The King (Black Dagger Brotherhood #12)(107)

Hardly. She was lean as a boy, with no hips to speak of and breasts that were barely big enough to need a bra—and yet like this, in this dim light, on this circular bed, under his straining watch, she was as voluptuous as any woman on the planet, fully sexualized and ready to be pleased by her man.

Even though he wasn’t really hers.

Dropping his head back down, he attended to her breasts some more as his fingers drifted over to her hip and onto her outer thigh. Up and down he petted her leg, as he suckled and ground carefully against her—

And then his hand slipped between them, replacing his clothed erection, passing over her wet sex once, twice … and then rubbing.

He recaptured her mouth as his fingers delved in.

For a split second, she winced and stiffened, her body remembering the last time that had happened.

Assail immediately stopped everything. Staring down at her, his expression darkened to the point of violence. “How badly were you hurt.”

Sola just shook her head. She didn’t want to go there, not when relief was so close she could touch it.

“Marisol. How bad.”

“I thought you said I’m supposed to forget it happened.”

His eyes closed as if he were in pain. “I don’t want you hurt—ever. But especially not like that.”

God, he was beautiful, those handsome features of his pulled into agony on her behalf.

She reached out and smoothed his brow, erasing the lines that had been created. “Just be with me. Make it all about you and not … anybody or anything else. That is what I need right now.”

Every time Assail thought his female was done surprising him, Marisol took him to another, deeper level. In this case, the idea that some man had brutalized her sacred body … Virgin Scribe in the Fade, his brain literally shut down from a traffic jam of aggression and agony.

And yet just her touch was enough to redirect him from the violence.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed as she nuzzled his throat—

Her innocent action triggered an immediate feeding response in him, his fangs dropping into his mouth, his urge to mark her by taking her vein almost as strong as his abiding resolve to never let her learn what he really was.

She had been traumatized enough—

Her hands went to his shirt and she tugged the thing free of his slacks. And then she went to work on his belt.

Except he couldn’t be distracted. Not until he knew …

“What did he do to you?” he demanded.

As Marisol went still, a part of him wondered why he was pushing her, especially given the advice he’d insisted on imparting.

“I did what I had to, to distract him,” she said tightly. “And then I went for his balls.”

Assail exhaled. “I should have been the one to kill him.”

“To defend my honor?”

He was dead serious as he looked at her. “Absolutely.”

Her eyes seemed to cling to his. “You really are a gentleman under all of it, aren’t you.”

“I killed Benloise,” he heard himself say. “In a way that made him suffer.”

Her lids closed briefly. “How did you know he was the one who took me?”

“I followed you the night you broke into his house.”

“So it was you.” She shook her head. “I could have sworn someone was with me. But I wasn’t sure. Jesus, you put me to shame when it comes to tracking somebody.”

“Why did you go there? I have wondered.”

The smile she gave him was full of irony. “Because he called me off of your trail—and refused to pay me the full amount I was owed. I mean, I was prepared to keep my end of the bargain, but something spooked him. You?”

He nodded once and took her mouth again, drinking in the feel of her, the taste. “No more of that for you.”

“Of what?”

“That kind of work.”

Her stillness returned, but only for a moment. “I agree.”

God, that was what he needed to hear and hadn’t known it: The idea of her staying safe gave him a rush so great he had to blink his way through it.

And as soon as it passed, Assail shed his clothes quickly, the fine fabrics floating off the edge of the bed onto the floor. Then he was skin on skin with her, poised above her parted thighs, his rock-hard cock nonetheless content to wait.

When he finally positioned his head at the entrance of her sex, he knew he was going to be lost forever if he completed the act. Or maybe that was a lie. Maybe … he had been lost since that first night he’d met up with her out in the snow.

Pushing inside slowly, feeling her arch up against his chest, watching her eyes roll back, he wished they had never met. As good as this was, he didn’t need a weakness like her anywhere near his life. But like a wound filled with salt, she was permanently in his skin.

At least she was going to stay here with him and be safe.

That was his one solace.

Moving slowly, carefully, he eased himself in and out of her slick hold, his cock getting stroked on all sides. He had to grit his teeth and lock his lower back to keep up the steady, even pace—he wanted to go faster and faster, but that was not an option.

And yes, he knew exactly what she was after: She was using him as an eraser, and he was more than willing to fit the bill.

Anything for her—