Exposed: Laid Bare (7 page)

“This is a much more private spot for us to talk,” he murmured as he led me farther and farther away from any lingering people.

Talk… Somehow I had a feeling we’d not be doing much
talking
.

We walked up three winding sets of metal rungs, my high heels making little
ting-tings
along the way.

“Am I walking too quickly for you?” Lucien asked, concerned, it seemed, as he slowed to a stop.

When he turned to me, one step higher than where I stood, I glanced up at him.

Beautiful
, I thought as I gazed into his deep brown eyes. Everything looked normal, at first, but then I saw beyond Lucien’s chiseled features, beyond his perfection. I saw myself reflected back to me in his gaze. And I knew then what he saw in me. I was what he ultimately wanted—innocence he’d corrupted.

As if on cue, the peaks of my breasts grew taut beneath the draped sequin material of my dress. “Are you doing this to me?” I inquired.

“No. Your reactions are your own.”

“And you approve.”

He nodded slowly, a smile curving one side of his mouth. “Yes, I approve.”

The skin exposed at the tops of my stockings, and below the hem of my dress, suddenly felt all tingly. I somehow knew that in Lucien’s eyes it looked creamy and inviting.

“Good enough to eat,” he whispered.

And it was then I felt too exposed. Damn, my dress was entirely too short. Why had I worn it?

But these were not my thoughts, these were thoughts Lucien was putting in my head to mess with me.

“Stop it,” I snapped.

“No,” he retorted.

His control was unwavering. His will was ironclad, and I was no match. Again, Lucien asked why I’d worn the dress. He asked his question from inside
my
head.

“I wore it for you,” I whispered, capitulating. “Part of me hoped you’d show up tonight. But you probably knew that already, right?”

No answer.

We were near the top of the steps, mere feet from the entrance to the private area to which he’d guided me. I thought we’d continue the rest of the way at this point, but we stayed where we were—Lucien one step above me.

Slowly, he reached out and moved aside the draped material at my chest, exposing one breast.

“I like this dress,” he said. “And I’m glad you wore it.”

He pinched one nipple, and I gasped from the sharp pain. I was also instantly aroused. This state of arousal, however, was unlike all the other times I’d thought of Lucien, all the times I’d touched myself thinking of him. Almost unbelievingly, this was much more intense.

Lucien smiled, and I thought:
He must know my thoughts. If he can inject himself in my head, perhaps he can see what is in there, as well?

“Not everything,” he replied in a low, husky voice.

“You heard me in your head?”

“Yes.”

“What are you?” I asked, peering up at him curiously.

I received no answer. Instead, he said, “I want that picture, Dahlia.”

I shook my head. “No.”

It was my only hold over him, my only power play.

“We’ll see about that,” he replied, smirking.

Lucien suddenly swept me up in his arms. His strength was amazing. He held me pressed to him with ease as he leaned down and kissed me ferociously. There were no other words to accurately describe his hunger, his desperate touches, or his exertion of power over me.

Finally, he lowered me so I could stand beside him on the step. I found my footing and waited while he moved one step lower, to the step I’d been standing on before he lifted me to him.

From this new vantage point, he crouched down, like a feral being, and ran a firm hand up my stocking-covered leg. Stopping at the garter, he rasped, “Sexy. You are so sexy.”

“Lucien,” I moaned.

His touch was already driving me wild with lust. I felt my pussy grow wetter and wetter. Lucien’s strong hand trailed higher, and when he found me lacking panties—and dripping for him—he let out a lust-filled growl.

Kneeling on the step below me, he urged me to spread my legs wider. “Lean back and hold onto the railing,” he ordered.

I did as commanded, and then Lucien lifted my dress and placed his head between my legs. He went at me like my folds were the most delicious treat, lapping and licking and doing things with his tongue that were decadent and sinful.

I gripped his dark hair, and gasped. “Yes, right there,” when he drove his tongue up into me.

Pressing at just the right spot resulted in me coming…and coming…and coming. Finally spent, I almost crumpled to the ground. But Lucien kept me upright.

I thought it would all end there, I thought he would send me on my way. And I especially thought he would once again demand I relinquish the photograph of him, the incriminating shot that exposed him as something more than a mere man.

But none of those things happened.

Instead, Lucien gathered me in his arms and carried me the rest of the way up the stairs. He was surprisingly gentle, and I felt as if I were in some twisted fairytale where he was my prince. A dark prince, yes, but a prince nonetheless.

With his shoulder, he pushed open the glass door at the top and stepped into the private club. I glanced around. It seemed this was an area that had not been used in some time, as heavy cloths lay draped over furnishings that mostly consisted of high-backed chairs, low tables, and a single long sofa.

Lucien walked over to the sofa and deposited me on the covered cushions. “Take off your dress,” he demanded as he kicked off his polished shoes.

I did as he requested, my dress coming off at the same instant he removed his suit jacket.

“Lay back,” he commanded.

“Okay,” I murmured.

I allowed my body to relax back into the plushy sofa. Surprisingly, the heavy cloth covering the piece of furniture was smooth, soft, and luxurious-feeling. I molded my almost-nude body into the cushions and giggled. As with the other times with Lucien, I felt like I was high. I suspected I was in some way—I was high on him. He had exerted his magic, or whatever, and I was drunk on him.

What weird powers he possessed.

I felt so giddy, so aroused. It was the strangest combination. I writhed on the sofa, allowing the soft covering to bunch up between my legs. Giggling, I collapsed to my stomach, and when my breasts rubbed against more luxurious material, I moaned.

With the fabric still bunched between my legs, Lucien wound his fingers in the softness and began to move the luxurious material back and forth against my throbbing clit. “Do you like that?” he asked.

I groaned out, “Yes,” and he continued, bringing me to a quick orgasm. I arched up as I came. I was naked, except for the stockings and garter, and Lucien’s eyes zoned in on the lingerie.

His gaze was hungry, and I seductively asked, “Should I take these off?”

I snapped the garter, the sting feeling good against my hypersensitive skin.

Lucien loosened his tie, his eyes never leaving me. “No,” he replied.

I was on my knees, and when I began to lower my hips to the sofa Lucien stopped me. “No. Keep that ass up,” he commanded.

“All right,” I said, complying.

Lucien unzipped his pants and positioned himself behind my kneeling and arched-for-him form. I kind of liked the imbalance in power—me helpless and basically naked, and him clothed and in control.

He grasped my hair and urged my face down into the cushions, his hard cock nudging at my slick core. “Do you want this?” he asked, pushing in only a fraction of his substantial length.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice muffled.

No sooner had the word left my mouth and Lucien was thrusting into me, pounding and pounding. This was so much harder than the other time we’d been together. But I loved it. And like the first time, I felt only pleasure.

But at some point, Lucien let up on whatever magic he was sending my way, and the pain of his primal, relentless thrusts became unbearable. Sensitive parts of me that had not healed from the first go-round with him throbbed. Scooting forward, I held onto the arm of the sofa and pulled away. But Lucien was right there on me.

Crying out, I tried again to get away. “Wait,” I pleaded.

He wrapped his hand in my auburn tresses and wrenched my head back. His cock was inside me to the hilt as he asked, “Is this too much?”

“Maybe,” I said, my breaths labored. “I think I might need a rest.”

Lucien chuckled. “Too bad, Miss Vaughn. There is no rest for the wicked.” His tone was unapologetic as he drove into me harder than ever, and added, “And you, my dear, are very wicked. Teasing me, taunting me. You’re going to take everything I give you tonight.”

He was so rigid, so swollen, and there was no escaping him. I should never have taunted him with the photo. With every frenzied thrust, I feared he might break me in two.

But then a strange thing happened.

I felt myself molding to him,
savoring
him. I let go, giving myself over to Lucien. And in that moment of succumbing, there was suddenly no more pain.

“See,” he murmured as he leaned over me and whispered in my ear, “it’s so much better, much easier for you, when you don’t fight me.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

And it was easier, better. Giving in to Lucien was the key. So I let go. I gave him my body, and I gave him my mind.

And he took all I gave.

Soon, I felt Lucien
everywhere
inside of me.

He banded his arms around me. He played with my breasts with one hand, while his other hand caressed my clit. And all the while, the hard fucking continued. Continued and continued, well into the night and straight into the morning. It was hours and hours of unparalleled ecstasy. There was no more discomfort, only wave after wave of mind-blowing pleasure.

But then it all came to an end.

Before Lucien left me, lying on the covered sofa, naked and exhausted, he whispered in my ear, “Happy New Year, Dahlia.”

“Happy New Year, Lucien,” I rasped, my voice but a ragged whisper.

He laughed.

And then he left.

But I knew I’d see him again, seeing as I still had the picture he wanted.

“W
hat the hell, Dahlia? What in God’s name happened to you last night? I was searching all over, but I gave up, assuming you left.”

I woke to Veronica’s voice and her hands on me. She was trying to cover my bare body with a sheet. I was so sore, my muscles aching, my skin tender to the touch.

“No,” I mumbled as I pushed her—and the sheet—away.

“Come on,” she said, her tone coaxing. “Sit up a bit. Work with me here.”

I opened my eyes, but things were blurry. I was hung-over from my time with Lucien. He had ravaged me all night, and I knew I probably looked a wreck as a result. Veronica appeared exhausted, as well. Her make-up was smeared, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Still, I could only imagine how much worse I looked.

Reluctantly, I sat up and allowed her to wrap the sheet around my shoulders. My dress was on the floor, and she picked it up. “I suppose you and Lucien worked things out?”

Her tone, though light, was laced with disapproval. She raised an eyebrow when I neglected to respond, and I shrugged my shoulders. “Uh, I guess. We didn’t really talk all that much, though.”

Veronica sighed. “Dahlia…” She shook her head. “Let’s get you dressed and back to your apartment, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Though she said nothing more, I saw in Veronica’s eyes what she was thinking. My cousin thought me a fool. I’d allowed Lucien to do with me whatever he wanted, and I was again left with no answers.

Only more questions.

O
ne thing I was certain of was that Lucien would find a way to see me again. Had he arranged to attend the New Year’s party once he found out—however that was—that I would be there? I highly suspected so.

“He’ll see me again,” I told my reflection the evening of the first day of the New Year.

I was back at my apartment, courtesy of Veronica. She’d helped me get into my dress back at the club, and then driven me home. We’d been so exhausted that we hadn’t discussed much beyond how we couldn’t wait to get some sleep.

I’d lain down immediately upon entering my bedroom, and then I’d slept for hours, dead to the world.