THE NIGHTMARE

This is the full scene of the dream Marist has at the beginning of Chapter 12.
(It’s for all the Macalister fans!)

Candles flickered in the dark. Their light wasn’t powerful enough to reach the corners of the dining room. My red dress was a puddle on the floor. All I wore was my lace underwear and a pair of red bottomed shoes.

A man stepped out of the shadows.

He filled out the tuxedo he wore so perfectly, and although his eyes were a steely blue, they somehow matched the deep black of the silk bow tied at his throat. He peered at me with the hunger of a lion who hadn’t eaten in days, and I was the only gazelle left on earth.

Macalister kept his focused gaze on me as he methodically removed his tuxedo jacket and hung it on the back of one of the dining chairs. His white shirt was only broken up by the black suspenders and the silver cufflinks at his wrists. I wanted to run when he prowled toward me, but my feet refused to work. I wasn’t in control of my body.

I suspected he was.

“You,” his voice was deep and exacting, “are going to give me what I want.”

The word no caught in my throat and couldn’t escape. My eyes widened with turmoil as he finished his approach, stopping before me so he was all I could see. His expression was granite, smooth and hard, and his gaze had so much weight it was crushing.

The power in the room was otherworldly. It felt as if everything existed here solely to do his bidding . . .

Especially me.

I held perfectly still as he skimmed a cold hand along the column of my neck and up until my face was cradled against his icy palm. His eyes teemed with unspoken orders and the promise we’d get to them soon, so fucking soon. But first, he was going to kiss me.

He lowered his mouth to mine, and his kiss was exactly as he was. Controlled and calculating. His damp lips pushed and urged, not caring if I was willing or not. The longer he kissed me, the more time Macalister had to wrap his chains of domination around me.

When his tongue intruded, my traitorous mouth welcomed him, but I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose. It forced me to smell his aftershave. It was clean and vaguely aquatic, like he’d spent the day sailing on the cape and the fresh air had soaked into his skin.

As I wilted beneath his kiss, he grew stronger.

His other palm was cool against the small of my back, and it drifted lower, sliding until he had a firm grip on the globe of my ass, holding me up and preventing my escape. I tumbled deeper under his spell and pressed the length of my nearly nude body against him. Surely, he could feel how frantic my pulse was pounding, or hear how erratic my breathing had become from the caress of his tongue in my mouth.

I was dazed and swayed on my sexy heels when he drew back and gave me an evaluating look. It caused a shiver to glance through me, although I had no idea if it was with fear or excitement.

It was likely both.

“Everything, Marist,” he said. “That is what you’re going to give me tonight.”

I said the word no, yet it sounded strange when it came from my lips in a whisper. “Yes.”

The chill of the dining room tried to get at me, but it had to compete with Macalister. The temperature plummeted further when he cast a strict finger toward the table, directing me where to go. My teeth wanted to chatter, but I kept my jaw clenched tight as I strode toward it, turned to face him, and sat. It momentarily disturbed the flames in the candelabras and the tabletop creaked quietly.

I didn’t understand what was happening, why I was reacting this way. He’d done something to me, but I couldn’t figure out what.

My hands curled around the rounded edge of the table and I pressed my lips together as my legs dangled over the side. He hooked a hand under one of his suspenders and peeled it down. The other side was done too, until the loops hung at his sides, and then he closed in on me.

Fuck, what was happening?

He bent a finger and put it under my chin, forcing me up to meet him. His lips were icy, but his tongue was fire as it licked into my mouth. He let out a long, satisfied sigh through his nose. I’d given my approval to him with a word, but now I answered with my body as well.

Just as the fog in my head began to clear beneath his dizzying and disorienting kiss, his mouth moved away, leaving me heaving for air. He skimmed his fingers down the front of my throat and his lips marched along, following the same path.

Goosebumps pebbled my skin, and a shudder worked through my shoulders. It was clear what he intended to do, and emotions warred inside me. I didn’t want him to, but—oh, how I did. The anticipation was shameful and corrupt and unstoppable.

His deft fingers circled my breast, teasing his touch for a long moment before he finally captured my nipple between two fingers and pinched hard. The sharp ache of it stole my breath, and unwelcomed warmth spiraled through me.

He asked it, even though he already knew the answer. “Does that hurt?”

My voice was hushed and uneven. “A little.”

One side of his mouth turned up in an evil smile. “Good.”

My mouth fell open, and he used my surprise to his advantage. His set his palms on my bare shoulders and pushed me down until the smooth, cold surface of the table kissed my back. And then his hands trailed down, never breaking the connection with my skin, until he closed them around my breasts. They were followed by his lips.

He’d been Zeus up until this point, but his seduction devolved into greedy lust, and he became the ravenous Minotaur. He feasted on my flesh, nipping and sucking, creating uncomfortable feelings. Not just physically, but mentally. I told myself I didn’t like the way his rough mouth felt on my sensitive breasts, but it was a fucking lie.

I liked it very much.

Macalister created a throb inside me like a thumb that had been painfully struck by a hammer. The ache crested and fell repeatedly, growing more pronounced the longer his lips and teeth scraped over my nipples. A whine seeped from somewhere deep in my chest. Maybe he’d think I was uneasy and wanted him to stop . . . But, no. No amount of disguise could hide from him the desperation building inside me.

He knew exactly what I wanted and dreaded.

The man standing between my legs straightened so he was looming over me, and cast his intense gaze down, tracing every exposed inch of my body like he was assessing my value. Or perhaps he was plotting his course of action. His tie was undone and dropped onto the tabletop. His cufflinks clicked open, one after the other, and were pulled from the sleeves before he set the pair down beside his tie.

My heart raced but it couldn’t keep up with how swiftly he unbuttoned his shirt. And then he was pulling it off, discarding it onto the seat of the chair beside us, forcing me to see the sinewy frame of his chest and the curved muscles running down his arms.

I exhaled a panicked, excited breath when he placed his palm flat on the center of my chest and curled his fingers inward. Just enough so when he slowly raked his hand down, the edges of his fingernails scratched across my skin. Down his gentle claws went, trailing over my heaving chest and trembling stomach, all the way until he fisted the front of my panties.

I swallowed so hard, it was audible, and the sound filled the quiet room.

Don’t, I was supposed to say.

Instead, I put my palms down on the tabletop beside me and used them as leverage to lift my hips, making it easier for Macalister to step back and drag away the last thing concealing me from him. As soon as my underwear was dropped to the floor, his hands were on my knees, parting and pushing them back, opening me to him.

Air seized in my lungs and my heart ground to a halt.

It wasn’t the action that frightened me so much, it was my response.

I was fucking eager.

Macalister’s expression was unadulterated arrogance, and a smile spread across his lips like wildfire. He knew all about the anticipation he’d stoked inside me, and his eyes flaunted his power.

As he knelt, slipped his arms under my thighs, and grasped my waist in his hands, tension slowly curled my fingers into fists. He was between my legs, his mouth only a breath away, and the dangerous desire between us was so intense, my eyes slammed shut. I couldn’t watch as he claimed from me what he’d wanted and threatened to do for months.

Zeus was cold from spending his days on Mount Olympus high above the clouds, but the Minotaur was hot from lurking in the confines of the Labyrinth, full of burning torches to light the passages. And that was the thing that startled me the most—the heat of Macalister’s mouth. He was a hot iron pressed to my skin, branding me.

“Oh, my God,” I gasped. My hands clenched tighter and my back arched up off the table, lifting my chest toward the chandelier that hung high above us.

The stroke of his amoral tongue was almost too much. Pleasure sizzled down my legs like lightning, making me quiver. The sigh he gave was filled with dark satisfaction. When he swirled his tongue over my clit, the sensation was so acute, I reached down, gripped his toned biceps, and dug my fingertips into the meaty part of his arms.

It felt like he was forcing bliss on me with each diabolical lick.

But I was also outside of my body at the same moment, seeing us from afar. I watched how my knees trembled, my Louboutin-covered feet dangling over his strong, bare back. How I panted and bucked, flinging my head side to side as Macalister’s hands gripped my hips, pinning me to the table while he fucked me with his ruthless mouth.

When a moan pealed from my lips, his mouth paused long enough to issue his order. “Louder.”

Oh, shit. It was easy to follow his command, and the heavy, unstoppable groan that rolled out of me was laced with satisfaction. The flutter of his tongue made my toes curl inside my shoes, and heat built low in my belly, expanding rapidly.

It threatened to swallow me whole.

Had he sensed I was about to come? A shift went through Macalister. His biceps tensed and corded, and his tempo escalated to a furious pace. He lashed at me, vicious and unforgiving, determined to fling me over the edge of orgasm.

It was shocking how quickly he did it. I cried out as I came, puncturing the silence in the candlelit room with a gasp of ecstasy.

He kept ahold of me, even as I flinched and writhed in his hands. A blast of cold washed through me, followed by a wave of heat, and pinpricks dotted at my skin, tingling up and down my legs while I struggled to recover.

His voice rumbled from between my legs, his lips moving against my overstimulated clit, making me jolt. “Count.”

“What?” I asked breathlessly as I made the horrible mistake of looking at him.

His icy eyes stared at me like they could penetrate any defense I tried to put up. He was terrifying . . . and sexy. “I told you I expect you to count your orgasms.”

My mind stumbled to find the word. “One.”

Pleased with either my response or my gaze locked on his, Macalister went back to work, and a new sound ripped from my throat. It was pleasure traced with pain. My body wasn’t completely ready for his tongue’s caress, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t so much about me as it was about him flexing and demonstrating his sexual prowess. Now that he’d wrung an orgasm from me, he wasn’t the Minotaur anymore. This was cold, hard, calculating Zeus.

I whimpered as he pushed a freezing finger inside my body.

Right and wrong didn’t exist in this space. There wasn’t room for it anyway. There weren’t rules or consequences or repercussions, only a man and a woman using each other to satisfy their basic, hardwired desires.

He pressed his first finger deep, all the way until his knuckles were against me, and I wondered if his touch would turn me into ice. Would he make me come a second time and I’d shatter into a million pieces on this table?

His mouth stayed on me, flicking over my swollen bundle of nerves, but eventually a second cold finger slipped inside where I was wet and hot. It was hard to think over the sensation or the blood whooshing loudly through my head. Macalister’s eyes closed as he sucked and teased, and my hips rocked greedily in time with his thrusts.

My second orgasm was only an inkling in the distance until he adjusted the angle and reached a new spot that made sparks dance at the sides of my vision. I moaned loud enough there was no reminder from him to be vocal. Oh, God, it felt good, even though it shouldn’t. The threatening ecstasy catapulted me forward until I couldn’t hold back.

This time when I came, it wasn’t as sharp, but it lasted forever. He stilled, leaving his fingers lodged inside me and I twitched and clenched on them, breath dragged through my parted lips in a shuddering pant.

He rose to his feet, his discerning gaze swept over me, and a scowl twisted on his lips. “Count,” he growled.

I swallowed thickly, still trying to get control of myself. “Two.”

My word struck him like it was its own command, and I watched with apprehension as his hands went to the waist of his tuxedo pants. It took him no time to undo the button, unzip his fly, and slide a hand down the front of his pants, but time also moved . . . strangely. Like it had been slowed down and sped back up unnaturally.

Nothing made sense.

I should have been horrified and scrambled up off the table, but I didn’t move. I was trapped there by a million butterflies inside my belly, fluttering their nervous wings.

And I should have said no, but instead I reached out and ran my fingertips over his chest, trailing them down over his chilly skin. His blue eyes darkened and lidded with desire, making him look god-like.

Down his pants fell, revealing Zeus in his true form.

He was already hard, and as he stroked himself, it momentarily obscured all of him from view, but then his hands were hooked under my knees and there was nothing left between us. His cock was heavy against me, right in the valley of my body, and he eased his hips forward so he could slide through my slit, damp with arousal.

My heart chugged like a runaway train. His bare skin slicking across me was indecent and precarious. When he glanced down, staring at the glide of his dick over my pussy, the corner of his mouth tugged up into a challenging smile.

He wordlessly dared me to tell him no.

I didn’t know why I bothered saying anything. No mortal plea ever stopped Zeus, and my traitorous body was clamoring for him to do whatever he wanted anyway. But the whisper came from me, perhaps because I felt he craved my reluctance. Surrender wasn’t as much fun if it came willingly. “Wait.”

His gaze snapped to mine and his eyebrow arrowed up into a sharp V. His tone was insidious. “I believe I’ve waited long enough, Marist.”

He took a hand off my knee and drew his hips back just enough so he could push the head of his cock down and line it up with my entrance.

Everything else came to a standstill. The world froze around us, but he continued to move.

“Fuck,” I moaned, fighting the urge to let my eyes roll back into my head as he impaled, splitting me in two with heated pleasure. I scratched at his chest when he advanced, filling me deeper and deeper. He took me over. Captured and possessed with each inch of himself he pushed inside my body.

When he was seated as far as I could take him, his hands under my thighs pushed, forcing my knees back toward the table and my legs to spread wider. A choked-off noise of surprise gurgled in my throat. It felt good but also . . . it was a lot. He held me right at the edge of discomfort.

He stared at me with victory flashing in his eyes as he began his painstakingly slow retreat, and then eased his hips forward. It made adrenaline spike through my system and my teeth chatter. He was moving inside me. Worse.

Macalister Hale was fucking me.

And you like it.

I swallowed an enormous gulp of air, waiting for the shame and guilt to burn me into ash, but it didn’t come. We were untouchable like this. His absolute power and protection extended to me when I shared my body with him.

The pace he established was disciplined and methodical. It was just fast enough to keep my pulse thundering, and just slow enough I could feel everything. Each pulse and flex of his cock as he drove into me.

His voice overflowed with arrogance. “Tell me it’s even better than you thought it’d be.”

It was, but I refused to admit it. My cheeks warmed with a bashful blush and I turned my head to the side, ripping my gaze away from him.

He let go of my legs and placed his palms on top of my hands, dragging them down over his taut stomach, until my hands were covering the spot where our bodies were joined.

“Show me your cunt,” he said, guiding my fingers to pull myself apart.

I gasped at his filthy order, and yet . . . I followed his command. I stretched back my skin, so my clit was perfectly exposed to him.

His gaze drank in the sight of us, his thick cock disappearing inside my body over and over again, and Macalister’s careful control crumbled at the edges. His mouth hung open and he blinked slowly as if his eyelids weighed a ton. Lust painted the shadows of his expression, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

A shiver rocked my shoulders when he swallowed a deep breath, and his jaw strained against whatever sound he was holding back from making. He wasn’t immune to how it felt. The table beneath us creaked in protest to his building thrusts.

Even with him stretching the limits of my comfort, it still felt impossibly good. Like lava coursed through my veins and flowed toward my center, building toward release. His rhythm intensified, and I bit down on my bottom lip as he put his thumb directly on my clit, pressing down. Sparks and fireworks burst from the simple action.

Jesus. Was he going to make me come again?

The pad of his thumb moved up and down, like he was swiping a light switch slowly on and off. There was something about the way it matched the pace of his thrusts that was going to be my undoing.

I moaned and wished for something to hold on to as the orgasm bared down, but he’d placed my fingers just so, and I knew if I let go, he wouldn’t like that. He might stop what he was doing.

It was a statement of fact from him. “You’re going to come again.”

A desperate whine slipped out. Was he going to make me beg for it? His fucking thumb, it just kept moving. Up and down in steady strokes, but each felt better than the last.

He was a smug bastard. “What number will this one be, Marist?”

I couldn’t handle it when he said my name in his voice. I was focused, racing toward the finish line. “Three,” I breathed.

“I won’t finish until you’ve given me four.”

My moan was almost a sob. Sensations crawled up my legs and my hearing dropped out, signaling the orgasm was seconds away, and I was sure this one was going to outdo the—

Wait.

What?

My eyes opened, and although I was lying down, I was no longer on the table. It was replaced by a soft bed, and the dark dining room was now a bright bedroom—the same one I shared with Royce.

Who was currently sleeping beside me.

Oh, my God. The realization of what I’d dreamt about washed through me and flipped my stomach. The sexy dream had turned me on, and that?

It made it a nightmare.

COPYRIGHT 2019 - NIKKI SLOANE

May not be reprinted or used without permission