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“Very good,” he murmurs, taking in my naked body. The shame flushes my pale skin pink. It’s hot and prickly, creeping up from the base of my neck, across my cheeks, and down my breasts. “Now lie down and spread your legs.”
My breath hitches in my chest. “No,” I stammer, taking the steps away from him.
“No isn’t part of your vocabulary anymore, Miss Murphy,” he hisses. “Get on the chaise lounge.Now.”
But the urge to protect myself outweighs my fear of the devil. “I can’t,” I manage. And then comes the one word I never wanted to escape from my lips. The one that hands him all the power. “Please.”
It’s enough to make him stop and cock his head. His gaze drags along my curves and ends at the mound of my pussy. “Are you—?”
“Yes,” I say quietly. The shame is getting hotter; I am truly in the furnace of hell.
He makes a swift sidestep and tugs me to face him. “Say it,” he demands, lifting my chin. “Look me in the eyes and say it.”
I have no choice but to meet his gaze. He’s hungry, salivating at the thought.
I hate that I have no choice but to give him the answer he wants. It might be the only thing that saves me.
“I am a virgin,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Lorcan’s face splits into a demonic smile. He’s drunk with delight and it sickens me to my stomach.
“Then you are even rarer than I thought,” he mutters, “I am a very lucky man.” He traces my collarbone with the rough pad of his forefinger. His touch is surprisingly light, almost gentle. “A princess with an unspoiled flower,” he mutters, more to himself than me. His finger dips below my bone and lingers over the swell of my breast. “I am going to savor every second of this.” The warmth of his hand is a stark contrast to the stone-cold sensation of his ring. They both run over my nipple, and it instantly stiffens.
I clench my jaw, and my eyes shut and I wrap my hands around my chest. But it’s too late. The deep, throaty laugh tells me he noticed.
I’m more than flustered and I’ve reached my limit of embarrassment for the day. I push past him and grab the robe off the floor, scrambling to cover myself. “Why?” I find myself saying, the tears prickling in my eyes are the ones I promised wouldn’t come. “Why did you pull me away from my life? How can you hold a grudge for so goddamn long? Where is yourheart?” The desperation claws at my vocal cords but I don’t care. I’m overwhelmed with the injustice of it all.
In my own personal storm, Lorcan remains deathly still, watching me claw at the silk around my chest and drag the tears away from my cheek with a balled fist.
After a few seconds filled with nothing but my sobs, he speaks.
“There’s something you should know about me, my little China doll. I don’t have a heart. I have things,” he says smoothly. He picks up one of the ornaments from the dresser. It’s an intricate, egg-shaped box, covered in delicate flowers and crystals. Even in my distress, I recognize it immediately. A Faberge egg. A replica, no doubt, but still, it’s striking. “Beautiful, shiny things. I collect them. Things nobody else has, that nobody elsecanhave.” He holds the egg up to the light; the rubies and sapphires glisten like stars. “And when I’m done with them, I discard them.” A scream rips from my mouth as he hurls the egg like a football. It misses my head by inches, meeting the mirror behind me with an almighty crack, then smashes into a million pieces on the floor. He smirks at my reaction, before dragging his eyes away from me and to his reflection. He straightens his tie, smooths down his beard and tightens his cufflinks. “Don’t become worthless to me, Miss Murphy,” he says simply, heading towards the door without a second glance back at me. “You won’t like the way I’ll discard you.”
And with that, he disappears back into the bedroom and out the main door, leaving me as shattered as the Faberge egg.
Lorcan
My study is a six-minute walk from the museum. Not short enough.
The second I step inside, I slam the door, lock it, and pull out the silk hankie from my breast pocket and my cock from my zipper.
Fuck.
My cock is throbbing with missed opportunity, and I waste no time furiously fucking my fist, imaging it’s Poppy’s tight cunt.
I should have taken her as I told her I would. Telling me to fuck off was reason enough to get her on her hands and knees and take what’s mine.
I slam my hand on my desk to steady myself, tightening my grip on my girth. Those big, innocent eyes and ruby-red lips… I could have at least fucked her face, enjoying watching her eyes water as I slide my length down her throat.
The thought of Poppy on her knees gagging on my cock is enough to send me over the edge. Thick, hot ropes of cum land in my silk hankie. When I get my breath back, I toss it in the trash can, tuck myself away and sink into my Herman Miller chair.
“Fuck,” I groan, smoothing down my pants and stretching my neck over the top of the chair.
Is it too early for a drink?The sun has barely come up, so I’ll take it that it’s late, not early. It’s only too early if you ever sleep, and I rarely do.
I grab a bottle ofThe Smugglers Clubfrom the cabinet, pour it neat and knock it back in one gulp.
The liquor soothes my body and the post-nut clarity clears my brain. Enough for me to truly assess my new possession.
