I might be sitting next to Lawrence but my mind is in the past, replaying the last time I saw Ronan over and over again.
It isn’t until we’re standing inside his house, Ronan and the world left outside its doors, that I’m able to breathe freely for the first time. Without saying a word, I make my way toward the staircase. The sooner we’re in his room fucking, the sooner I’ll be able to freeze my treacherous heart currently thawing like an ice cap in spring once more. I place my hand on the wooden handlebar at the bottom of the stairs when I realize that Lawrence isn’t following me. I turn to look at him and notice that he’s standing by the front door, studying me closely. I smile at him? but even I know that it’s a pathetic excuse for a smile.
He doesn’t smile back.
“Why are you standing there and not here? Is something wrong?”
As I await his answer, I take a moment to admire him, to absorb his wild yet polished beauty. Lawrence reminds me of an untamed animal, magnificent as the king of his domain with hunger in his eyes and graceful movements. He’s danger, inviting you to play with him as he taunts you with a tempting smile. And you know that you will be hurt for having done so, but you won’t be sorry—no, never sorry. He looks like a man who was born to rule and fuck.
“Come here,” he orders in his commanding voice.
Slowly, I walk to where he’s standing as my pulse accelerates. Without looking at me, he raises a hand and begins tracing my shoulder blade with the back of his fingers. “Tell me …”
“Yes?” I close my eyes and tilt my head slightly to the side, exposing—offering—myself to him. When he reaches the length of my neck, he closes his hand around it, the pad of his thumb caressing the spot where he can feel my blood pulsing through me. And though the stroke of his finger is ever so gentle, a violent shiver runs down my spine, leaving me hot and cold all at once.
“Do you happen to know Ronan?” Lawrence asks nonchalantly.
Sharply, I open my eyes. His question freezes me on the spot, extinguishing the spark that was kindling inside of me a moment ago. Our gazes connect and I’m afraid of what he sees in mine. Afraid he will see how my heart yearns for a man who I can’t have—my summertime in autumn.
Deep down, I know that my love for Ronan is a wound that won’t ever heal, but being with Lawrence lessens the pain. And isn’t numbness—a blessed oblivion—what we seek after love has done us wrong? Lawrence helps me forget him, dulling the ache with my inexhaustible want for him and his money. He’s my savior and foe. My sickness and cure, all at once.
“Does it matter?” I ask, licking my dry lips. “I’m here.”
In the silence that follows, tension running high, I wonder if Lawrence has figured out the truth behind my unspoken words. I don’t think Lawrence would care either way. He has made it more than clear what he wants from me, and my love isn’t it.
And that’s perfectly fine with me.
There’s something carnal in the way he’s staring at me that makes me feel as though I can’t breathe. I don’t want him to ever stop. My heart beats wildly and my * grows wet with anticipation as his gaze travels leisurely across my body. With his fingers wrapped around me like an ivy vine, it would be so easy for him to snap my neck in half. The contact is dangerously divine.
“Be still,” he orders, his voice full of restrained power.
Lawrence lets go of me, my skin burning from the ghost of his touch, and begins tracing the edge of the lace cup covering one of my breasts. The caress, soft as a lover’s whisper, hardens my nipples and raises goosebumps along my arms. Blood rushes to my head, making me dizzy, and I breathe deeply.
I bite my lower lip when he hooks his finger around the cup, pushing the fabric aside, and watches my tit spill out, his green eyes growing midnight dark. Then he touches my nipple, rubbing the rosy tip and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It sends shockwaves of pleasure throughout me, focusing on the pulsing center of my body.
I’m about to close my eyes, lost in sensation, when I hear him say, “Eyes on me, Blaire.”
He grabs me roughly by the waist, closing the space between us, and wraps an arm around my middle. Holding me tight in his embrace, Lawrence moves his free hand under the skirt of my little black dress and impales me with two of his fingers.
There’s pain laced with pleasure as he pumps his fingers in and out of my * over and over again. Hard. Deep. Unapologetically. Flesh and sweat. The smell of my body’s reaction to his touch coats the air—I can taste it. Leaning over me, high color on his cheeks and a searing gaze, Lawrence looks like a God sent from above to punish me or to seek my salvation.
It’s hard.
It’s punishing.