CHAPTER 95: NINETY FIVE

Valka

I buck my hips, trying to dislodge him. It only flushes our hips together.

His head dips. I brace for a kiss, but instead, his lips, cool and soft, brush the sensitive skin just below my ear. A shudder racks my body. Damn him.

"Fight all you want, Valka," he rumbles against my skin, the vibration going straight to my core. His mouth traces the shell of her ear. "Scream. Scratch. Bite." His free hand slides down, skimming over the fabric covering my collarbone, then lower. He cups the swell of my left breast through the thin material, his thumb finding the peak. Rubbing, slow and teasing. And then, he flicks.

Fire shoots through my nerves. My back arches off the ground of its own volition before I can stop it. A desperate sound escapes me, a choked gasp.

A low, dark sound of content rattles in his chest. "See?" His mouth trails lower, leaving a cool, tingling path down my neck. "Your body knows. Better than you do."

His head dips even lower. He nuzzles the swell of my breast where the fabric stretched tight. His breath is hot and cool all at once. Then his tongue darts out, a slow lick tracing the curve of my other nipple through the cloth. The fabric grows damp. The sensation is electric, unbearable.

Oh. Fuck.

I groan, my hips jerking helplessly against the solid weight pinning me down. Need, raw and primal, pulses through me, concentrated at the apex of my thighs. I ache as wet heat blooms there.

He lifts his head then, just enough to meet my eyes. Pools of ancient darkness, alight with predatory satisfaction. His fangs glint, sharp and white. The hand that had been at my breast slides lower, over my ribs, my stomach. Purposeful. Unhurried.

He holds my gaze captive as his fingers find the waistband of my pants. Then dips beneath it. Lower still. My breath catches, trapped in my throat. I hold it, every muscle locked tight. Waiting.

His fingers brush the damp lace. Not inside. Not yet. Just resting there, branding, possessing without penetration. Without even moving.

Silver lashes flutter, his eyes glazing. "Tell me you don’t belong to me," he says, his voice thick with a hunger that mirrors my own. His eyes dare me, challenge me to deny the truth screaming in my blood, in the slick wetness beneath his fingers. "Go on. Say it."

His fingers rest heavy against the lace, pushing slightly, applying pressure to my clit. My hip jerks to meet his hand, but he pulls back. "Tell me again that you cannot stand me."

My throat locks. Denial is like ash on my tongue. I want to scream it, claw it at him, but my increasing wetness is a damning confession my lips refuse to voice. I just glare into those ancient, shadowed eyes, willing him to see the anger and not the desperate tremor running through me.

He laughs. "Stubborn."

In one fluid motion, his weight is gone. Before I can gasp, before I can even think of scrambling away, his hands are on me again. He hauls me upright with terrifying ease and my back hits the rough bark of the tree once more.

He presses his entire length against me, hard muscle, hard heat, the hard length pressing insistently against my stomach. His manly scent mixed with pine and smoke, floods my senses, making my head swim.

"You’re uncharacteristically quiet, Val." A hand slides up my thigh, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above my knee before inching higher. "Have you no words left of how despicable I am? No smart curses? Nothing?"

I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, my nails digging crescents into the bark behind me. Didn’t trust my voice enough not to betray me.

"I suppose you won’t be needing words." His hands find my hips. "Your body speaks enough." He hooks his fingers in my waistband once more and in one brutal yank, peels off my pants and lace. Cool air hits my exposed skin, making me gasp. He drags the leather down to my thighs, baring me completely to the elements and his burning gaze.

The wetness between my legs feels obscene in the open air, a thin sheen cooling on my inner thighs. Humiliation wars with arousal, both sharp and sickeningly sweet.

He doesn’t kneel. He drops. One knee hits the forest floor, pine needles crunching softly. His hands clamp onto my hips, fingers digging in, holding me fixed against the tree. His breath ghosts over my exposed pussy and my knees wobble.

"Look at you," he growls, his voice light with adoration as he inspects me. "Soaked. Begging without a sound." One long finger strokes through my wetness, gathering it, then traces a slow circle around my clit. Not touching the center. Just circling. Taunting. My hips jerk instinctively, seeking pressure, but his grip on my hip is iron, holding me still. A slutty whimper escapes before I can clamp my lips shut.

"Ah-ah," he chides softly, his breath making me shiver. "Not yet. You think you get to dictate when? When you won’t even admit who owns this?" His finger dips lower, sliding easily through my slick folds, teasing my entrance. The tip presses in, just the barest fraction, stretching the rim, then withdraws. Again. And again. An agonizing rhythm. "Who owns this tight little cunt, Valka?" His voice is pure dark honey, laced with terrifying, insane, ownership. "Who makes it weep like this?"

Pleading claws at my throat. Please. Touch me. More. But I won’t. I stare down at the top of his silver head, at the sharp lines of his profile illuminated by the brightening morning. And still, I say nothing. Refusing to break my vow of silence.

His mouth curves in a smirk as my thighs begin to tremble, betraying me. His free hand comes up, cupping my breast through my shirt. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to reach, but Lucien is tall, his limbs long and graceful. I’m sure if he tried hard enough, he could touch the space above m head.

His thumb finds my nipple, hardened into a tight peak, and pinches it. The dual assault--the teasing at my entrance, the rough caress on my nipple, short-circuits my thoughts. Another choked sound tears from me.

"Defiant to the last," he muses. His head dips. Not to my core. To my inner thigh. His tongue, shockingly hot and wet, laps a slow, burning stripe from knee to the crease of my thigh. He nuzzles the sensitive skin there, his fangs scraping lightly, possessively. "But this taste... this is surrender." His mouth moves higher, following the trickle flowing from my pussy. His tongue finds me, not where I desperately need it, but licking along my outer lips until I hiss in frustration, hips undulating.

He lifts his head then, looking up at me. His lips glisten. His eyes are raw, animal hunger. "Tell me you want me to stop."

I can’t breathe. My fingers claw uselessly at the rough bark. I want to shove his face away. I want to grind myself against his mouth. The words don’t stop burn like acid, trapped behind my clenched teeth. I shake my head, a tiny, desperate movement.

He smiles. "That’s what I thought." Then, his mouth descends.

His tongue is relentless. He doesn’t start slow. He claims. One broad, hot stroke from my entrance straight up to my clit, swirling around the swollen nub with devastating precision. I cry out, my head slamming back against the tree, stars exploding behind my eyelids. He groans again, the vibration against my clit making my legs useless. He laps at me, feasting, his tongue plunging shallowly inside me before flicking ruthlessly over my clit. He knows. A thousand years of knowledge focused solely on dismantling me. He finds the perfect rhythm, the perfect pressure, the spot inside that makes white heat sear through my veins when his tongue curls just so.

I can feel it running down his chin, can hear the obscene sounds of my wetness as his tongue swirls over my entrance before spearing inside. I moan. I mewl.

His free hand leaves my breast and two fingers slide into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue. "Suck," he commands.