The Dare Collection April 2019. Nicola Marsh
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Many had expected that, as heir to his father’s throne, he’d go down along with Augustus, yet he hadn’t. In fact, he’d been the one who’d taken Augustus down, seemingly escaping the charges that had caught his father.
Curiosity gripped me, winding tighter and tighter.
How had he escaped the law? When he’d supposedly been his father’s true heir? Had he been granted immunity of some kind in return for betraying Augustus?
What kind of man are you touching right now?
I stared into his eyes, looking deep, and he didn’t flinch away. Blue fire blazed there, burning hot and strong. A man of conviction, determination. A man of strength and power, who’d given me space to cry. Who’d told me I wasn’t a disappointment.
He was no monster.
I lifted my hand and touched his cheek. ‘What makes you think that? You haven’t done anything particularly monstrous to me.’
‘I kidnapped you. And I’m going to use you against your father to get what I want.’ His mouth curved in a predatory smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘And I don’t give a damn about your feelings on the subject.’
I let my fingers trail down to the sharp line of his jaw and then lower, down the side of his strong neck. ‘But I told you I didn’t want you to give a damn.’
‘There are worse things than not caring about people’s feelings, little one. You must know that. Especially considering your own father.’
I brushed my fingers over his throat, moving down the hard expanse of his chest, crisp hair rough against my fingertips. ‘Have you beaten up people and left them for dead?’
‘Yes.’
It didn’t surprise me. The son of Augustus King wasn’t going to be as pure as the driven snow.
I didn’t look away, kept my gaze on his. ‘Innocent people?’
A muscle leapt in the side of his jaw. ‘Yes.’ A slight hesitation.
I focused on him, all my attention zeroing in on his winter-sky eyes. ‘Why?’
He reached for my hand and pushed it down, curling my fingers around his hardening cock. ‘My father needed to be taken down so I did what I had to do.’ His voice was like iron and just as cold. ‘Are we done?’
It was clear he didn’t want to talk any more, but that only made me even more curious. He’d done what he had to do. What did that mean?
‘No,’ I said. ‘I want to—’
‘Because I’d prefer you to concentrate on something else.’ His fingers tightened around mine, pressing my fingers against his hard flesh. ‘Like my cock, for example.’
Dammit. I wanted to push, but having him in my hand, hot and smooth and firm, was distracting. Too distracting.
‘Why can’t we talk about you?’ I looked down, at where my hand and his were wrapped around his hard-on. God, he felt good. ‘I told you about me.’
‘Because I said so.’ His tone was flat, no room for argument. ‘If you disagree, you know where the door is.’
Frustration needled at me, making me want to let him go and sweep grandly out. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to do so. When would I get this opportunity again? To hold him like I was doing now, explore him the way he wanted me to? Maybe I wouldn’t.
I glared at him. ‘That’s not fair.’
He looked back, his gaze uncompromising. ‘That’s it. Get angry with me. Show me what a pissed-off Imogen looks like.’
‘A pissed-off Imogen might look like me leaving you alone with your hard-on.’
‘Do it then.’ Challenge burned in his eyes. ‘If you think you can.’
And it hit me again in that moment—truly hit me—that I could get pissed off if I wanted to. I could get angry. I could get really, really angry. And there would be no consequences, because there was no one to get hurt and no one to disappoint.
There was only Ajax and he didn’t care.
The weirdest rush of exhilaration swept through me. Was this what freedom felt like?
I met Ajax’s stare, squeezing him at the same time as I brushed my thumb over the head of his dick, not knowing what I was doing and not giving one single damn. ‘You really want to test me?’
‘Fuck,’ he hissed, his body tensing, every one of those carved muscles contracting deliciously under his skin.
Oh, crap. Had I hurt him? ‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘Was that too hard?’
‘Hell, no.’ The flame in his eyes burned even brighter. ‘Do it again. And harder. And never fucking apologise to me again.’
The breath went out of me. Did I apologise too much?
Of course you do. But you don’t need to worry about that with him. He can handle it. Because he doesn’t care.
My hand tightened around him, my gaze riveted to his face, watching pleasure draw his features tight and set the blue of his eyes blazing even hotter.
And when I rubbed my thumb over the head of his cock again, I discovered his skin was slick and getting slicker. Interesting. I took my hand away and put my thumb in my mouth. He tasted of salt and something masculine and indefinable, delicious.
His gaze followed every movement I made, his lips drawing back in a snarl, and I felt it again, my power over him, at the same time as I could feel and see his strength.
Nothing could hurt this man, not even me.
I could do anything to him, tell him anything, and he would let it slide off him. He would remain untouched.
The adrenaline rush was back and I was moving before I could think better of it, straddling him, putting my hands on his shoulders and gripping him. Then I covered his mouth with mine, kissing him with all the passion I could feel expanding inside me.
‘Yes,’ he growled against my lips, his voice so rough I could barely understand him. ‘Unleash yourself on me, woman. I dare you to.’
So I did.
I let the passion unfurl and along with it my power. And I touched him everywhere. Tasted him everywhere. I found out what he liked, which was pretty much everything, and what his boundaries were: he didn’t have a single one.
His control seemed to be limitless, even though I tested the hell out of it. I made him growl and I made him curse. I made him shake and pant and grit his teeth, but he didn’t restrain me and he didn’t stop me from doing anything I wanted.
I felt free. Drunk on him and the feel of his body, the taste of his skin.
It was the most incredible experience I’d ever had in my life.
We were both shaking by the time I ripped the condom packet open and rolled it down on him, drawing more guttural curses from him.
But he didn’t move as I straddled him, putting his hands on my hips only to steady me as I slowly eased myself down onto his hard cock.
Then I sat there, loving the stretch and burn of him inside me and the way his blue eyes stared into mine, his jaw clenched and his body beneath me as tight as a wound spring.
‘Ride me, woman,’ he growled, low and deep. ‘Ride me like you mean it.’
Woman. Yes, that’s what I was. I was a woman. Not a child.
His woman.
I tossed my head back and I rode him, and he showed me the way. And then he gave me my head and I galloped, riding wild and free, until our skins were slick with sweat and the rough sounds of earthy, masculine pleasure mingled with my own gasps of delight.