My hands in front of me, my legs spread apart, he lines his cock up at my entrance. His deep, masculine groan makes me impossibly wetter than I’ve ever been. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can feel, and I can watch.
His eyes hold mine in the mirror when he glides himself inside me. The feeling’s exquisite, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I’m so full. So perfectly, blissfully full.
“Oh God,” I mutter when he thrusts his hips. Perfect bliss shoots through my body, and I haven’t even climaxed yet. There’s something about the angle, his size, and my insanely aroused body that makes every thrust feel like a mini orgasm.
“You stay right there,” he orders, with a warning slap to the thigh.
I groan in response, just as he thrusts again. Over and over, he shoots frissons of euphoria through my limbs, never once breaking my gaze.
“You’re mine,” he grates, with a ferocious thrust that takes me to the very edge. “Fucking mine.”
He holds my gaze with the final thrust that nearly splinters me. I cry out, the intensity of my orgasm too much to take. My body fragments, utter ecstasy painted through every nerve. He growls his release; his fingers tightening on my hips is painful, but I don’t want him to stop. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
“Yes,” I moan, my body jerking with spasms of pure, unadulterated bliss echoing through me. “Constantine. Yes.”
Chapter 13
Constantine
I wonder what Clare meant when she said ‘yes’?
Was she agreeing that she belongs to me, or was she simply lost in her climax?
I had plans for Clare. I intended to use her as a weapon against her father.
But the more time I spend with her, the less I want to trade or barter for her life.
I don’t want to give her away at all.
I’ve never felt an attraction like this.
Her skin doesn’t feel like normal human skin—its silky texture is as unlike other women’s as velvet is from wool. Her scent intoxicates me. And the grip of her pussy around my cock—it’s fucking bespoke, like it was made for me.
Her natural stubbornness against her need to please me is a delicious dichotomy that I can’t help but exploit. I love how she tries to resist, only to sink helplessly into a desire that equals my own.
I let her sleep as long as she needs, watching the innocent blankness of her slumbering face, the rise and fall of her delicate shoulders.
She’s naked under the sheet.
Already I long to pull it back again, revealing that body that brings the blood rushing to my cock before I’ve even laid a hand on her.
It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to leave her alone.
Instead, I ponder my next move.
Yury tracked down the supplier of that expensive wine. Apparently, it was delivered to our house the day Roxy uncorked it. She was a fool to accept a gift without confirming the sender, and I was a fool to drink it with her, not considering that Roxy never would have spent so much of her own money on anything that wasn’t diamond encrusted.
Obviously, I need to find the sender of the wine. The real sender, not whatever bullshit name was written on the invoice or receipt.
I explain this to Clare when she finally wakes.
“I’m coming with you,” she says, promptly.
“You think a prisoner decides where she goes and where she stays?” I say. “Was that the case when I was in DesMax and you were the one on the other side of the table?”
Clare frowns. “It’s not my fault you were in prison,” she says. “And anyway, don’t you want my help?” She falters. “I thought that’s why you were keeping me with you…”
I see the fear in her eyes. The realization that I could have many reasons for keeping her, most of them unpleasant.
“No one is going to hurt you,” I tell her, gruffly.
“No one but you,” she says, the marks of my belt still visible on her ass and thighs.
“Do as I say and there will be no more occasion for punishment,” I growl.
“I will,” Clare says, her spirit rising again, “but I want to come with you.”
“Why?”
“I want to know the truth,” she says, staunchly. “If my father really is the sort of person to put an innocent man in prison… then I want to know.”
“Well,” I say. “Innocent is a stretch.”
“Innocent of this particular crime,” Clare says, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
“You think you want to know, Clare… but the truth can be painful. It can be destructive. It doesn’t just kill the future…it decimates even the pleasant memories in your mind, changing the color of everything that came before.”
Clare considers this, her face tense and somber.
“I understand,” she says. “I still want to know.”
“You can come with me,” I agree. “But no interference this time.”