Page 98 of Storm of Shadows

“Surrender and I’ll take such good care of you. I’ll make you feel so good.”

I shake my head slowly.

“Surrender, little thrall. Get down on your knees and surrender.”

I want to fight.

I want to run away.

I don’t want to feel conflicted this way. I don’t want to betray my sister.

I don’t want to feel this way about him.

I want to … I want to find out what happens if I do give in. If I do as he says. If I stop fighting for just one moment and let go.

If I stop thinking, stop fighting, stop hurting; let myself go and just feel.

Will he destroy me like they did my sister?

Do I care?

My life has been so worthless since she left. So dark and bleak. This sadness has weighed in my heart and for once I want to feel something other than this cold grief.

I want to feel alive. I want to feel Beaufort Lincoln.

And so, I do as the shadow weaver says.

I lower myself down onto my knees, the plush carpet soft against my skin.

He doesn’t smirk in triumph. He simply looks at me in wonder; a heat and a desire – perhaps even a reverence – flickering in his pupils.

He doesn’t say anything, simply unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants.

I know what he wants. I didn’t need Fly’s little sex ed lesson this evening to work that out.

I watch as he tugs out his cock; stiff and girthy and magnificent in his hand. His foreskin has been cut away andthe head of his cock throbs, a long prominent vein running the length of his shaft.

My heart beats in my throat and something swoops low in my belly. I can’t deny it now, I am turned on.

On my knees, I’m at his mercy. Maybe I always was. He’s stronger than me, more powerful. I’ve struggled and fought and resisted but a part of me has wanted to give myself up to him right from the first moment he pinned me to the ground.

I must be more messed up than I thought.

He runs his fist up and down his shaft

“Do you want to?” he says, his voice distorted with lust.

I don’t answer.

Instead, I cave into that part of me. The part that longs for this, no matter how wrong it is. No matter how dangerous.

I open my mouth, lean forward and take him into my mouth. The taste is salty but not unpleasant, and the skin is soft inside my mouth. I swirl my tongue around his cockhead and he groans above me.

A quiet voice deep within protests at what I’m doing. He’s my enemy. His kind took the most precious thing from my life – the only good thing – and ripped my life apart. I shouldn’t be doing this.

But the other part – the part I’ve repressed and caged for so long – wants this so badly. Wants to feel, wants to be felt in return, wants to throw all caution to the wind and feel something more than misery and pain and loss.

I suck on his cock and his fingers tangle in my hair, yanking out the binds and pins that hold it back, until it falls loose around my face.