Black Thorns (Thorns Duet #2) by Rina Kent

Bleeding, feverish, and dying.

Slowly opening my eyes, I lift my hand, the same hand that Sebastian kissed, and stare at it in the light.

It still tingles, still feels as hot as his lips. I can imagine them on my skin, kissing, lingering as he holds me prisoner with his savage gaze.

I walk to the bed on unsteady legs and unzip my dress on the way, my breasts spilling free from the built-in bra as the material pools on the floor.

My skin feels so warm and sensitive that even the sensation of the air hitting it manages to cause discomfort.

I lie on the soft mattress and slip my tingling, hot hand that Sebastian kissed inside my panties.

My back arches off the bed as I rub my clit in slow circles.

I’m so wet that I soak my fingers in a second. It’s been such a long time since I got so aroused this fast. It feels foreign. New, even.

Or maybe I’m just projecting the past onto the present.

My pussy throbs as I slide my fingers through my folds while still stimulating my clit. Sparks of pleasure flood my starved core and I dig my teeth into the cushion of my bottom lip.

My nipples peak and I cup one with my free hand as I stare at the ceiling.

But it’s still not enough.

I close my eyes and let my imagination loose. Rough, calloused fingers pull on the tight peaks of my nipples, painfully twisting them.

A moan spills from my lips as he grabs both nipples and squeezes one between his lean fingers. Then he bites on the other one, trapping it between his teeth before he sucks it into his hot, wet mouth.

My moans and whimpers echo in the air, rising to a crescendo. It’s like I haven’t been this turned on in my entire life.

No.

I haven’t been this turned on in seven years.

And it’s all because of him.

The shadow I feel perching over me, his large, hard body squashing mine beneath him. He’s so huge, so much bigger than me.

He can hurt me.

Can ruin me.

My sticky inner thighs clench together at the thought and I thrust two fingers inside me, but in my fantasy, it doesn’t feel like them.

Not even close.

His huge cock pounds into me, stretching me until I’m whimpering and tears sting my lids. His harsh, unforgiving eyes peer into mine as he fucks me without mercy. As if he’s punishing me.

As if he wants to teach me a lesson.

I want him to kiss me, but I don’t think he’ll do it. So I just lie there, taking his punishment and the rough thrusts.

In my mind, my hand rests on his chest, feeling the stiff muscles rippling under my touch and the strong heartbeat beneath it.

He ups his rhythm until I’m gasping, holding on by a thread to the carnal pleasure that he’s ripping out of me.

“Sebastian…” I moan, and my heart jolts as the name hangs in the air, but I don’t get to think on it long as a wave of pleasure drags me under.

He doesn’t speak, though. The Sebastian from my hallucinations never does.

Usually, I don’t speak either, but today, lust takes complete hold of me until I can’t think past it.

I imagine his hand around my throat as he drives into me harder and faster. I slide off the mattress due to the power of his cock forcing its way into my pussy over and over until I’m screaming.

My orgasm goes on and on and I think I’m going to pass out from the strength of it.

I ride the pleasure, murmuring his name like a chant. I don’t want to open my eyes, don’t want to leave the fantasy and return to the world of the living.

But I do.

No matter how high I float, I always eventually crash down.

I slowly open my eyes, and just like that, the spell is broken. The scent of sex lingers in the air, but the only thing touching me is my own fingers.

I’m all alone.

A tear slides down my cheek and slips into my mouth.

It doesn’t matter how many times the scene repeats, it still hurts like a fresh wound.

I think it always will.

But today, the hurt is stronger, deeper, as if someone dug a knife into that wound.

Because when I saw him again, I couldn’t help thinking about where we might be right now if those black days in the cell had never happened.

If he hadn’t been shot and we weren’t taken.

If I hadn’t dug my nose in where it didn’t belong.

But it’s useless to think of that, isn’t it?

Not when our story has already been written.

I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand and stand up. I need to put on my steel armor to meet our guests.

As in, my fucking family.





19





Naomi





After I change into a pantsuit and release my hair so it falls to my shoulders, I head to the hall.

Akira is already waiting at the entrance of my wing.

He’s wearing a yukata with a men’s kimono that has his family’s crest embroidered on either side of his chest on top of it. This type of fine-quality traditional wear costs a small fortune, but he’s more comfortable in these clothes indoors. I think it has something to do with how he was raised in Kyoto.

Another thing he lied to me about in the letters. Akira isn’t from Tokyo.

“Ready?” He offers me his hand.

I take it. “Are they already here?”

“Yes, they’ve been waiting. Good to keep them on their toes, don’t you think?”