Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) Read online

  She knew exactly how he felt. Everything in her demanded she say yes. That she meet him at Teplo one more time and let him make her forget everything threatening to tear her apart. That she not stop now. But questions lingered too, demanding her attention.

  She didn’t know him… not even his last name.

  "Please? I'd like to see you again, get to know you."

  And that one statement, so full of hope and confusion and longing, undid her. Stripped away her defenses and all the reasons why she should tell him no.

  "I'll meet you," she promised.

  Tristan sighed, the tension in his body draining away. He pressed his lips to her crown, and then, like a ghost, he vanished, the bathroom door swinging shut behind him.

  Lillian stood where she was for a long moment, stunned at how quickly she'd given in to him. A stranger. Someone she didn't know, and yet couldn't resist. As much as that frightened her, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she'd keep her promise to him.

  She'd meet him at Teplo again.

  Chapter Three

  All afternoon, the most carnal thoughts of Lillian ran through Tristan's mind. He claimed her on the dance floor before they moved to his bed, from his bed to the balcony, and then from the balcony to the doorway. He took her every way imaginable and on every surface he could think up. She gave in to his demands for those throaty little cries and intoxicating responses, forgetting the tears drying on her lashes and that sad look on her face. She begged for more as he slid into her, marked him with her fingernails and teeth as he pumped inside of her, and cried his name as her release pulsed tight around his cock.

  All day long, he smelled her scent in the air, felt her inner walls clenching around him, and heard her moans. When his afternoon sparring session ended, those very fantasies drove him toward release. He came crying her name in the heat and steam of his shower. The craving to taste, feel, and touch her again didn't abate.

  By the time night descended over the city, he was a livewire of anticipation and frustration. He didn't understand why his careful balance of rules and rationality had slipped so easily for a woman he didn't know. And he couldn't even begin to guess why he didn't care that sweet Lillian, and not his job, dragged him back to Teplo now.

  He suddenly cared a lot less about what mattered than he should.

  The unfamiliar shift of his focus unnerved him. He couldn't afford to screw around, not when someone might die as a result. But he couldn't shake the unrelenting desire Lillian sent rushing through him either. Even as he slid his Colt into its ankle holster and raced down the darkened streets toward the flashing neon lights of Teplo, uncertainty raged within him.

  It didn't seem to matter. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the club, he began scanning for Lillian.

  "Thank fuck," he muttered, spotting her perched on the edge of one of the old sofas, as far from the already erratic, drugged crowd as possible. A simple, messy bun held her hair back, revealing the pale expanse of her throat. Her beautiful brown eyes were wide, her succulent bottom lip caught between her teeth. She looked gorgeous. And as sweet and exposed as she had with those damn tears trembling on her lashes earlier.

  Desperation to fuck her out of his system waved violently through him. The urge to feel her against him again increased a thousand fold. So did his frustration. He wanted to thank God that she'd kept her promise. He wanted to curse that she had. The ball of warring sensation within only intensified as he stalked toward her.

  He wanted to end this driving obsession.

  He wanted to revel in it.

  He was screwed, and he knew it.

  Lillian lifted her head, meeting his gaze as he drew close. Her eyes widened in her pale face. Her hands trembled in her lap. Desire flickered across her face as her gaze roved over him.

  He stepped closer, reveling in the crackle of electricity that flared between them.

  "Tristan," she whispered, the sound of her voice almost drowned out by the loud, pulsing beats pumping through the club.

  Seeing her lips wrapped around the shape of his name made his cock ache. Christ, he couldn't wait to hear her cry out for him while she came. His stomach muscles clenched hard at the thought. "Lillian," he said. Her name on his lips was a sigh of relief, an affirmation, and a sigh of surrender all rolled into one. "You came."

  She nodded, casting a nervous glance around.

  "Dance with me, beautiful." He held his hand out to her.

  Unlike the night before, she didn't hesitate this time. She slipped her hand into his, allowing him to draw her carefully to her feet. Relief coursed through him at the feel of her warm hand in his.

  The final vestiges of tension and frustration warring in him vanished.

  Within minutes, they were in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by the smiling, gyrating oblivious. Tristan's lips descended upon hers as soon as he hitched her damaged leg around his thigh and began to sway with her. She wove her fingers into his hair, steadying herself. Their tongues danced together, giving and taking without reservation. Her taste erupted on his tongue just as it had in the bathroom at the restaurant, drawing him deeper into the maddening urge to forget everything but her and what he wanted to do to her.

  "Did you think about me, beautiful?"

  She tilted her head back, granting him access to her throat as a breathless groan shuddered from her lips.

  The part of him that wanted to take control of her flared to life, irritated that she didn't answer his question. He bit into her skin, tugging gently with his teeth.

  "Answer me." He tilted his head back to meet her liquid gaze.

  She shivered in his arms when her eyes locked with his, her breasts brushing across his chest. "Yes. God, yes, Tristan. I thought about you all day."

  Smiling in satisfaction, he rewarded her with another nip to her skin before pressing forward. He rocked against her center, driving them both crazy. "I thought about you, too," he whispered, brushing his lips up her neck to her ear. "Such good thoughts. Do you want to hear about them, Lillian?"

  "Yes."

  The tempo of the music around them changed, the heavy bass pounding through him like a second heartbeat.

  Lillian fisted her hands deeper into his hair.

  "I don't think you do," he teased, flicking her earlobe with his tongue, earning another breathy moan from her. "I don't think I'll share. I'll just keep them to myself…."

  Lillian tugged at his hair, her hips swaying in a seductive plea. "Tell me. Please."

  Tristan bit his tongue, fighting the groan threatening to escape, and cupped her ass in his hands instead of answering. He wanted to hear her fantasies, not share his own. The fabric of her skirt molded to her form as he kneaded. The urge to tear it from her body and lose himself in her raged. He fought it back and bit at her throat.

  "What did you fantasize about, beautiful? Tell me."

  "You… I…."

  Lillian drowned in sensation, too overwhelmed by the feel of Tristan to think straight.

  He was everywhere, his velvety commands filling the intimate bubble around them. Heat and lust and the ache for more welled within her at each sinful word from his lips. Every inch of her skin seemed to hum with life and energy, enveloping her in peace and pleasure.

  "Tristan." She couldn't help but moan his name as his big hands massaged her ass and his lips and tongue played along her neck, driving her mad in the best way possible. It didn't even matter that their dance was more foreign to her than the electric music beating around them.

  Tristan was her partner, her mentor. He guided her, showed her the steps in this dance with so much confidence it stole her breath and left her wanting more. She held firm to him, her leg hitched around his hip, her hands clutched in the silky softness of his hair. The bulge in his pants rubbed across her center with every sway of his hips.

  "Fuck," he whispered, bucking into her more forcefully than before.

  She sighed at that added pressure where she needed it most.
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br />   "Tell me, beautiful." His teeth were at her neck again, scraping along her sensitive flesh. "What did you think about?"

  "This," she gasped, letting her head fall back to grant him access to the racing pulse in her throat. "I thought about this."

  "This, Lillian?" He dug his fingertips into the flesh of her ass. "Or this?" He slipped his fingers beneath her skirt and around her thigh, caressing across the thin scrap of silk between her legs. "Or this, maybe?" He ran his knuckles across her center, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

  Her body jerked in response each time. "Yes," tumbled all too willingly from her parted lips.

  "Did I taste you?" he asked, pulling her earlobe into his mouth. The sharp, erotic pain of his bite pulled another cry of pleasure from her lips, another sway of her hips against his. "Did I bury my face between your thighs until you screamed?"

  "Oh God," she said, undone by his wicked whispers and the onslaught of sensation spiraling through her.

  "I did in my fantasies." He brushed his knuckles across her center again. "I spread you out beneath me and devoured you. You came on my tongue, screaming my name. Did you scream in yours?"

  "Yes, yes, yes." God, she'd screamed his name over and over. She'd woken from an afternoon nap with his name reverberating in the air around her, and her hand buried in her panties as orgasm rocked through her almost as strongly as it had beneath his erotic onslaught the night before.

  He dipped his finger into the band of her panties and across her already soaked folds.

  "Fuck," he said, his body tensing when she arched into his touch with a soft cry.

  He jerked his hand away from her.

  She cried out in protest and opened her eyes to find him scanning the room. His blue-eyed gaze landed on something in the far corner and then darted back to her.

  "I need to taste you, baby," he said then, easing her leg back to the ground.

  He wrapped his hands around her arms and tugged until she released her grip upon his hair. His fingers clutched at hers as he led her through the throng, her head still clouded with lust and pleasure and the unquenched thirst for more. She didn't question where they were going. She didn't care so long as he touched her again soon.

  In a matter of moments, he'd dragged her off of the dance floor and into an alcove off the hallway into some sort of… restroom? No, a lounge. Deep burgundies and creamy whites popped from the walls in the secluded space. Dark drapes hung around a grouping of bar stools to one side. A booth took up the rest of the small lounge. The furnishings were old and dingy, but nicer than the grimy offerings pushed to the side of the dance floor. The lighting was soft and sensual, not anything like the strobe lights pounding through the rest of the club.

  "Out," Tristan snarled.

  Lillian gasped and pressed her body into his side when she realized they weren't alone. A dirty, dark-haired man lounged in the corner of the booth, his mouth opened in surprise. His eyes were bloodshot and dilated when they focused on her.

  He snapped his mouth closed and leaped to his feet in a hurry. "It's all yours, Miss." He sketched a semblance of an old-fashioned bow in her direction, and exited as quickly as they had entered, giggling beneath his breath.

  Tristan's grip on her hand disappeared as he spun toward a small panel. When he slid it to the right, it slipped into a niche in the wall like a sliding door.

  The simple lock snapped into place.

  Tristan turned back to her, the intense blue fire in his eyes scorching her where she stood.

  Lillian shivered, heat racing across her flesh.

  He took a single step toward her, and then his tongue pressed into her mouth, demanding and gentle at once. He lashed his arms about her waist, dragging her body closer to his. His long fingers burrowed under her skirt as he lapped at her mouth. Her silk panties slid down her legs.

  He tore his mouth from hers with a groan.

  Before she could comprehend how she'd even gotten there, she was in the booth the scraggly addict had vacated no more than two minutes before. Tristan's hands were wrapped around her thighs, spreading her legs open.

  "Lift," he commanded, tapping her scarred thigh.

  She obeyed, watching through heavy lids and a haze of lust as he draped her leg over his shoulder.

  "Does this hurt?" His gaze flickered to hers.

  She shook her head, too far gone to even care if it did hurt. She wanted this. She wanted him.

  He positioned her other leg on the seat, exposing her.

  Lillian shivered as his eyes traveled down her wantonly draped body, the vivid blue of his irises darkening. Her nipples tightened. Whimpers left her lips of their own volition as the heat in his gaze sent lava into her veins. When his gaze honed in between her spread thighs, she felt desired, wanted… and more frantic for him than at any other time in the last twenty-four hours.

  "So pink," he murmured, devouring her with his gaze. "Tell me I can taste you." His words weren't a question or a plea. They were the same sort of command he'd issued since first dragging her onto the dance floor the night before. The same command she found herself desperate to answer.

  "Please," she whispered, writhing in expectation.

  "Please what? Say it." He slid his hands up her thighs, his rough palms creating friction where they scratched her smoother skin. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

  "I need-" She writhed again as his fingers glided across the curls between her legs so close to where she needed him, but not close enough. "Oh God, please."

  His talented fingers brushed, dipping into her folds for the briefest of moments, and then slid away. "Tell me."

  She knew he wouldn't relent until she gave him what he wanted. He would not end his torment until she begged. As if he could read her mind, his fingers dipped and slid. Dipped and slid. Desperation grew in leaps and bounds when he made that same circuit a third and then fourth time, his fingers coming within millimeters of her clit before dancing nimbly away.

  "Taste me," she cried out, as heated by his demands and teasing as she was frustrated by them. She curled her fingers into the cushion beneath her, digging in. "Please, Tristan."

  His lips curved upward in wicked satisfaction.

  He buried his head between her legs with a throaty groan. His hands clamped roughly around her hips, dragging and lifting her toward his devouring mouth. She panted breathlessly as he lapped at her, his tongue swirling through her folds before plunging into her.

  "So fucking good," he groaned against her center. "So sweet."

  She was spiraling, dancing... racing toward release. It didn't build slowly or leisurely in any way. It bubbled like lava and erupted with a scream, tearing her from reality as his lips seamed around her clit, holding her captive to the brilliancy of his flickering tongue.

  She didn't stop crying out for a long time.

  "Beautiful," Tristan said lifetimes later, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh before sliding her legs closed. He placed his hand over the scar on her leg, squeezing with gentle fingers.

  She offered him a small smile, too sated and boneless to even consider moving on her own. Her mind was numb, deliciously blank. She had never come so hard or for so long in her life. Everything tingled. Her body felt detached and fuzzy. Head to toe, she felt amazing.

  "You okay?" he asked, staring into her eyes. His gaze was softer than before. Hints of that same protectiveness she saw swirling there in the restaurant bathroom peeked from his lust-dilated pupils.

  Reality and questions began to trickle back into her mind at that look in his eyes.

  Who was he?

  Why was he here?

  Why her?

  Why not?

  Dear God….

  She forced the questions away, groaning as she attempted to right herself.

  He glanced down at his watch and then back up at her. "As much as I'd love to keep you here all night, I think we should get you out of here." As if to back-up his statement, someone pounded on the makeshift door.
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  Lillian jumped in surprise, her face flushing.

  She'd just let him-

  She struggled to her feet, her heart thudding as the questions she'd silenced swam forth again, bringing with them the realization that none of those answers really mattered to her at all. She liked him. More than was safe or sane or in the least reasonable, she liked him. It made no sense. She knew nothing about him, but she did know one thing. If she gave him a chance to ask, she'd meet him again. Without a doubt.

  She had to get out of there before he asked.

  "Beautiful?" Tristan rose to his feet as she struggled to remain calm and focused on what she needed to do next.

  "I'm fine," she mumbled, pulling herself to her feet. Her legs felt like Jell-O beneath her, liquefied by his far too talented tongue. If there was any pain in her thigh, she didn't feel it.

  He reached out to steady her.

  She jerked back on instinct.

  When he arched a brow, she grimaced.

  "Sorry, sorry. I'm just… someone wants in," she said as whomever waited on the other side of the door pounded a second time.

  "So I hear," Tristan muttered, adjusting himself through his jeans.

  Lillian's face flamed brighter, embarrassment and guilt coursing through her. He'd given her release, but she had not returned the favor. That fact bothered her far more than it probably should.

  "I-" She cleared her throat, not sure what to say as the sensible half of herself demanded she leave and the naughty half he'd awoken demanded she return the favor, pleaded with her to return the favor.

  Tristan settled the matter for her. He grabbed her panties from the floor and glanced at her, one eyebrow arched in question. She shook her head, mortified all over again. He slipped her panties into his pocket without comment before reaching for her hand.

  Snagging her wrist, he drew her close to his body. "Don't overthink it, Lillian. Just breathe."

  She took a deep breath and then another before nodding.

  He held her protectively to his chest for a long minute as she focused on breathing through the riot of questions and recriminations battling for dominance in her head.