A Thousand Cuts (Underworld Kings)

It splashed like blood. A single, angry stain on the ivory surface.

“There’s food, if you’re hungry.”

I glanced up to Felix and then to where he’d nodded.

There was a plate beside the armchairs facing the fireplace. It was expertly arranged. Everything looked delicious. I didn’t move.

“Are you going to lock me in?”

“No, Sienna,” he replied softly. “You are free to move around as you please.”

I glared at him. “Free,” I spat. “I’m anything but that.”

Whether it was the wine or his scary, badass skills, Felix moved across the room and was in front of me before I could blink a couple of times.

“The problem is, Sienna, you’re freer than you’ve ever been in your life, and you’re too scared to admit it,” he refuted, reaching up to brush my jaw.

I was holding my breath, my entire body shaking. His touch was ice. It terrified and excited me.

Before I could land on which one would win out, he stepped back and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Chapter Eight

He came for me that night.

Had I expected it?

Was that why I hadn’t touched any of the silky nightgowns that were in the walk-in closet—along with underwear and clothing all in my style and size—and slipped into the sheets naked?

I told myself it was because I wasn’t going to wear anything he’d bought for me, wouldn’t have it on my skin.

But I’d known he was coming.

I’d wanted it.

There was a lock on my door, which I’d discovered when I explored the room. I could’ve utilized that, locked myself in. He would’ve stayed out if I had, some part of me knew that. It was yet another test. Another taunt. He knew I wouldn’t lock the door because I wanted him.

Despite being in a foreign bed, in a situation Hollywood couldn’t have dreamed up, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Deeply unusual for me. Even after a bottle of wine—or even the same amount of whisky I’d imbibed today—I would toss and turn for hours while Pete snored beside me. I didn’t take pills. Because I didn’t want to rely on them, become addicted. I’d work on my laptop, lie there and stare at the ceiling, then I’d usually make myself come thinking of something sordid, forbidden.

I didn’t need a therapist to tell me how fucked-up it was that the first night I slept soundly in recorded memory was in the home of a mafia boss.

I slept soundly.

Until I didn’t.

I didn’t hear him come in. Didn’t know he was in the room until the covers were pulled off me and my thighs were pulled apart.

His scent permeated the air, invaded my bloodstream. There was no panic. No fear. Only excitement. Desire. My body and mind woke up for him. Sang for him.

I didn’t open my eyes, though I likely wouldn’t have seen him considering the bedroom was pitch black.

He knew I was awake.

His hands moved up my thighs, his fingers moving to where I was already soaking wet for him.

My breathing shallowed, and my thighs splayed open farther in invitation.

This shouldn’t be happening.

This was wrong. So fucking wrong.

“Tell me no, Sienna,” he taunted.

I opened my mouth to do just that. “I hate you,” I seethed, my voice scratchy.

“That doesn’t sound like no,” he replied.

His fingers moved inside me.

“Tell me no,” he repeated.

My breathing was shallow as I fisted the sheets, my muscles coiled tight, begging for release.

His lips were at my neck.

If I said no, he’d leave. I knew that. He wasn’t forcing me. But he knew I was unable to say no. He knew I was sick, depraved and utterly defenseless against him with his fingers in my pussy.

I shouldn’t want this.

My mouth didn’t move. Didn’t form the words.

His fingers left me, and I let out a mewl of protest, my body betraying me.

If my eyes were open, if the lights were on, I knew I would’ve seen a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

He didn’t give me time to ruminate on what I was doing, how much of an asshole he was, because his mouth hit my clit, and my lower back arched, my every pore radiating with pleasure.

Cristian’s fingers went to my thighs, pushing them farther apart so he could bury himself in between them. So he could feast on me. I gripped the sheets even harder, yanking at them, unable to breathe, to think about anything but him. Right there.

His hands moved under me, clutching my ass, yanking my pussy closer to his face. His tongue moved relentlessly against my clit, not pausing, never giving me a moment to breathe. It was too much, there was no way a human body could handle this. But I couldn’t move under his tight grip. I couldn’t speak, a scream already trapped in my throat.

Just when I thought I couldn’t handle a second more, I exploded with an orgasm unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my life. Seconds could’ve passed. Minutes. Time had no meaning.