The Enemy in My Bed by L.K. Shaw
Chapter 19
Mila
“Who’s Anya?”The voice comes from out of the dark.
I let loose a muffled scream and roll to my side with a jolt, nearly falling off the edge before catching myself. My heart beats wildly in my chest. A dark shadow shifts, and then a soft light flares to life, bringing with it the man seated in the bedside chair.
I sit up and scoot to the head of the bed, pulling the covers up and tucking the fabric around my waist.
“Anya?” Pierce asks again. “You’ve cried out for her in your sleep several times. Who is she?”
If his tone had been demanding, I might refuse to answer, but there is only curiosity.
“My little sister,” I finally reply.
“The one Mikhail sold?”
“Yes.”
He sits there, silent, the only movement is the muscles around his jaw as though he clenches his teeth. Even Pierce’s expression has been wiped clear. I can’t read him any longer. My trembling slows until, at last, it disappears. The quiet between us grows, as does my anxiousness. Will he fuck me again? He hasn’t since that day in the living room. Do I want him to?
Before I can answer the question, he rises from the chair, the motion fluid and unhurried. In two steps he’s closed the distance between us and stands towering over me. His face is hidden in shadows, but I’ve memorized every feature, from the icy brown eyes that don’t always seem so cold, to the full lips I shouldn’t enjoy the taste of but do.
Some compulsion makes me let the sheet go. I lean up and make my way to my knees until I’m kneeling directly in front of him. With the closeness, I can make out his eyes. They’re locked onto me with an almost daring heat. As though they belong to someone else, I lift my arms and slip the top button of his shirt through the hole. Then another. And another, until the soft cotton gapes open, exposing the colorful ink decorating the right side of his chest.
I study each and every line, tracing them with my eyes. Scars only add to the picture painted on the canvas of his skin. My gaze flicks to the left side and latches onto a single tattoo over where his heart lies. It’s a beautifully delicate crown, almost in complete contrast to the harsh red-eyed skull that graces his throat. I reach out to trace the pattern, but Pierce grabs my wrist before my fingers can make contact.
“Don’t touch that one,” he says.
I swallow and dip my head in a shallow nod. He releases his hold and my arm hovers in the air awkwardly. It clearly holds some special meaning and my caress will sully it. Shaking off the unexpected hurt, I return to undressing him as though nothing of significance just occurred. His shirt glides over his shoulders with a simple push. I drag the sleeves down his arms and let it fall to the floor behind him.
Next comes his pants, the muscles of his abdomen twitching with each stroke of my fingers across them. The fabric drops, and he steps out of each leg, kicking them slightly off to the side. I haven’t questioned him when he toes off his shoes at the door and leaves them there, but I find his habit interesting. He reaches down and removes his socks.
Before I can take a breath, his large hand cradles the back of my head, and he lowers his mouth to mine, pushing his way past my lips to lash his tongue against mine. My hands go to his shoulders to steady myself. The heat from his skin sears mine and tingles race up my arms and down my chest to settle deep inside my belly. It happens each time he touches me.
His kiss surprises me. It’s an intimacy I would never suspect from someone like him. Especially since he regards me as an enemy. I should put a stop to it myself. Or at least try. But it’s the first time someone has treated me this gently. He’s just using me. I’m not stupid, but I can’t seem to stop myself from enjoying it. For as long as it lasts, anyway.
Pierce palms my breast, and I forget about everything except his touch and the pleasure he gives. He deepens the kiss and a moan quickly turns to a gasp from the pinch of pain in my nipple between his fingers. I press myself harder against his hand.
He takes pity on me and yanks my oversized tee up and over my head. Then his lips return to mine, and he slides my panties down. Before I can catch my breath, he has me on my back, yanking the cotton off my legs. Pleasure pours through me at the feel of his tongue at my core. Pierce laps up the wetness spilling from me, drinking it as though he can’t quench his thirst.
Calloused fingers trace my slit and add to the sensation, and I buck my hips up, trying to get more. A single digit slides, far too slowly, inside, pumping gently in and out. Then a second one joins the first, and the pressure increases. He lashes at my clit, soothing the slight sting with a gentle swipe.
The friction of his tongue isn’t enough to push me over the edge. It’s merely enough to tease and torment. I’m completely under his control. The tension builds, and just as it crests, he pulls back. I whimper.
“Please—” I bite my tongue.
He stares up at me from between my legs with an inscrutable expression. Our eyes lock. Am I imagining the cold, ice-like eyes of his have thawed in the slightest? He blinks and the thought is gone as he dips his head again and returns to his feast. In seconds, my arousal ramps up, and he takes pity on me. Tingles shoot from every nerve ending in my clit, and as he thrusts his fingers back inside me, my whole body shudders with its release.
He bites down on my engorged flesh, and I scream from the pain-pleasure. My fingers clutch his head to me. He doesn’t relent. Just continues to wring every ounce of pleasure he can, until the pain overrides the pleasure, and I can’t take the sensation anymore. Still, he doesn’t stop. He continues lashing at my sensitive clit, and curls his fingers inside me. More spasms shake my body until I collapse in an exhausted heap.
Pierce isn’t finished with me, though. His warm lips glide up my body until he reaches my mouth. I taste myself on his lips. It’s slightly sweet. I’m caged in, his forearms on either side of my head. His cock rests against my pussy, throbbing with its need. He rocks his hips against mine and captures my gasp. There’s pressure, and I’m full of him. His thickness stretches me as he settles himself as deep as he can go.
The sensations he evokes are like nothing I’ve felt. Against my will, tears threaten to well in my eyes. I try to blink them back, but one spills out of the corner. Pierce raises his head and looks down at me. Several more leak out and disappear into my hair and the pillow beneath me. He lowers his head and catches the salty wetness with his tongue.
He begins to move, shallow thrusts at first. The friction against my sensitive clit is painful, but he doesn’t stop. Harder and faster he pistons in and out, going deeper each time. My nails dig into his shoulders as the hurt is almost more than I can take. I close my eyes against it.
“Look at me.” Pierce’s command is deep and guttural.
My eyes fly open. Our gazes latch together. This time, there is no mistaking the heat burning from his irises. They’ve turned almost the color of pitch. Emotions pass between us.
Desire.
Lust.
There’s no holding back the desire he makes me feel. Pierce knows exactly how to touch me. To caress me. I’m a captive to the lust he inspires. Is the pain he causes my punishment for making him feel the same things I do?
Tension builds, and the sweet agony transitions to bitter pleasure with each upward motion of his pelvis rocking against me until I can’t hold back. Another orgasm rips through me. On its heels, Pierce’s groan echoes in my ears as he holds himself still, spilling inside my body. He didn’t put on a condom.
Why didn’t he put on a condom?
Panic seizes me, and I frantically push at his shoulders and buck my hips, which does nothing but lodge him deeper inside me. “Get off me!” I cry. “Get off. Get off. Get off.”
Far too slowly, Pierce withdraws. His seed leaks from my body. He moves off the bed to stand over me. I scramble to my feet and rush into the bathroom to turn on the shower. Before it even heats up, I jump inside and start scrubbing away, trying to wash him out of me.
Nightmares of the past rear up, threatening to consume me. The helplessness. The pain. The shame. This can’t be happening again. My mouth waters like I’m going to vomit, and I swallow it down, willing the nausea away.
He enters the bathroom behind me, watching. Minutes pass until I finally feel like I removed every bit of his fluid. I don’t want to leave the confines of the shower, though. Not with Pierce standing there. Soon, the water turns cold, and I’m forced to shut it off. To my shock, he hands me a towel.
Once I’ve dried myself off, I skate past him, making sure we don’t touch. He snags my arm, though, stopping me, and I flinch. He doesn’t release his hold. I won’t look at him. I can’t.
“I won’t forget next time,” he says, his voice low.
My only response is a jerky nod. Pierce lets go, and I scurry into the bedroom. I quickly dress, avoiding looking at the bed. Without bothering to turn on a light, I make my way to the living room. The couch is soft beneath me, and I curl up against the arm and pull my knees to my chest. Moments pass and his footsteps grow louder until he stops short of me. I hold my breath. Please don’t say anything. Please.
The darkness is a welcoming comfort. So long as Pierce doesn’t speak. I feel too fragile at the moment. If words pass his lips, I may just break. A warm blanket covers me. He moves away. The front door opens and closes leaving me in total silence. The heavy weight of it an almost crushing presence.
