Taken by the Beast (The Conduit Series Book 1) (22 page)

He seemed actually upset now. Was it really that big of a deal?

“It was just a smack on your butt,” I said. “It was meant to be playful.”

“In my time, it would be considered completely unacceptable.”

I motioned around us. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t ‘your time’ anymore.”

He stepped in closer. “But it is my house.”

I bit my lip, and his hand slid up to caress a tendril of my hair. “How would you like it if I had done that to you?” he asked. “You would probably be ranting at me this very second about how degrading it is for a man to do that to a woman.”

There was no denying the red hot blush that fired up in my cheeks. “Some people enjoy that kind of thing.”

His eyebrows rose. “Well, I don’t.” He spun me around and pulled my body against his, his pelvis pressed against my back side. His hands held my arms crossed against my body, pinning my wrists at my hips. “Perhaps
you
are one of those people, though.”

“I don’t really know much about that whole BDSM thing, to be honest,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. But my heart was thundering in my chest, and there was no way he didn’t sense that.

“I am not familiar with that. Is it new age?”

I tried not to laugh. “To you, maybe.”

“I’m not laughing, Charisse,” he said sternly. It was hot the way he said it, though I couldn’t be sure if that was what he was going for. I wished I could see his expression, get a better read on him. “It wasn’t long ago that it was considered acceptable for a man to spank his woman for her misdeeds.”

My inner modern-day woman bristled. “But not for a woman to spank her man?” I countered. “You don’t think that’s biased?”

“On the one hand, what’s fair is fair. You got a good swat at me.” He breathed against my scalp, and his hips shifted behind mine, shooting a pleasurable tingle between my thighs. “On the other hand, I still think I ought to teach you a lesson.”

Now there was some playfulness in his voice; meanwhile, I was appalled by the way my body was reacting to this conversation.

“Do you know what that tells me, Charisse?”

I shook my head.

“Answer me.”

“No,” I whispered.

“It tells me I ought to spank you with both my hands.” He released me and turned me back to face him. “But I’m not going to.”

“You’re not?” I asked, surprised by his words as well as my disappointment.

“No,” he said, sliding his hand down my arm. “You taught me something important today.”

“I did?”

He nodded, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You taught me the importance of apologizing. Now it’s your turn. You are to show me how sorry you are.”

“I’m—uh—what?”

He kissed me hard on the mouth, backing me up against the wall and pressing his body against mine. Then he pulled back. My body shot into overdrive, and my hands slid over his hard chest and chiseled biceps. There was just so … much of him.

“Show me, Charisse.”

My entire body trembled. “Show you how?”

Raising his eyebrows, he leaned back against the arm of the couch beside us. “Use your imagination.”

I swallowed around the lump forming in my throat and stepped closer to him. I’d never been ordered around like this in the bedroom … or living room … before. I was turned on and shutting down all at once.

I ran my fingertips along his collarbone and then down the length of his arm, trying to work up the courage to do something—or rather, the one thing I knew drove most men crazy.

His eyes blazed, and my heart thudded wildly. But he just stood there, stone still and hard as a rock … in more ways than one. Gosh, I felt like I virgin all over again. Like some prude idiot. My hand finally found the way to his erection, gliding over it through his rough jeans. His body stiffened, and his jaw flexed. He wanted me, I knew that much.

I fumbled with his belt, unbuckled his pants, and carefully undid his zipper before tugging on his pants just a little. They hugged his thighs, and as I pulled the jeans lower, his erection sprung out. I caressed it with my fingertips, careful not to upset anything with my perfectly manicured fingernails. Then I slipped both my hands up under his shirt to push it off over his head.

Suddenly I felt the weight of all his experience against my own. It wasn’t that I was at all inexperienced, but when we’d had sex the first time, I hadn’t realized that he literally had centuries of conquests before me. Now here I was, trying to—I don’t know—impress him? Show him, somehow, that I was sorry I smacked that fine ass of his? Because, well, that wasn’t true at all. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

His hand slid to my shoulder, and his thumb caressed the side of my neck as I kissed his chest. Slowly I trailed my kisses down his stomach, across his waist, inside his thighs. His erection pulsed, and a small burst of triumph coursed through me. I was driving him as crazy as he drove me.

I stole a glance at him, and immediately regretted it. Looking up at him from my knees, with his intense gaze bearing down on me, was nothing short of intimidating. He was watching my every move.

I quickly averted my attention to focus on the task at hand. Moving my kisses to his cock, I covered the length first in soft rubs of my lips, then twirled my tongue around the head before taking him into my mouth. I’d forgotten how large he was—and not just his body.
Everywhere
. It made this sexual offering a little … difficult.

My fingernails scraped down the tops of his thighs as I worked him with my mouth, and he responded instantly with a low moan. His skillful fingers tangled in my hair, encouraging me to continue. Finally I felt like he was really getting into it, his hips giving small thrusts to get more from me, but then he nudged me away.

“Enough,” he said breathlessly. He pulled me to my feet. “God, you’re amazing.”

“I don’t think God wants anything to do with what we’re up to right now,” I said cheekily.

He grinned, his hands possessing me at the hips. “You’re probably right.”

“So you forgive me?” I asked. This little ‘game’ was proving to be the perfect escape from everything that lay ahead, and I was ready to submerge myself into every moment of it.

“Not yet,” he said, starting to slowly strip me of my own clothes. “I don’t think you’re actually feeling very sorry for what you did.”

Guilty as charged. Sorry was not the word I would use to describe how I felt right now at all.

“You know, Charisse, you are a powerful woman. And I don’t just mean because of your Supplicant blood.” My shirt and bra were already on the floor by this point, and now my pants joined them. “It’s who you are. It’s in your nature.”

“I suppose then you’ve met your match.”

He tilted his head to the side, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe.”

I did not like that word one bit. Not in response to what I just said. I started to pull back, but Abram held me firm.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing for you to surrender sometimes. To let someone else make decisions. It’s not a weakness to let someone else take control of you for a little bit now and then.”

“Someone?” I asked. “Or you?”

He spun me around again, this time bending me over the arm of the couch and tugging down my underwear. My whole body went hot. His hands slid lower on my hips, the heels of his palms grazing my ass.

“You’re right. Just me. You want all of me, Charisse?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. He did not just ask me that!

“Heaven help us, you have a dirty mind, Miss Bellamy,” he said, slipping into his old name for me like it had become a kinky afterthought. He pressed closer to me, his cock nudging against my intimate folds. “I mean, you want me, body, mind, soul. Correct?”

“Oh,” I said breathlessly. “I think you know that already.”

“I do,” he said. “And that’s why you should understand that I want you in the same way. I want you to belong to me.”

The head of his cock pressed into me, but he did not push any farther. He trailed a finger down my spine, stopping just below the small of my back to trace small circles as he throbbed inside of me. Some part of me was telling me I had to argue with his choice of words—“belong to me”—but the other part of me just wanted him to fuck me and tell me I’m pretty.

My arousal was making it hard to think, and my body squirmed. I pressed my hips back, wanting to take more of him, overwhelmed by how impossibly hard her was, but he firmed his grip to hold me still.

“Not yet, Charisse.” He paused, and the heat radiating off of him alone was enough to set me on fire.

I took a slow, deep breath. I wasn’t sure if he was doing this to drive me crazy or to control his own impulses, but I think he was accomplishing both either way.

“You’re your own woman,” he said, sliding in a smidge deeper, stretching me and making me feel empty all at once. “So you do realize it would still be your decision, even if your choice was to be my woman? To surrender every now and then? It may be more empowering than you think.”

I could fight it all I wanted, but there could be only one authority in this relationship, and Abram claimed that role long ago, despite any resistance on my end. And deep down, I liked it that way.

“You already have me, Abram,” I whispered.

With that, he leaned over me, pressing his lips against my ear. “I know.”

I gasped at the feeling of fullness as his erection pushed the rest of the way inside of me. Abram was larger than life, in more ways than one. And in that moment, I felt more full than I ever had before. My heart, my body. My undeniable love for him. The lusting ache that begged for release. This new freedom to stop worrying about being a Modern Day Woman and just let this man ravish me. He was right. It was much more empowering than being the boss of our relationship.

That is, until I was about to climax, and Abram pulled away.

I turned around. “Why did you stop?”

He pulled me to him and cradled body against his chest.

“Your lesson,” he said, kissing my temple.

He released me to gather my clothes from the floor and toss them to the other side of the room, then dressed himself.

“My lesson?” I asked, stumbling over the words. “What are you talking about?”

Why was he pulling on his clothes? I’d met men who didn’t care if a woman got off or not, but Abram wasn’t one of them … and he hadn’t even taken care of his own needs yet.

Abram dressed himself and then scooped me up in his arms and laid me out on chaise lounge. “Your lesson, Charisse. To respect me in my home—and everywhere else. That is how you will get what you want from me.”

“Don’t you want the same thing I do?”

He nodded, kneeling between my legs and rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. My body shuddered, every nerve cell alight with need

“Of course,” he said. “But I also want to see you beg for forgiveness.”

“For slapping your ass, Abram? Really?”

My sentiment was cut off by a gasp as his leaned over and flicked his tongue against my nipple. He stopped and let me finish.

“You’re can’t be serious,” I breathed.

“You saw me grovel to Satina today,” he said, his hand slipping between my legs. “You’re so wet,” he added, sliding a finger inside of me, and then another. “When you can convince me you are sorry as well as I convinced Satina that I was, I’m going to give you the biggest orgasm of your life.”

I didn’t doubt for a second he could, but I wasn’t sure how to convince him I was sorry, though the way his fingers were so skillfully pumping into me was a great motivator.

“I am sorry,” I tried.

Abram chuckled. “No, you’re not.”

His fingers worked inside of me, and my body writhed against the crushed velvet of his chaise lounge. His thumb grazed at my clit with each movement of his hand, sending me into the depths of erotic insanity. My fingers splayed through his hair, and my back arched as a moan escaped my lips. Again he stopped. By the third time he put me through this unique brand of torture, bringing me to that brink only to withdraw his attention again, I was equally infuriated and desperately sorry.

This must have been how he felt apologizing to Satina, sans the arousal.

I gasped, reaching down to grab his hands and stop him from starting again. “I’m sorry, Abram. I swear. I MEAN IT, OKAY?”

He brushed me away, smirking, ready to start again, but I snatched his hand once more. I had become desperate. I couldn’t take any more. I needed release.

“I swear on every Gucci dress I own, I will never smack your butt again.
Please
, Abram.”

He sat back and pressed his lips together triumphantly. “Well, that wouldn’t be much fun …”

His coy grin nearly sent me over the edge, and I grabbed him by his shirt and pulled his body on top of mine until his lips crushed against my own. He could have resisted—he was only infinitely stronger than me—but he fell between my legs with ease. I bucked my hips against him, and he ground his pelvis in return, his jeans rough against my skin. But I didn’t care.

He pulled back, just enough that I could make out the strong lines of his face. “Well, I suppose if you’re truly sorry …”

“I am,” I said breathless and desperate. “Now, will you please fuck me proper?”

“Of course, Miss Bellamy. I love it when you’re proper.”

And not to my surprise, Abram delivered the orgasm of my life, just as he promised.

It was only moments after every muscle in my body contracted and relaxed in the most exquisite of respites, however, that the door burst open.

I threw myself back, covering myself with my hands. My clothes were in a pile on the other side of the room, and standing here, in the middle of Abram’s living room, was the one person we weren’t prepared to face.

Dalton.

Dalton, and several other police officers along with him. All wearing bulletproof vests, their guns drawn.

“Charisse, are you …” His voice trailed off as he looked up. “Jesus Christ.”

Following his eyes, I found the source of his astonishment wasn’t finding me here naked. It was who—or rather
what
—I was with.

Where Abram had only moments ago been lying beside me now resided a hulking, fanged, and feral beast.