them. She’s not the whore the newspapers paint her as. I run my hands through my hair, pausing just a moment to decide what to do. I can’t rush this. She’s worth so much more than a quick fumble in the front of a car. I make to open the door, but she stops me with one hand to my arm.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, knowing she’s talking about me saving her from Letterman. She should be thanking me for saving her from me. She has no idea how close she is to me taking her right here. Lucinda Waldgrave, the woman that’s fucked everyone, and I’m letting her go... For now. It will be a different story once we are upstairs. “Get out,” I snap, pulling the handle to open my door. She grabs my arm where she was resting her hand. With one quick motion, she leans across and kisses my cheek, using her other hand as a guide.
The blood thickens in my veins and my cock hardens and strains more. I grab her wrist, anger and desire mingling together as I take in the angelic face, fear, but curiosity in her eyes that are looking right at me as though she can almost see me.
She might be angelic, but I’m no angel. And she’s started something that I’m going to make her finish.
28
LUCINDA
It was a thank you, but somehow it’s turned into something more malevolent. Dacre’s hand grips my wrist. I try to wrench it free, but he’s not letting go. His breathing has deepened and I can feel the tension between us. Memories of what Nolan did to me come flooding back. It was an assault, one I wasn’t prepared for, but even though it had terrified me, I’d enjoyed it. Maybe the kiss was never meant to be just a thank you at all. Maybe I’ve been kidding myself. All the way home, I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing. I know it now. I can tell the difference between Dacre and Mercier without them having to speak. They smell so different, too. Dacre currently smells of his expensive cologne and the whisky he’s been drinking.
“I want to go to bed,” I say, pulling against him again. It’s only half true. I’m scared of what he’ll do to me, but if he lets me go now and I get out of this car, I know I’ll be forever wondering. Nolan ignited something in me, but it’s Dacre that’s making me burn. My body is waging war against my mind and I don’t know what to do. Then his mouth is on mine and the decision is taken away from me. I felt him moving toward me and I knew what was going to happen, but my body didn’t react in time. My flight or flight mode shut down and another involuntary reaction has taken its place.
His lips are warm. I concentrate on the taste of the whiskey on them, because I’m not ready for this intrusion. My cheeks flame as a jolt of electricity sparks through my veins, reigniting something primal within me. He growls against my lips, pushing forward. One hand is still on my wrist, which I’ve completely given up trying to pull away from. His lips have done a much better job of keeping me here with him. With Nolan, him touching me was a learning moment, whereas this feels real. His other hand is at my back now, pulling me to him, deepening our connection. I can’t see him, but my eyes flutter closed as he parts my lips with his tongue. They say that when a person is blind, all their other senses are heightened. I don’t know about that, but I do know that all my senses are zoned in on his lips against mine, his tongue exploring my mouth. Despite myself, I kiss back, exploring his mouth. It’s like being pulled into a world I know nothing about without a guidebook, and yet it feels so natural. I hate how much my body seems to need this, even as my mind is trying to figure a way out of it. He pushes me further still until my wrist feels the cold glass of the window on the back of it, a stark contrast to the heat that is beginning to pool between my legs. I let out a slight gasp as he leans right over me. I feel the weight of him, half on me, half on his own seat. I’m laid back at an odd angle, my body uncomfortable. I try to push back against him to move into a more comfortable position, but that only seems to spur him on. He moves from my lips, trailing kisses to a spot just under my ear.
“Dacre,” I breathe out, still trying to push him away. This was supposed to be my Cinderella moment where I’m kissed by a prince, but Dacre is no prince and I’ve never been Cinderella. “Alexander,” I shout out, much more forcefully. I can’t let this happen. No matter how aching my body is aching for something I don’t understand. I let Mercier take advantage. I can’t let Dacre do the same. I’ll be nothing but the whore he keeps calling me.
The euphoria from the dance and two glasses of champagne falls away and fear takes over. I yank my hand again, but now that he’s on me, I know it’s not going to have much of an effect. Yet, he holds it still, moving his hand slightly until his fingers are intertwined with mine. It’s a soft caress, and yet the intention is anything but. I don’t clasp his fingers like he’s clasped mine. Instead, I keep my hand outstretched, concentrating on the coolness of the glass as the back of my fingers pressed against it. His free hand moves up my dress, skirting my inner thigh until he gets to my panties.
“Don’t!” I cry out as he slips his fingers beneath them. Then my words are lost, and the fight dies in me as he rubs his thumb on my clit. I let out a gasp, partly of outrage and partly because I’m lost.
“You’re so wet, Lucy.”
My brain jolts at the new name for me and somehow that feels more personal, more intrusive than what his fingers are doing to me. Hot tears spring to my eyes and I feel them weave a warm trail down my cheeks.
“Relax into this. I won’t hurt you.”
He has no idea just how much he’s already hurt me by using that name. It’s not meant for him to use, but as his thumb draws circles around my clit and heat begins to envelop me, I find my anger slipping away in a mist of pleasure.
My hips work all on their own, pushing against his fingers, wanting to feel more. I despise myself for it, but I can’t stop. My breathing comes more erratically and I grit my teeth together. I inhale sharply as he takes the intrusion to another level, slipping his fingers inside me. My lips part and I let out a low moan. My body is no longer in my control.
When he moves away from me, taking his fingers from within my folds, I barely have the energy to react. My body is crying out for more. He took me to a new level, then stopped.
“Don’t,” I whimper again, my whole body craving for more. I don’t end the sentence. I don’t even know what I’m saying ‘don’t’ for. Don’t stop? Don’t let me go? Don’t do this?
He pulls my hand away from the window as he moves lower. My mind panics as he slips his head under my dress, but as his tongue touches my clit, taking over from his fingers, the panic falls away to be replaced by sensations I didn’t know my body could feel.
He knows what I need more than I do. Just like Mercier, he knows my body better than I. I hate that.
