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“Mathias…”
My hands circle her waist. Soft. Supple. A body made for a man to sink into. Formeto hold and worship and possibly find peace.
“Allie Angel…” I whisper the words over the rapid pulse in her neck. “Don't turn me away. Haven't I made you feel good every morning?”
“Yes, but—”
“Do you want me to take it? Is that what my girl needs?”
Her breath hitches, and I swear I can smell the sweet gush of arousal between her thighs.
The beast inside becomes feral.
Allie's a good girl.
But she yearns to be claimed and fucked without the niceties. Thosetoo good,too properchains prevent her from feeling comfortable enough to voice the need.
But I don't need verbal consent.
Allie's responsive body says all that's necessary.
"The safe word ispeppermint. Repeat it back to me."
"P-Peppermint."
"Good girl." I spin her around and guide Allie to the mattress, pressing her down flat on her back with my body.
When we're both horizontal, I balance on my side so one hand can roam the malleable hills and valleys of her curves. "Tonight is about you, Allie Angel. I'm going to caress and kiss, and you're going to talk to me."
She jolts like a wire zapped with electricity. "About what? Why?"
Allie's always full of questions. Always needing the safety found in knowledge. It's a common trait we share.
"Because I like hearing your voice," I admit. Honeyed tones, rich and sweet, it's a welcome change from the rumble of males that usually fills the manor. "And because we're going to replace your negative thoughts and memories with positive ones. We're removing their power. Starting tonight."
"I don't understand..." Prudence wars with the desire in her eyes as I remove her glasses and toss them by the pillow.
"You will,” I promise. “Why don't you tell me about the last time you considered hurting yourself, and we'll begin."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ALLISON
We’llbegin.
Mathias’s warm palm glides down my chest to cup my breast. His touch is dulled by my shirt and bra, but not enough to stop the rush of arousal slicking my core.
“I’m waiting,ma cherie.”
He wants me to spill my dark thoughts. Lance the puffy abscesses as if his touch will miraculously cure me of their infectious claws.
It's a ridiculous notion, yet words spill out of me anyway. Slow and stuttering before building momentum.
“The night I got home from Paris, I was exhausted from the flight and the antibiotics for the bullet wounds. All I wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep for the next forty-eight hours.”
His breath coasts over my neck while he massages my breast, toying with the nipple. The scratch of his beard tickles. His lips tease.
And I continue.