PROLOGUE

DEWHALES CHRISNEY WRITES

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Lucien Blackwood was the last man I thought I'd ever feel this way for.

Lucien lifted me from the bathtub as if I weighed nothing.

Water streamed down my naked skin, dripping from my hair onto his chest as he carried me through the dim room.

My body still trembled from the heat of the water, but it was nothing compared to the way my heart hammered now.

He laid me gently on the cool sheets. For a moment he simply stood over me, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he tilted a small jar and warm, golden honey began to drip onto my skin in slow, deliberate trails across my stomach, up between my breasts, and over the sensitive peaks that tightened under his gaze.

I shivered.

He lowered himself above me. His breath brushed my skin first, hot and steady. Then came his tongue—warm, wet, and unhurried—following every sticky line he had made. He licked the honey from my belly, circling my navel, tasting me like he had all the time in the world. Each slow stroke sent sparks racing through my body.

My breath hitched when he reached my breasts. He paused, letting the anticipation build until I was squirming beneath him. Only then did his mouth close over one stiff nipple. He sucked it deep, pulling hard with a low, possessive sound that vibrated straight through me.

A ragged gasp tore from my throat. My back arched off the bed, pushing my breast further into his hungry mouth.

Why is he doing this? The thought spun wildly in my head. This man had hated me for years. He loathed everything I stood for. I was his captive, his property, his toy to punish and break. So why did his touch feel different tonight?

“No punishment today,” he whispered against my ear, voice rough and low. His lips grazed my earlobe. “Tonight you’ll only learn how to please me.”

I swallowed hard.

“Your soft moans have always pleased me most,” he added.

His mouth returned to my breast, sucking harder while his hand slid down my body. Rough fingertips brushed over my mound, then parted my slick folds. I tensed. Two thick fingers pushed inside me—slow, deep, stretching me open. The sudden fullness stole my breath.

“Lucien…” His name slipped out like a broken sob.

He didn’t answer. His thumb found my swollen clit and began slow, firm circles while his fingers curled inside me, stroking that sensitive spot that made my thighs shake. Pleasure crashed over me in waves. I thrashed beneath him, legs wrapping around his waist, desperate to pull him closer.

His blue eyes burned into mine, dark with raw hunger.

He shifted, settling heavily between my spread thighs. The thick, blunt head of his cock pressed against my entrance—hot, heavy, slick with his own precum. He held himself there, letting me feel every inch of him, letting the moment stretch until I thought I would beg.

Our eyes locked. Then he pushed forward.

I gasped as he stretched me open, inch by thick inch, filling me completely. A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his chest when he bottomed out, buried to the hilt inside my pulsing heat.

For a heartbeat, he stayed still, letting me adjust to the overwhelming fullness. Then he began to move—slow, deliberate strokes that gradually grew deeper, harder, more primal. My legs tightened around him as my wet pussy clenched greedily around his cock.

I hated him. I hated how my body betrayed me.

But as his thrusts turned fierce and his mouth claimed mine in a bruising kiss, a terrifying truth settled deep in my chest:

I never wanted him to stop.

All this while, he didn’t actually hate me, he loathed that my loyalty was for someone else, he despised that my love was for another, it was for someone who took what used to be most precious to him and I’ve always flaunted him to Lucien.

Yet here, buried inside me, claiming every inch of my body, he was finally taking what he had always wanted.

The question echoed in my mind with every powerful thrust: Will I ever survive this devil?