“What?” The word comes out as a shocked gasp.
I jerk my head back, looking around wildly. There’s no one right by the gates, but we’re out in the open, at the end of a wide avenue. Shadows are moving in the distance. Someone could walk up at any time and see us!
“Right here? In public?” I demand.
“I’m afraid so,” he murmurs, not sounding afraid at all. He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His breath is cool, but it sends a wave of heat crashing over me. “Don’t worry. I can be discreet.”
Then his mouth is on mine, and all coherent thought dissolves as I get lost in his kiss.
He kisses me, and it’s nothing like I’ve ever known. It’s not tentative or questioning—it’s a claiming.
His lips are firm, demanding my surrender, and I’m ashamed to say, I give it willingly. The taste of his mouth is incredible—like hot cinnamon candy and aged wine—dark, spicy, and addictive. He’s so big, so solid, he seems to surround me completely, his broad shoulders blocking out the eerie light, the world narrowing to just the two of us. One of his hands cups the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me steady for his exploration.
Emboldened by the taste of him, by the dizzying rightness of it, I dare to trace the line of his lips with my tongue. I find the sharp, distinct points of his fangs. A thrill of danger—electric and potent—shoots through me. I press a little closer, curious, tracing the lethal curve with the tip of my tongue until…ow!
A sharp sting, and the coppery tang of my own blood floods my mouth. I flinch, starting to pull away with a soft sound of surprise.
“No,” Lucian growls against my lips, the vibration humming through my entire body. His grip in my hair tightens, not painfully, but with absolute authority. “Let me taste you, my Queen.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, and sucks gently on my tongue, drawing at the tiny wound. The sensation is both bizarrely intimate and overwhelmingly erotic. It’s not pain…it’s a sharing…mingling. He drinks the few drops of my blood with a low, appreciative rumble that I feel in my whole body.
At the same time, his other hand begins to move. The silk gown I’m wearing is treacherously thin—no more than a whisper against my skin, so I feel everything. His big, warm palm slides up my sides, his thumb sweeping over the peak of my right breast. He teases my nipple through the slippery fabric, rolling and pinching it gently until it’s a hard, aching point.
Oh God—it feels so good! I moan into his mouth, my back arching instinctively, pushing myself into his hand.
He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along my jaw to my ear. His hand continues its devastating journey, cupping my breast, his thumb still working my nipple. I’m bare underneath the silk, and the friction of the fine material against my sensitized skin is almost too much.
“So responsive,” he whispers, his voice a dark caress. “Your body sings for me, Julia. I can feel your heart fluttering like a little bird in your chest.”
Then his other hand moves. It slides down my side, over the curve of my hip, and finds the high slit in the dress. His fingers slip beneath the silk, skating up the outside of my thigh. Higher… higher… until his big, warm palm cups me, completely covering my bare pussy.
I gasp, a jolt of pure lightning shooting through me. I ought to pull away—I know I should. Instead, I give a helpless little wiggle of my hips, trying to press myself more firmly into his hand. It’s mortifying, doing this here, where anyone could see. But God, it’s also incredibly, unbearably hot. The risk of the exposure and the sheer audacity of what we’re doing right here in public fans the flames inside me higher.
Lucian stops kissing my neck and brings his lips back to my ear. His voice is low, a private rumble meant only for me, each word a deliberate attack on my already frayed control.
“I can feel how wet you are for me, my lovely one,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking lightly through my curls, not quite touching where I need him most. “Your sweet little pussy is so hot in my hand. You’re drenched for me already. Do you want me to touch you properly? Do you want me to make you feel good, right here while the shadows watch?”
His words are explicit…graphic…and they penetrate me deeply, making me shiver. My whole body lights up for him—a live wire connected to his voice.
“Oh God, Lucian! I…shouldn’t…shouldn’t let you,” I moan, the protest weak even to my own ears.
“Oh yes, you should,” he counters, his tone leaving no room for argument. His middle finger finally dips lower, sliding through my slick petals, collecting my wetness. “We must, if we’re ever going to make these gates open for us. Now be a good girl and part your thighs for me, Julia. Let me in.”
I’ve been squeezing my thighs together in the last vestige of modesty and self-preservation I possess, but at his command, I feel them opening. My body is betraying me—surrendering and it feels so good.
His long, clever fingers slip between my outer lips. One fingertip finds the aching button of my clit and begins to circle it, slow and maddeningly perfect. I cry out, my legs turning to water as my head falls back against his supporting arm.
“I can feel how hot you are for me,” he murmurs, his voice like dark, seductive music in my ear.
His finger works me with hypnotic rhythm, touching me just the way I touch myself. How does he know the way I like to be touched? Has he watched me in whatever magic mirror he used to locate me in the first place? I don’t know and at this point I don’t care.
“How badly do you need to come?” he murmurs. “Do you like it when I pet your soft little pussy like this? When I make this pretty little clit swell and ache for me? Do you want my fingers inside you, Julia? Do you want to feel me fucking you with them?”
I can’t believe we’re doing this…can’t believe the sounds I’m making…the way my hips are rocking against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction, just more. I’m past embarrassment, past reason—I no longer care that we’re in public. The world has narrowed down until there is only his touch, his voice, and the desperate, aching need he’s building in my belly.
“Tell me the truth,” he demands, his finger pausing its relentless circles and applying just enough pressure to make me whimper. “Tell me!”
“Yes!” The word is torn from me, a raw, honest plea. “Yes, I want your fingers inside me! Yes, I need to come! Please, Lucian!”
