“Yes.”
I close my eyes. My body is unraveling, the threads of our history and all the ways he’s known me spiraling away to expose something raw and defenseless. His hand comes around to clasp the front of my throat, tilting my head back toward him even as he continues to pin me to the dresser. I arch until the pressure steals my breath, and then, without warning, he bites down hard at the junction where my neck meets my shoulder and drives himself inside me to the hilt, claiming every inch of my drenched pussy with one searing thrust.
Holy mother of God.
It tears me open like the first time, filling all the spaces he’s left empty these last few months.He’s huge and everywhere andLyot,and I’d scream my release for him if I could, a roar of triumph from the monster inside. But his hand is still locked around my throat, and the only sound that escapes me is a strangled gasp.
So instead, I implode, the orgasm crashing against the prison of my skin to coat every bound layer of muscle and womb in its gorgeous ichor.
He draws back and plunges in again, and then again, each time an assault. He doesn’t slow or falter in his rhythm; this is punishment—fury and despair and love like a raw wound in every savage thrust. Tears carve down my cheeks, and black spots spark across my vision, agony and pleasure radiating from every searing brand where his skin meets mine. The dresser’s hard edge slams against my hip bones—still tender with the half-healed scrapes of another night—and digs into the tight, throbbing cluster of nerves between my thighs.
I start to spiral again, a slow, incandescent build of tension at the fluttering edges of my consciousness. My lips form the shape of his name as I begin to clench around him, and now,now, he stutters in response, a hitch in his body’s bruising pulse. His rhythm goes reckless, chasing and driving together, until with one last brutal thrust, I feel his release spill hot against the ache of my cervix, and my own is a shockwave, disintegrating all that’s left of me.
He releases my throat and wrists together, collapsing on top of me. I turn my head, resting my flushed cheek on the smooth surface of the dresser. The earring is gone.
He presses his forehead into my temple. Salt coats my tongue, and I wonder if the tears are his or mine.
“Did you come?” he whispers, knowing the truth like he always does, wanting a lie I can’t give.
“Twice.”
“Jesus, Gia.”
And then he’s gone.
25
Lyot
Shepard is in the lounge, sprawled on the same couch with the same fucking crowd of sycophants, and the wave of déjà vu is almost strong enough to penetrate the fog of helpless fury clouding my veins.
Five strides from the elevator, and I’m on him. He must have been watching for me because he’s on his feet instantly, green eyes bright with anticipation. Whatever he’s expecting, he doesn’t try to stop me when my fist crashes into his mouth. His head snaps back with a wet crack as my knuckles split on his teeth.
“Gale!”
“What the fuck?”
His posse erupts around us, Carmen rushing to his side and Viktor surging to his feet. At the corner of my vision, Ren vaults another couch, rushing to my aid. Shepard shakes off the tiny blonde and gives Viktor a warning glance.
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” He smirks, licking the blood from his lower lip. The silver ring taunts me with its unmarred shine.
My second swing goes for his jaw, but this time, he slaps it away, lightning quick, and steps inside my reach before I can recover.
“What the fuck are you doing here,pretty boy?” he asks, voice low and mocking. “Please tell me you didn’t fuck our girl and leave her all alone simply to make a point.”
I rock back, shocked, a chasm of guilt and horror cracking my chest.
“She’s notourgirl,” I hiss.She’smine.
Isshe still mine? Even in my head, I’m not sure anymore. Whatever he sees on my face, he doesn’t relent.
“Last chance, pretty boy,” he warns. “If you’re not in her bed in the next ten minutes, I’m taking her to mine.”
Fuck.
I flee.
It takes me twenty, most of it spent pacing the hallway outside her room, one eye on the elevator and my heart a hurricane in my throat. When I finally knock, I’m met with only silence, but the door is unlocked, so I let myself inside.
