Blood Ties (Dinero de Sangre #2) - Lana Sky Page 0,49

voice so hoarse and broken I can’t speak.

Hurting him is the only language I have left to communicate with him. Raking nails and tugging fingers.

But he’s impervious, no matter how hard on his scalp I pull.

“…faking.” I feel his voice vibrate through me; it’s so guttural, overpowering every other sound to ripple through my skull. “So good at faking. My Ada. Keep faking.”

He’s taunting me, and I don’t even have the sense of mind to counter him.

My moans are shameless, reduced to whispered gasps as my voice breaks. I see stars by the time I start to believe he’ll finally take mercy on me. He’s stopped, his head resting heavily on my thighs, his pants basting the drenched skin between my legs.

“I imagined roses,” he rasps, tilting his head so that his eyes find me.

I’m too sensitive. Too raw. With one look, a pulse shoots down my spine, and I flinch; it’s damn near painful. One look, and it’s like he’s touching me all over again.

“Or bubblegum, or some shit,” he adds, his eyes narrowing. Slowly, he trails his tongue across his wet lips, tasting whatever moisture is there. The flavor must anger him. Infuriate. He glowers at me, through damp strands of black hair that frame his face like scorch marks. My devil, enraged by my taste. “How is it possible that you taste better than that?” he demands.

“Please,” I croak as he lowers his gaze, crouching between my legs again.

I’m panting, my back on fire, ass scraped raw by the stone beneath me. “Please... Enough.”

As if he would ever show me mercy.

Ruthlessly, his mouth engulfs me again. Torments me again.

The pleasure is so sharp and intense it borders on painful. It is pain, every hungry, groping touch from him. Every slow, relishing lick.

Eating is the only word that comes close to describing what it feels like. With nibbling, greedy tastes, he devours me whole.

I lose track of time and space. I just know that when the pressure finally relents, I’m leaning against a sturdy surface, softer than stone, but just as impenetrable.

“I’ve got you,” he says in a voice so rough my toes curl. “I’ve got you, Ada… Always, I’ve got you.”

Something in his tone reaches through my dazed, dizzying thoughts to some part of me beneath that stirs in alarm. It’s hard to remember why I should be. Why I shouldn’t relent to the grip of the man holding me against his chest, cradling my head against his shoulder, as he propels us both through the water. Why I should hate…

It’s like being amid the throes of the wildest, reckless, dangerous high. The rules of reality start to blend and blur, and my giddy brain tells me that anything is possible. Even the prospect of Domino Valenciaga craving me in a way that roughens his voice like I’ve never heard it.

But somewhere in the process of him lifting me from the water and carrying me across the property toward the terrace, my common sense starts to return. I wake up.

With the house looming above, there’s no denying who I am or the identity of the man holding me in his arms. I stiffen, scrambling to regain control of my limbs.

“L-Let me go,” I demand.

Either he doesn’t hear me, or he doesn’t care, swiftly mounting the bottom level of the terrace even as my palm lands harmlessly against his chest. I can’t see his face fully from this angle. Just a curtain of dark hair and the edge of his jaw, clenched so tightly it’s a firm, solid line.

He’s facing straight ahead, as though I don’t exist, even as he adjusts his grip on my body to keep me contained.

We must have been in the pool for hours. The sun is lower over the horizon, marking the hottest part of the late afternoon, not long before sundown. Bathed in the golden glow, the house looks majestic.

And more inescapable than ever, my beautiful paradise of a prison. Two figures lurk on the topmost part of the terrace, watching our approach.

One is short and diminutive in stature. Ines.

The other is tall and lithe, her blond hair swaying in a light breeze as she leans over the railing.

“Boo! No fair,” Alexi calls. “If you were going for a swim, I would have come! We could have played chicken.”

I can sense her barely concealed innuendo from here, even without having to see the simpering smile on her face.

Then I realize, that to know we went swimming, she can tell that Domino and