Page 37 of Forbidden Empire
His fingers hooked into the delicate lace, knuckles brushing against my hipbones. One savage twist and the sound of tearing fabric echoed through the room like a gunshot; the elastic bit into my skin for one sharp second before giving way.
I gasped as cool air hit exposed flesh, watching him toss the shredded remains over his shoulder with casual dominance.
"Much better," he muttered, his gaze raking over me like a physical touch.
His nostrils flared as he inhaled. The mattress shifted as he sank to his knees between my thighs, his broad shoulders forcing them wider apart.
My pulse hammered in my throat as he lowered his face until I could feel his hot breath against my most intimate flesh. A visible shudder ran through his powerful frame.
"You're fucking beautiful, Esme," he whispered, the words vibrating against my inner thigh.
His fingertip traced a fiery path along sensitive skin, leaving goosebumps behind. I couldn't stop the violent tremor shaking through me, nor the way my hips tilted upward in silent offering.
My eyes locked onto his face, showing a predatory focus, with the muscle jumping in his jaw and his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.
The same hands that had snapped men's necks now hovered millimeters from my core, capable of such violence yet trembling with restraint. My chest constricted with the contradiction of it all.
I held my breath until spots danced at the edges of my vision, suspended in that impossible moment between terror and surrender.
My thighs quivered with the effort to stay open when every survival instinct screamed to close them, to run. Yet deeper than fear ran a current of molten need, a hunger so primal it obliterated reason.
Sanity whispered in the back of my mind.
This man is dangerous, this man is your enemy, this man will destroy you,but it grew fainter with each ragged breath. I watched his eyes track the pulse point at the juncture of my thighs, felt the heat of his gaze like a physical caress against slick flesh.
I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't arch my back, shouldn't dig my heels into the mattress, shouldn't expose my throat in ancient submission to the predator between my legs.
God help me, I did.
I surrendered everything—pride, power, and protection, spreading myself before him like a sacrifice on an altar.
The hunger in his eyes burned into me like a brand, reflecting the hollow ache I'd been running from across cities, across years. My chest constricted, throat tightening as the terrible truthcrashed through me. This wasn't just want. It was a necessity, primal and inescapable as gravity.
I arched my spine, offering myself like a sacrifice, my body betraying every defense I'd built. The mattress creaked beneath us as I writhed, helpless against the magnetic pull between us.
His gaze swept over me, searching, hungry, assured. The moonlight caught the lines of his body, throwing sharp shadows across muscle and skin, making him look like something out of a fever dream, all edge, intent, and threat.
His cock was hard, no question, the veins standing out and pulsing with every heartbeat, every second. Those hands looked like they could break granite, but as they moved closer, I saw them shake.
"Please," I whispered, the word torn from somewhere deep and hidden.
His fingertip traced fire along my inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I gritted my teeth, fighting the whimper building in my throat.
When he dipped between my folds, the contact was electric, a lightning strike of sensation that shot from my core to my fingertips. My vision blurred at the edges as he found my clit, circling it with devastating precision.
My thighs fell open wider, trembling with the effort to stay spread for him. He pressed harder, the pad of his finger slick with my arousal as he worked tight, merciless circles that sent shockwaves crashing through my system. Each touch was deliberate torture, calibrated to build pressure without release.
I clawed at the sheets until my knuckles blanched white. His thumb bore down on my clit with devastating precision, sending lightning strikes of sensation from my core to my fingertips. The room tilted and blurred, reality fracturing into shards of white-hot pleasure. My hips bucked against his hand with a willof their own, grinding for more friction, more pressure, more everything.
"Aidon," I cried out, his name torn from somewhere primal and ancient inside me.
The sound wasn’t human, more animal than woman.
His eyes locked on mine as he dragged his middle finger through my slickness, so slow I could feel each ridge of his fingerprint against hypersensitive flesh.
He circled my entrance once, twice, a third time, the pad of his finger collecting wetness but never breaching. My inner walls clenched around nothing, aching emptiness making me whimper.
My head shot up, muscles in my neck corded with tension. His lips curled into that infuriating half-smile, pupils blown wide with arousal but eyes glittering with something darker—control, power, triumph. A muscle ticked in my jaw as our gazes locked in a silent battle.
