Page 30 of Betrayed

Had I shown that side of myself to her, she never would have left my bed without saying goodbye.

She would have known better.

She wouldn’t have dared to leave at all. I realize she needs me to dominate, to tell her how things will be between us. I can’t hide from her any longer.

It’s time for me to erupt.

And let her know that she’s mine.

And I will chase her to the ends of the earth.

“I dreamt of this,” I whisper, dragging my mouth down her stomach. “Every moment since you left.”

She arches her back as I slide my hand between her thighs again.

“You don’t get to come,” I say, dark and low.

“What?” Her eyes go wide.

I pin her to the table with one look. “You ran. You left. You come when I say.”

I feel her grind against my hand, searching for friction.

“Lucian,” she begs.

“No,” I growl, sliding two fingers inside her. “Not until I say.”

“It’s torture,” she moans.

Perfect, possessive, punishing torture.

I work her more and more—tongue and fingers, dirty words and threats—“Don’t you dare leave again. Don’t you dare come till I say.”

Then stop just before she tumbles off that cliff into a pool of relief.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Tears well up in her eyes. “Please,” she pleads. “I can’t handle this! I can’t take any more, Lucian?—”

“You will.”

I lean down, kiss her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, her throat.

Then I shed my jeans, something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I held her in the doorway, and I move inside her with one slow, brutal thrust.

She screams.

I growl. “Not yet.”

And the world narrows to the rhythm of our bodies bumping against the table, the slap of skin, the burn of desperation.

“You left me,” I pant, thrusting harder. “Don’t ever leave me.”

“I’m sorry,” she cries, nails scraping my shoulders, hanging on for dear life.