Necromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 6)

“No,” he said darkly, his eyes following her movement. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“You could’ve saved us all the trouble and told Godfrey I’m not a trump card because you don’t give a damn.”

His voice was low and downright dangerous. “That would’ve been a lie. You know I’ll do anything to protect you.”

“The only thing you’ve ever done was fuck me over.”

His smile turned up with that lazy tilt she knew all too well.

“Now that’s a nasty thing to say.” He walked to her slowly. “You know you like me.”

“I may want you, but I don’t like you.”

He stopped, scrutinizing her. “Why don’t you like me?”

“The truth?”

His laugh was cold. “Do you even know the truth? You’ve been lying to yourself for so long, I doubt you know what you like for breakfast.”

It felt as if he’d punched her in the gut. His words hurt, but he was right. She was going to tell him she didn’t like him because he kept the truth from her, stupidly endangering her by selfishly deciding, as always, how much she could handle, but that wasn’t true.

“I don’t want to like you because you’ll be just like my mother,” she said, her voice trembling with unshed tears.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid you’ll either turn crazy, or I’ll come home one day to find you dead or gone.”

“What do you want? A promise of forever?”

“I want normal, and you’re anything but.”

“You’re afraid of being abandoned, but you don’t want normal, Princess, or you wouldn’t want the kind of hurt that makes you wet.”

“Is that why you want to hurt me? Does it get you off?”

“You know it does, but I don’t need it to get off with you. The psychological satisfaction I get from it is much more fulfilling. It gives me tremendous fucking joy, knowing I can give you something you need, something a man like your editor won’t give you.” He took another step, stopping flush against her. “Just knowing you’ve been out with him makes me want to give it to you to remind you I’m the only one who knows what you need.”

She trembled with a mixture of fear and lust, probably a bit more fear, but damn, she needed release from her crazy day and her fucked-up life. “You want to hurt me?”

“Right now? Yes, I want to hurt you, but I only hurt you when I fuck you, so take off your clothes.”

She shouldn’t, not while she owed Henry an answer. “I can’t.”

“You want to.”

“We can’t always take what we want.”

“No?” He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s as easy as this.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.

There were a hundred-and-one reasons why she shouldn’t go to bed with him. For starters, what they shared would soon be over. It had to come crashing down. Something this powerful, extreme, so totally wrong, and, yet, so completely right had no place in this world. It may very well be the last month she’d ever spend with Ivan. If it was going to hurt when he left with his groupies, she might as well make it worth the while.

She leaned her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want you to give me everything, tonight. Give me all you’ve got, like this is our last night.”

He looked down at her. “Oh, I intend to. You can count on me.”

Chapter 14

Darkness at the fear of losing her—both to another man and his enemies—rose inside of Ivan. The need to own her was fierce. He didn’t suppress it, any longer. He didn’t need to. Alice had given him her consent. She wanted this as much as he needed it. He’d come the closest ever to madness when Boris had confronted him with the image of her perfect body scarred. Dead. He’d thought he’d go out of his mind when he couldn’t find her, but now she was here, and he was going to have her in every possible way.

She lay in front of him like a sacrifice, her ass lifted on the pillows and her arms and feet tied to the four corners of the bed. Her chest heaved with her breaths. She lifted her head and looked back at him over her shoulder, her pretty gold-flecked eyes so large and so frightened. Yet, despite her fear, she was aroused. Her wetness glistened on the inside of her thighs. He unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops of his jeans. Twisting the end around one hand, he approached the edge of the bed.

“Ivan, what are you doing?”

Fear was a beautiful thing in her voice. It quivered, just like the inside walls of her pussy when she milked his cock. He ran a finger through her slit, gathering her slickness and spreading it to her dark hole. Her globes clenched.