The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher
Lorcan
War is exhausting.
It’s been over a week since I stepped foot on the Quinn estate. Since I slept in my own bed. Ate at my own table.
Since I saw my China Doll.
She doesn’t hear me enter the Museum, nor does she hear me take the stairs, two at a time.
I lean my aching body against the door frame of the workshop, drinking in the view. She’s hunched over the woodworking table, cloth in hand and tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth as she stains a mahogany frame.
My lungs fill with the air I’ve been desperate to breathe all week. It’s filled with paint fumes and dust, but it smells like a bunch of goddamn roses compared to the network of tunnels underneath the city, where I’ve been torturing every Bratnov and anyone even remotely connected to their network that I can get my hands on. I used to relish my time down there; the tangy iron smell of an enemy’s blood, the piercing screams dulled by the heavy concrete walls.
But it’s different now. I couldn’t wait to get out of there and into the sun, to see my Poppy.
When I’ve had enough of looking and not touching, I stroll into the room and pull out Poppy’s earphones. She shrieks at my touch, twisting around and pointing her weapon at me.
I laugh. It feels good to laugh after spending all week barking orders at my men and growling at my enemies. “A paintbrush?” I drawl, nodding to the magnetic tool strip against the wall. “You have more torture devices than I do, and you choose a paintbrush?”
Once the shock melts from her pretty little features, they dissolve into a grin. It’s sheepish, but I’ll take it. “Now I know why you left me this,” she produces the iPod shuffle from the top pocket of her overalls, “so you can sneak up on me without warning.”
My lips twitch in amusement; I’m unable to take my eyes off her.
Or my hands.
“Come here,” I murmur, hooking my hands around her denim straps and pulling her to my body. It’s almost impossible to stifle the groan when I burrow my face in the top of her head. She melts into my body, and I’m pleasantly surprised when she wraps her arms around me too. She leans back, just enough to tilt her chin up to me.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For the iPod shuffle?” I tease. “It’s probably one of the oldest antiques in here.”
She tosses her head back and laughs hard enough for her hair to cascade down her back and brush my forearms. Then she nods to the workstation. “For this. I’ve barely left this room all week.”
I stroke her satin cheek. “Well, it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.”
With a pathetic slap to my chest and a dramatic roll of her eyes, she twists out of my grasp and picks up the frame on the table, like a preschooler showing his mom what he drew in class. “This is lovely.”
“Georgian,” I say, taking it from her grasp and inspecting the intricate carving of the frame. “Early 18th Century. I picked it up at an auction in the English countryside. Belonged to George II himself. Used to hang in my dining hall.”
She nods, impressed, before tilting her head to me. “The glass was smashed.”
“I put a fist through it.”
“Why?”
“My scallops were cold.”
Her emerald eyes study me, not able to tell if I’m joking or not. I am, by the way. Kind of. I did indeed punch through the mirror, but not because of fucking scallops. But because dinner was over thirty minutes late.
“Remind me to never cook for you.”
The lightheartedness in her tone makes one of the millions of scars on my heart heal. I’ve seen more terror this week than most see in a lifetime. I’m glad I don’t have to see it in her eyes too.
It allows me to pretend I don’t put the fear of God into her, even if just for today.
I rest my palms on the table for a few moments, doing nothing but watching her work. She dips the fine paintbrush in the stain, before dragging it across the curved ridges with mesmerizing precision. Despite me looming over her, she’s so still.
Studying Poppy work is almost hypnotic. Soothing. But it’s not long before my attention is taken away from her hardworking hands to the neckline of her cotton T-shirt underneath her overalls. Every time she leans closer to the table she reveals more milky skin, more of the curve of her cleavage.
It’s not long, not long at all, until my primal urges take over.
I reach out to grab her wrist, twisting her into me once more. We both ignore the paintbrush clattering to the floor. “I forgot something,” I murmur into the curve of her ear, enjoying how the goosebumps rise to the surface of her skin under my lips.
She gasps. “And what was that?”
I run my hands up the back of her thighs, and when I reach the curve of her ass, I hitch her onto the edge of the work surface. “To frisk search you on arrival. I have to make sure you’re not concealing any tools.”
“I’m innocent,” she chokes out, eyes wild, the hint of a smile turning up her lips.
“Innocent?” I raise an eyebrow and lift her hand to my cheek. “This scar says otherwise.” Then, I dip my head into the crook between her neck and shoulder, nipping along the length of her throat.
She tastes so sweet I want to take a fucking bite out of her. I love how her throat vibrates under my lips, how her pulse throbs faster and faster when I start unbuttoning her overalls.
“I’m not smuggling anything, I swear,” she says, the fire burning in her eyes. She lifts her hips up, helping me slide her overalls off. They fall into a pool of denim on the dusty floor.
“I’m going to strip search you and check every cavity myself to make sure.”
With that, I crush my mouth against hers, my lips hungry for the taste of her tongue and my hands greedy for the touch of her smooth, naked ass. I rip off her bra and panties like a lion readying its prey.
“Get on your hands and knees,” I growl, lightly spanking her soft ass cheek. When her breath hitches in her throat, I lower my tone, a broad sweep of my fist sending paint pots and tools flying across the room. But I gently place the frame she’s working on onto the floor. “I don’t ask twice, China Doll. Hands and knees. Now.”
She does what she’s told this time, flipping over on the table. “Present yourself to me.”
My sweet, innocent Poppy hesitates .”Uh—”
If I weren’t so goddamn horny, I’d laugh. “Spread yourself, baby. Show me your pussy.”
Her hands reach around, her red fingernails pulling her pussy mound apart. I can’t stifle my moan this time; no red-blooded male could. As she pulls apart her milky flesh, her pink pussy lips reveal themselves like a blooming flower. Already, her hole is glistening with anticipation. “Good girl,” I moan. When her knees buckle at my tone, I lean over her, pushing the bulge in my suit pants against her wetness, and lower myself to her ear. “You like being a good girl for me, don’t you, baby?”
“Yes,” she breathes. I love how her skin flusters, the cocktail of excitement and embarrassment turning her pale skin a beautiful shade of red.
“I can’t hear you,” I say sharply, sinking my teeth into her exposed neck.
“Y-yes,” she stammers, louder this time.
Ugh, she’s so fucking hot.
I turn my attention back to her parted lips, lowering myself to my knees to get up close and personal with her sex. “You’re wet for me already, baby,” I murmur, transfixed by the glistening hole. I circle it with my finger, causing a loud moan from Poppy, and then wipe the trickle of excitement running down the inner thigh.
When I lift my finger to my lips, it’s like crack. One taste is never enough.
I plunge my face into her pussy, thrusting my tongue into her barely used hole. Knowing that I’m the only man in the world that’s ever put my cock in this tight little ring is driving me wild. I slide the point of my tongue down through the silky, puffy flesh of her lips, then hover, teasing her, just above her swollen clit.
Something between a moan and gurgle escapes her lips, and she pushes her ass against my tongue. Her forwardness earns her a light spank on her ass. “Stay still. You know I won’t ask you twice.”
Her thighs quiver, her muffled pleas floating through them like music to my ears. It doesn’t take long until my self-control disappears into a puff of smoke, and I wrap my lips around her clit and suck. Hard.
Now I let her knees buckle and let her ass push into my face. I let her grind her sex against me as I suck, nibble and bite her clit, stopping only to travel the small distance to her hole and fuck her with my tongue.
“Please,” she gasps.
I tear my mouth away from my latest obsession long enough to ask, “Please what?”
“Please fuck me,” she all but sobs.
Her words melt away the last fraction of resolve I have left. Fueled by nothing short of animalistic desire, I free my dick from the constraints of my zipper and slide it into her tight cunt. Remembering she’s only done this once before, I just about manage to stop myself from plowing into her. Instead, I grit my teeth and slide into her slowly, letting out a throaty moan when she gasps; and again, when her pussy conforms to my cock like a custom-made glove. “This pussy is mine,” I growl, palming her ass. “Whose pussy is this?”
There’s no hesitation this time. Her words come from deep in her chest, laced with lust and longing. “Yours,” she chokes, curling her fist against the table as I pump into her. “It’s yours, Lorcan. I belong to you.”
I belong to you.
The breathless words tumbling from her lips are too much for my cock to handle. I wind my fist in her hair, making her arch her back and expose her beautiful tits to me, and pull her back against my chest. Hot, thick ropes explode from me, filling up her tight cunt. “Good girl,” I whisper in her ear as the orgasm washes over me, “you good fucking girl.”
She’s still panting and withering against me, frictionless from our glistening skin. “Lean back on your heels,” I demand.
She does so carefully, my cock sliding out of her wetness. I dip my hand between her thighs and catch my cum as it falls out her pussy. Nibbling and sucking on her earlobe, I reach over her, holding her back against my chest. Then I spread my juices over her swollen pussy, using it like lube.
My not-so-innocent China Doll leans all of her weight against my chest, her breasts bouncing as she grinds against my palm. One hand massaging her pussy, I use the other to roll her stiffened nipples between my thumb and forefinger, pinching and pulling harder and harder to the tune of her moans.
When she comes, it’s hard and hypnotic. She buckles against my palm, filling it with fresh juices, every fiber of her body quivering against my chest.
I hold her there until her breathing slows, and her eyes open again, a small, bashful smile lingering on her lips.
I spin her round to face me, pulling her legs around my waist. “My little China Doll,” I murmur, planting the most gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. Her eyes are glazed over, still riding the high of her orgasm. Then, she buries herself into my arms, her heart beating out of her chest and against mine.
War seems a million miles away when she’s in my arms.