Page 29 of Lash

"I do not care," I whisper. "When we are alone, I will hear your secrets. You can confess to me as if I am a priest, and I will be your penance."

"Tatiana," he breathes my name like a prayer. "Tatiana…"

His fingers move inside me, and the soft wet squelch makes me squirm in embarrassment, but he covers my mouth with his and slashes his tongue against mine and curls his finger inside me. He gathers my wet slick essence and smears it against my clit.

I whimper into his mouth, and my hips lift, my ass tightening as I drive into his touch. "Yes," I breathe. "Lash, please."

"You cannot beg, sweet Tatiana," he murmurs, lips moving on mine. "My control is at the limit already."

I thrust against his finger, yank my shirt up and rake down my bra cup so my breast falls free, and crush his hand against me. He bumps his forehead against mine and growls in short, rough, panting breaths and his finger curls again to gather my essence and smear it against my clit until I'm soaked and dripping, and then he touches the pad of his middle finger to my clit, circling swiftly.

Lighting strikes me at his touch, and he swallows my mewling gasp of pleasure, and his hard hand gives my breast a rough squeeze, and then gentles, and his thumb trips against my thick, rigid, aching nipple and I have to bite down to silence a cry, which shreds past my teeth as a shrill catlike snarl.

Heat smashes through me and stars burst behind my eyes and I grind into his touch and kiss him, shoving my tongue into his mouth.

Ecstasy becomes all-consuming, and I ride his finger to the cusp of climax.

I reach between us and cup his erection over his jeans, and then fumble at his zipper, seeking more, seeking him, seeking his pleasure as the natural mate to mine.

He growls a negative, capturing my hands in his and pinioning them in his fist, preventing me from grasping him. I fight his hold, but he's far, far too strong, and then I’m lost and helpless as my release detonates.

I gasp into his mouth, panting, whimpering, trying to be quiet.

My orgasm spreads through me all at once, a white wave of incandescent heat, and I shake all over, trembling as wild hot pleasure sears through my being. I struggle against his hold on my hands, and he's so strong that I can fight with every ounce of my strength and it makes no difference—I'm helpless, caught in his touch, held and possessed.

I let go.

He takes my tongue and devours my whimpers, touches me through my climax until I'm left shuddering and panting raggedly, a boneless pile of jelly beneath his weight.

Brakes squeal and the train slows, and a male voice squawks indistinctly over the intercom, announcing our arrival in Split.

I wrench my eyes open, meet his. "Lash," I whisper, but can't find anything else to say.

He kisses me again, withdrawing his finger from within me; he zips and buttons my jeans, releases my hands.

"I wouldn't leave you like this," I whisper.

"I don't care. You are all that matters to me." He puts his middle finger into his mouth, and his eyes shut at the taste of me on his finger. "But now I'm going to dream of you. Dream of tasting you, having you on my lips. Hearing you scream."

I whimper again. "Lash, dammit,” I whisper. “I want—”

He growls in frustration, rolls off the bunk with abrupt speed, and is out of the couchette compartment before I know what's happened, before I can finish my statement.

from the train to the ferry

Lash

So far, so good.

We disembarked the train and left the station together on foot, and now we are walking together down a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood on the south end of Split, near the shore. The sky to the south above the tops of the buildings has that indefinable open quality that says you're near the sea—a deeper blue, perhaps.

Lorenzo is in front, leading us to the ferry that will take us to Ancona, Italy. The plan is to travel as far west as we can by bus, train, or sea within Europe, where security measures are typically less stringent than by air. Eventually, we'll have to find air travel to Brazil so we can join the others in rescuing Inez, but the hope is that between myself, Lorenzo, Scarlett, and Solomon, we can figure out a flight across the ocean that isn't commercial. To achieve that, we must outmaneuver Mercado’s forces. I also anticipate a move by Roberto—he's a crafty, cunning man who plans ten steps ahead of everyone else. I know he knows I've surfaced—his network of spies and informants is vast and thorough, and he hates me with a vicious passion. Not as much as I hate him, however. My hatred is that of a widower and a father. He stole my family from me. Stole my life. My identity. Ishall take his life before this is over, and then I shall swear the oath I should have sworn when Inez pulled me from the burning wreckage of my former life—the oath to never take a life.

Beside me, Tatiana has been reserved and thoughtful. She steals glances at me now and again, her dark gaze intense and full of private emotion that I cannot quite read.

Scarlett and Solomon walk side by side a few paces behind us, having a quiet conversation.

"Tell me what are you thinking?" I say to Tatiana.