Page 59 of The Enslaved Duet
I could still taste Ashcroft, and it made me want to retch again. I could feel the shape of him like a phantom in my throat and the weight of his hands in my hair.
No, I didn’t want to watch Alexander beat him.
I needed something else.
Something that my rational mind might consider even more abhorrent.
“I need you,” I admitted on a broken breath.
I reached out to coil my fist in his shirt. He wasn’t wearing a tie. I should have known the moment I saw that garish red tie that it wasn’t Alexander seducing me. My Alexander never wore ties.
I leaned forward to press my nose to the hollow of his exposed throat, breathing deeply of his delicious cedar smell. “I need you,” I repeated again, stronger this time. “I need you to take me and prove I’m yours and no one else’s.”
Alexander made a noise in his throat that was half agony, half purr, and his hand went up to fist brutally in the back of my hair, yanking it so I was forced to look up at him. His eyes scored the wet depths of my own, looking amid the broken fragments of my spirit to see how to make me whole again.
He found the answer he was looking for and groaned again as he angled my head and plundered my mouth with his own.
I used the minty, manly taste of his mouth to cleanse my palate and pressed closer, kneading my hands into his chest like a cat seeking affection.
He gave it to me.
We kissed until my mind spun like a top, until each breath felt wrung from my lungs and my heart was on the precipice of bursting.
There was one thought in my head that drummed out all else,I need him, I need him, I need him.
I gasped when his hands went under my armpits, and he lifted me up so that I was forced to wind my legs around his neck and sit my pussy flush against his face. My hands dove into the silken strands of his hair and pulled him tight to me so I could balance precariously with my ass seated in the wide bowl of his palms.
He ate at me ruthlessly, nibbling on my lips, sucking hard, smacking kisses against my clit, then tunneling his tongue deep inside me. It pulled my focus to the apex of my sex so that the wet slide of his mouth against my flooded entrance was all I could hear and all I could be was sensation.
Normally, when I came for him, I splintered apart, undone by his touch. This time was different.
As I climaxed, fire flooded over my jagged, broken edges, melding them back together, soothing the connections away until they were seamless, and I was whole in his arms again. I cried out at the oddity of the sensation, and the overwhelming rightness of the pleasure, my shouts magnified by the room until they echoed throughout the house.
I wanted them to hear.
I wanted the servants to know I was Alexander’s so that they would stop their lecherous gazes. I wanted Ashcroft to know that even as he was impaled on a chair of spikes and beaten by Riddick’s meaty fists that I was experiencing pleasure from my rightful owner, expunging his mark on me as easily as wiping a whiteboard clean.
When I finally came down from the height of my climax, I found myself slumped over Alexander, my fingers carding through his beautiful hair in a way that brought us both comfort. He pressed a kiss to the damp inside of my thigh but otherwise didn’t move, letting me take my time to recover.
I realized that it was the gentle intimacy that I so loved about our sexual dynamic. Alexander could fold me in half, break me into weapon-sharp edges of pleasure with his scenes and his demands, but he always, always brought me back to earth with the gentle touch of his hands.
His tenderness was my undoing. Even realizing it, I knew nothing would change. He had been slowly unravelling the great length of me from the moment I’d arrived and even before that when he’d set his sights on me in Milano and grew determined to take me.
I was a goner before I even realized I’d gone.
I sighed heavily, and Alexander took it as the cue it was. He slumped slightly so that my legs slid off his shoulders, and I fell into his lap, his arms binding around me in sweet bondage.
“Who knew something so strong could be so heartbreakingly beautiful,” he whispered as he studied my face and dragged his rough-edged thumb down the line of my jaw.
I wanted to duck my head and hide behind my hair because a compliment had never felt so profound before, but he wouldn’t let me escape his scrutiny.
“He took nothing from you because he is worth nothing, do you understand?” he continued in the hushed voice he always used when dealing with me. As if he didn’t even want the air between us to know our secrets.
My lip trembled, and he pressed it steady with the pad of his thumb.
“Say it to me,” he demanded.
I sucked in a deep breath that burned down my throat and fortified me like strong brandy. “He took nothing from me because he is worth nothing.”
