Living in Shadow (Living In…) (11 page)

She panted, her breaths coming in short gasps.

She couldn’t figure out if she was terrified or the most turned on she’d ever been.

“I know you’re afraid,” Luc said in her ear. “So I want you to listen to my voice. Don’t think. Don’t speak. Don’t move. And don’t try to control this.”

“Why not?” she asked thickly.

“Because I want to set you free.”

She closed her eyes, shivering against the surge of longing that went through her. Because she wasn’t free, was she? No matter how much she wanted to be. No matter how strongly she tried to deny it.

Piers still had his hands around her neck and he was choking her.

“Free from what?” she managed.

“Fear.” His hands slid up her sides to her shoulders, his breath whispering across her nape as his mouth brushed her skin, making the shivers worse. “But there’s nothing to be afraid of with me. Like I told you, all of this is for you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, unexpected tears pushing against her closed lids. Jesus, she was a mess. “I can’t—”

“Quiet.” His mouth then his teeth grazed the delicate tendons of her neck.

Little sparks of electricity flashed across her skin, the rest of what she’d been going to say dying in her throat. But she didn’t want to say it anyway. What she wanted was to let go. Do exactly what he said.

“Put your hands on the wall and keep them there,” he said.

Her body moved in obedience before she could rationalize it, but she didn’t fight. She wanted this. She wanted Lucien. And she was sick of fighting it.

“Good,” Luc murmured, putting his hands over hers and holding them there. “Fuck, you smell good.” His voice was rough and for some reason that made the unease inside her loosen and relax.

One powerful arm wound around her waist, bringing him hard against her. The wall was at her front, Luc at her back, the heat of him like the desert sun at midday or a roaring furnace. Melting her and her fears. Her doubts.

His hands began pulling up her skirt, palms sliding up her thighs, making her legs shake. “And you feel good too. I know it’s a cliché but touching you makes me think of silk. All fine and smooth.” Her skirt was now up around her waist, her legs bare. “I don’t think we need these now, do you?” His fingers slid into her panties, pulling them aside. “I wanted to do this slow, but I can’t wait. I want to push my cock into your tight little pussy, feel your heat.” Those clever, knowing fingers stroked her sex, sliding into her. His voice a breath across the back of her neck. “I’m so cold and I need you to warm me up.”

She couldn’t get a breath. Her legs were shaking. Dimly, a voice was telling her this was too much, out of control, but she didn’t want to listen to that voice. Luc’s was closer, warmer. Rougher. And the feel of his fingers on her, in her, made her want to scream.

“Can you feel what you do to me?” he whispered, his hips pushing against hers so she could feel the length of his cock pressing against the curve of her butt. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Every time you walked into a room, all I could think about was this. Your pussy all wet from my fingers. Ready for my cock. Yeah, I think you want this as badly as I do.”

Desire pulsed inside her, hot, demanding. Building on the erotic sound of his voice and the words he used, rough, basic language that spoke to her on a level she didn’t understand. At least her brain didn’t. But her body understood perfectly, an orgasm gathering tightly inside her as he slid another finger in deep.

She leaned her forehead against the wall, shaking. A part of her was trying to hold on, clinging to her identity, trying not to lose herself in the storm of physical sensation that grew more and more intense. A part of her that was terrified of what it would mean to let go. To throw herself off the cliff and let sensation take her. Physical pleasure had blinded her in the past…

“Don’t think, Eleanor.” His voice was dark, the lilt of his accent more noticeable now. “I can almost hear you thinking. Don’t.” The pressure of his thumb against her clit made her gasp aloud. “Yes, that’s what I want. To hear you moan. To know that I’m doing this to you. Making you scream with pleasure.”

She heard him shift behind her, his hands falling away, and couldn’t stop the soft sound of protest that came from her.

“Stand still,” he said. “Don’t move. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Another shift and the sound of a zipper being lowered. The rustle of foil. The harsh sound of his breathing. He pulled her panties down, pressing lightly against the back of her knees, urging her to step out of them. Then he was back against her and this time she felt the length of his cock between her thighs, pressing against the folds of her sex. Demanding entrance. Something inside her clenched in fear and she must have made a sound because his mouth brushed her nape, then her ear. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I want you. Fuck, I want you so much.”

One arm slid around her waist again, holding her there. And then he was pushing into her, slow and deep, and she was making sounds she didn’t recognize. She could feel him shake, his breathing ragged. “Oh my God. You feel so good.” There was wonder in his voice this time. The sound of revelation. “Holy Christ. I never thought… Jesus…you’re so hot. Tight.” His arm tightened. “I can’t do this slow, so you’d better hold on, Professor. Hold the fuck on.”

He stilled, deep inside her, and she was shivering like he was, her forehead pressing against the wall, her breathing as rough and as fast as his. His free hand pulled at her shirt, ripping it open, jerking aside the cups of her bra to bare her. His palm was hot as he covered one breast, his thumb pinching hard on her nipple.

She didn’t want to move because she could feel that cliff. She was right on the edge of it. And a single shift would send her tumbling over.

Luc thrust, a high, hard movement. And a hoarse wail escaped her. He did it again and again, pinching her nipple hard, stroking her stomach, his mouth against her neck. Whispering against her skin. “Scream for me. Let me know how much you like me fucking you. How much you want my cock in your pussy. How much you want me to make you come. Do it. Do it now.”

The combination of pleasure and pain was enough. There were lights behind her eyes, a storm in her bloodstream. A hurricane. And from somewhere the words came tumbling out. “Yes… Now… I want it… I want you to fuck me…”

“Who? Say my name.”

“L-Lucien.”

“No. You know what I want.”

“Luc…” His name a broken thread of sound. “Luc… Fuck me, Luc. Please…”

And he did. Until her arms were quivering, her legs trembling, the force of his thrusts pushing her hard against that wall. And she was on the brink, so close. So damn close.

“Scream,” he whispered. “Scream for me.” His hand dropped, his finger sliding against her clit.

Eleanor screamed as the climax hit, a wild cry that echoed in the hallway, the hurricane exploding through her.

As she launched herself off that cliff.

And flew.

She convulsed around him, squeezing down on his cock, the hoarse sound of her orgasm echoing in the silence of the apartment. And he let go the leash he’d been holding so tightly on himself.

Luc gripped her hips, pinning her flat to the wall, thrusting hard and fast. His whole world had narrowed to the tight, wet heat of her around him. The scent of musk and subtle, expensive perfume. The softness of her hair as he turned his face into the side of her neck.

Jesus, he felt drunk and desperate with need, wanting her so badly it was a fucking miracle he’d held his own climax off this long. He pressed his mouth against the sweetness of her skin and shut his eyes as the orgasm barreled down on him like a freight train. Exploding through him, a molten furnace of heat and pleasure, a fierce light shining in the dark. He reached for the feeling, held on to it as long as he could because he knew how quickly those good sensations lasted—not damn long enough.

“Tu es mon soleil,”
he whispered into her hair, holding on to her tightly and not really conscious of what he was saying, the grip of pleasure making thinking slow and thick.

“What?” she murmured.

He realized he’d spoken in French.

Cold trickled through the heat. He never spoke that language anymore, deliberately leaving it behind, along with the memories that came with it. Of his mother’s kiss and his father’s strong arms. The family he’d had before the militia killed them. When he’d come back to New Zealand he’d put all those memories away in a box he’d intended never to open, making sure both the boy he’d once been and the boy he’d become in Inza’s army stayed hidden. He couldn’t do much about the color of his skin, but he’d done his damnedest to lose his accent. These days he didn’t even think in French anymore.

Until now.

Until Eleanor had unlocked it.

“Nothing,” he said, nuzzling the back of her neck then biting her gently. “Are you okay?”

She shivered in his arms. “Yes.”

“Good. Wait there for a second.” Reluctantly he withdrew from her, letting her go and moving down the hallway to the small bathroom not far away. He got rid of the condom, took a couple of seconds to get his breathing back under control then stepped back into the hall again.

She’d turned around and was in the process of pulling her skirt back down, panties clearly on again, smoothing the fabric with trembling fingers. Like she was getting ready to go. Putting her armor back in place.

No way. No
fucking
way. She’d screamed in his arms. She’d made him feel alive for the first time in years and now she was looking to leave?

“What are you doing?” he demanded, striding forward. “You’re not going?”

Her chin came up, her back straight. Walls behind her eyes and barbed wire firmly in place. “Lucien…” she began.

But he kept walking forward and didn’t stop, propelled by an anger he hadn’t realized had been simmering quietly away inside him until now. He’d done everything he could think of to reassure her and she still wasn’t going to give him a damn thing.

Hell no.

He kept going, backing her up until she bumped against the wall. “No,” he said flatly. “I want a night and you’re going to give it to me.”

“I thought you said it was my choice?” She was still flushed, her gaze impenetrable.

“And I thought you weren’t a fucking coward.”

Anger flashed across her face. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you leaving?” He put his hands on the wall on either side of her head, leaning down to look into her eyes. She looked away, but not before he saw a flash of answering heat in the gray depths. “You like me doing this. You like me in control. You came so hard you screamed. So the only reason I can think of for you leaving right now is because you’re still fucking scared.”

She turned her head. “I’m not—”

He took her chin in his hand, turning her head back, holding her pinned there with the force of his gaze. “Give me the truth.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll punish you.” He didn’t want to think about how much that excited him. How it burned a hole straight through his detachment. Oh Christ, this woman…

Perhaps you should let her go?

Yeah, he should. And if he had any fucking sense, he would. First his emotions starting to wake up and then French coming back to him… It wasn’t good. But he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Punish me?” There was sarcasm in her tone and yet an undercurrent of something more. “Honey, I’m sorry, but that might work on your little girls. It’s not going to—”

“I’m going to make you burn,” he went on softly, interrupting her. “I’m going to make you crave. I’m going to make you beg. And then, Professor, when you’re desperate for me to own you completely, I’m going to refuse. I’m going to walk away so you know exactly how it feels to desperately want what you can’t have.”

Her throat moved. She opened her mouth but before she could speak, he placed his thumb over it, silencing her. “You’re trying to protect yourself, I understand. But you don’t need to protect yourself from me, Eleanor May.” Her lips were soft against his skin. So fucking soft. “And you don’t need to pretend nothing’s wrong either. All I want is the truth. And I don’t know why you don’t want to give it to me, but if you don’t, I’m going to get on my knees, shove up your skirt, rip off your panties and suck on your clit until you’re screaming to come. Okay?”

Emotions moved over her face. Fear. Anticipation. Excitement. Her breath came faster.

He took his thumb away. “Now, tell me.”

“Why? Why the hell is it so important to you? It’s only a night, Lucien.”

She needed something more from him. He could hear it in the tremble of her voice. In which case, if pushing her was what it took to break down her walls, then he’d push. “Because I know what it’s like to be afraid, I know what it’s like to live with terror. And I don’t want that for you. I want to take it away. But I can’t until you tell me what it is.”

Her gaze slid away and she was silent so long he thought he’d failed. But then she said, “I’ve…had bad experiences in the past. With dominant men.”

He frowned, studying her. “What? Sexually?”

“Yes. I’m…well, I guess you could say I’m a submissive. At least I used to be.”

A few things clicked into place in his head. He’d never been into the BDSM lifestyle himself, but he knew of it. And Eleanor… Christ. The way she wouldn’t look him in the eye. The way she went quiet when he put his hand on the back of her neck. The way she shuddered when he held her crossed wrists behind her back…

A silence fell, but he didn’t break it, watching her. Waiting.

Eventually, she said, “My Dom was…abusive. And it ruined the whole thing for me.”

“Abusive? How? What did he do?”

Her jaw had gone tight. “If you want specifics, you’re shit out of luck. I’m not talking about that now. The only thing that matters is that I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. And that makes me afraid.”

Shit, he’d been right. Someone had hurt her. Anger clawed up inside him, an instinctive, protective response. He forced it back down. “Okay, so I get the bit about you needing to trust me. But don’t you think I need a few specifics? Because I want you to trust me, Eleanor. That’s what I’ve been trying to get from you. And I don’t want to do anything you don’t like.”