Labyrinth (24 page)

Margot arched into his palm. Warmth penetrated past the firm flesh to her heart. He brushed a thumb over the pebbled areola. Margot leaned close for a kiss. His mouth covered hers and he pulled her against his chest. His belt buckle dug into her belly. He slid her from his hips onto the bed and stood, then undid the belt. The kilt loosened, he tossed aside the belt, and
unwrapped
the kilt. His engorged rod jutted from a thick patch of dark hair. Her throat went dry. If this didn’t get her back into her own bed, nothing would.

He shrugged off his shirt and settled on top of her. His cock lay heavy against her abdomen. She pressed into the mattress and tugged the dress up. A prick to her ribs startled her before she realized it was the lock picks in her pocket and she pulled the dress farther up so that his length lay in direct contact with her stomach. He thrust gently against her flesh as he pulled the other strap down her shoulder, exposing the second breast. Moist lips trailed a slow kiss down the curve of her breast to the nipple. She gasped when he sucked the nipple into his mouth.

Margot wrapped a leg around his hip. He rocked against her. A dizzying current of desire streaked through her. Sweet Christ, the man was pure male. Was this how he’d gotten those other women? His cock thrust against her stomach. She shifted so that his length nestled in her curls and locked her second leg around his hip with the other one. She wrapped her arms around his back and hugged him close. He moved against her, the edge of his cock sliding along her swollen nub in agonizing torture.

“Closer,” she whispered.

He reached between them and slid a long finger between her folds and into the heat that begged for his touch. Margot sucked in air. Colin pulled his finger out and dragged the wetness up to the swollen bud. A quiver radiated through her. He spread her folds,
then
slid his cock between them until the tip teased her sensitive spot. She threaded her fingers through his hair.

Margot arched her hips, rubbing against his rod. He covered her nipple with his mouth. She pulsed against his cock as he suckled. She reached between them and wrapped a hand around his rod. A groan reverberated through his chest. She placed the mushroom tip against her clit and rubbed. He sucked harder on her breast. In one swift movement, she drew back her hips and shoved his cock into her wet channel.

Colin stiffened, but she clamped her legs tighter around him and thrust her hips so that he rammed into the back of her channel. He buried his head in her neck and began moving inside her. Pleasure rippled through her. She tightened her arms around his back. He moved faster. A warm hand covered her breast, and Margot gasped when he rolled the nipple between finger and thumb.

She braced her hips as his thrusts picked up speed. He slammed into her channel. Pressure built. She slid her hands down his back and grasped his ass. Muscle clenched beneath her fingers. He abruptly released her breast and yanked back from her. Margot grabbed for his shoulder, but he seized her waist and flipped her onto her stomach. He shoved her legs apart, knelt between her legs and pulled her ass to him. One arm around her waist, he fitted his cock to her channel opening and shoved inside.

Her walls tightened around him and she braced on her elbows against the force of the deep thrusts. He gripped her hips, yanking her hard against him with each plunge of his rod into her. He tilted her ass upward and pleasure radiated from her core. She gasped and angled further upward. Pain lanced through her wounded palm with the action, but she didn't care. She wanted him. Margot twisted and looked over her shoulder. He stared, eyes blazing, jaw set like granite. His powerful chest clenched with effort. Eyes locked with his, she traced the line of her lips with her tongue. His fingers tightened around her hips and he thrust harder.

He plunged deeper, balls slapping her with each plunge. A tremor rocked her stomach. The man
was possessing
her. If he was real, was what he seemed to be, she
would
give her life to get him out of this hell. Panic pushed her heartbeat faster. What if he wasn’t the honorable man he appeared to be?

Pressure built.

How had she dreamed of him before seeing his picture?

Her pussy clenched.

What about Bree Cullen's face hidden in the ivy of the painting—and Rita Jones' image?

Margot’s chest tightened.

Those things were real.

This was real.

He
is real.

Pleasure ripped through her.

He groaned. Orgasm rolled over her in a massive wave. Margot dragged in a ragged breath. Air, she needed air. Light erupted behind her eyelids. Air rushed around her in a raging cyclone. She dropped onto the bed, Colin on top of her, pounding into her heat from behind, one arm wrapped in an iron grip around her waist. He slid a hand between her and the bed, found the sensitive nub hidden in the curls, and massaged it in quick spurts. Margot cried out. His breath, hot across the flesh of her neck sent her over the edge of a second orgasm that spasmed her body. She clutched at the sheets in an effort to slow the spiral. The rush of air grew in intensity.

“Air,” she rasped.

Pleasure mixed with the pain of being ripped apart. Her chest constricted, lungs felt as if they were collapsing in on themselves.
Is this what it felt like to have her life force drained from her?

Yes, this is real
.

Just as he—this place—was real. Pleasure engulfed her. His rod slammed harder into her. Was she willing to die, to remain trapped here with him? Could she escape this inexorable pull?

“You give yourself to me?” he demanded.

His warmth enveloped her despite the fear that twisted her stomach. He couldn’t be a killer. But she'd thought the same about Cat.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. She couldn’t be that wrong
again
. Could she? His fingers tightened around her waist.

No.

Margot slid a hand between her and the bed and covered the hand gripping her waist. His hold loosened, and she entwined her fingers with his. His fingers tightened around hers as he pounded into her.

Pleasure steamrolled across her senses.
Pressure crushed her into the mattress. His cock stroked her walls in hard, fast thrusts.

He gave a shout with his climax, his cum spurting into her, and she catapulted into darkness, the feel of his hard body burned into her memory.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Margot dragged in a ragged breath so deep her lungs hurt. She coughed at the taste and smell of a sweet odor, and bolted upright. The fireplace in her room at Castle Morrison snapped into focus. Smoke rose in a thin thread from a small brass bowl on the mantle where incense curled upward beneath the painting. Margot leaped to her feet. Cat stood near the bookcase, arms wrapped around Colin Morrison. He was here, in the real world,
outside
the painting.

Cat unwound herself from the Scottish lord and met Margot’s gaze. A side of her mouth lifted with disgust. “You just don’t know when to die.”

Cat was right. Why hadn’t she died? Margot gave her head a hard shake. This wasn’t—couldn’t—be real. She lifted her wounded hand to find it bound with the strip of sheet Colin had wrapped around it. She swung her gaze onto him. Here he stood, and
she
had saved him. Tears burned. How much more wrong could she have been? Who else would die as a result of her poor judgment? He’d demanded to know if she was giving herself to him and her silence, her orgasm, had given acquiescence. She had sold her soul to the Devil for a moment of passion just as the legend predicted, just as the other women had.

His gaze raked down her body with masculine satisfaction. Heat burned her cheeks. She cursed the tremor that rocked her belly and couldn’t stop the shake in her hand when she dragged her bra and dress straps up and over her bare shoulders.

Cat’s mocking laugh broke the silence. “A little too late for modesty, isn’t it?”

Margot’s heart pounded as if it would break free and escape. The room seemed to shift. The incense, she realized. Was she still drugged?

“This can't be real,” she nearly choked the words.

“This is very real,” Cat said.

Margot stared. “You’re insane.”

“Am I?” Cat laid a hand on Colin’s chest. “Look at him, Margot.” She slid her palm upward.

Even through the white, linen shirt Margot discerned the muscled chest she’d come to know too well. She frowned. Seconds ago, Colin had been naked on his bed. Why was he dressed? Her stomach roiled. She had given herself to this man, this
serial killer
. Her knees weakened. She’d wanted him.

“Isn’t he magnificent?” Cat said.

Colin took Cat’s hand, kissed the edge of her palm, then released her and started toward Margot. She stumbled back a pace and wobbled when her calves bumped into the soft edge of the mattress. Satisfaction lit his eyes. She forced back rising panic and straightened.

Colin stopped an inch from her. “I am pleased ye escaped the spell.” He traced her cheek with a finger.

Margot shoved his hand away. “Keep your fucking hands off me.”

His brow shot up. “You did no' disdain my touch in there.” He motioned toward the painting.

Margot gave a condescending laugh. “Law enforcement teaches women to do whatever their attacker demands in order to stay alive.”

Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Aye, but do they teach her to like it?”

“They teach us to convince our attackers we like it.” She threw her head back in a pose of ecstasy. “Oh, yes, yes,
yes
.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and groaned, then straightened and met his gaze. “Surely, I’m not the first woman to fake it with you?”

His mouth thinned. “You were not pretending when I fucked you against the wall in my bed chambers.”

She blinked. That was the time he would remind her of, not the time a few minutes ago when his firm but tender touch made her come again and again? Her heart twisted. The tenderness had all been a ruse to get her to give herself willingly—which she'd done. But that was then, and this was now.

Margot gave a condescending snort. “Turnabout is fair play, wouldn’t you say,
Logan
?”

“Colin,” Cat whimpered.

“Quiet,” he ordered, his gaze still on Margot. “Ye prefer
him
to me?”

“I would prefer that prison to you.” She glanced at the picture and startled at sight of the swirl of incense around the window where she’d first seen him. Was that a figure in the smoke?

“Colin,” Cat cried.

“She is mine,” he snarled.

“But you don’t need her. You have me.”

He seized Margot’s shoulders and shoved her backwards. She fell across the bed, him on top of her. Her stomach lurched when his erection jabbed her belly. She hugged him close and heaved them off the bed. They hit the floor with a thud, her on top.

She shoved upright and threw a hard right punch to his jaw. Pain splintered through her hand. His grip loosened. She pushed to her feet. He caught her skirt. Margot stumbled,
then
kicked his ribs. He released her and she leaped back.

A rush of air filled her ears and the room spun. Margot whirled. Smoke rose from the bowl like a twister. Her pulse jumped. Sweet Christ, was she being sucked back into the picture? Dark eyes appeared in the eddy.