"I'm not Kia…" But my lips were swallowed whole as I tried to make him think I'm not the person he thought I was. God, this kiss is suffocating but wanting. My back and head were already at the roughed seat of my van, as his other hand slid down into my shirt and grabbed my breast. I didn't have time to process it, to stop him, to scream. A low moan escaped from my lips as immediately his fingers were on my skin, his thumb circling my nipple.
My hands, which had been pushing against his chest, now moved to his shoulders, gripping him, pulling him closer even as I tried to form a protest. I was a mess of contradictions, my mind screaming 'no' while my body screamed 'more.' I bit his lip, not to hurt him, but just to make him know that I was losing it in his touch, that I was no longer in control. He pulled back for a second, his eyes blazing gold, with a thin trail of blood at the corner of his mouth. He licked it away with a slow, deliberate movement that made my core clench.
"What are you doing to me?" I said almost like I was gasping for air. The words were a mix of accusation and desperate plea.
He didn't answer with words. His mouth crashed back onto mine, but his focus was elsewhere. His fingers were quick, nimble, undoing the buttons of my shirt so fast I barely felt them give way. He dragged my breast out from the bra, and his mouth immediately found my nipple. A deep, guttural moan escaped from him as he took it whole into his mouth, sucking hard, his other hand moving down my stomach, tracing a path of fire.
"You don't know what you're doing to me, Kiara," he said against my skin, his voice muffled and raw. And there it was again, that name. Kiara. Every time he said it, a piece of me, a piece I didn't know existed, flared up in a mix of confusion and... recognition. It was a violent, painful feeling that was almost as intense as the pleasure he was giving me.
But as he mentioned that name Kiara again, he took my nipple whole into his mouth and sucked so hard that a moan ripped from my throat. "Oh... fuck, make it stop," I begged, my head hitting the seat behind me. The world was spinning. I was really dripping down there, I haven't been turned on like this, not even from the vibrator I used to get me an orgasm. This was a different kind of hunger, a different kind of need. It was him.
He pulled his head up, his golden eyes filled with a dark, possessive fire. "I will make it stop, my love," he said, his voice a promise and a threat all in one. He looked at me, at my flushed face and my parted lips, and a smirk, both cruel and tender, touched his lips.
He drew my skirt up and pulled his black plain trousers down so fast it was a blur. Without saying a word, he pulled me out of my van. I obeyed without arguing or refusing. My mind was completely gone. The cool night air hit my back, but I didn't feel it. All I felt was him. The hardness of his body, the heat radiating from his skin. My pussy was dripping, a wet, desperate ache that had taken over my entire being.
Without minding that we were outside the hospital premises where everyone could walk by and catch us up, he turned me and positioned my ass to his. I braced myself on the side of the van, my fingers gripping the cool metal. He slid his cock inside me, and the gasp I let out was a mixture of pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure. It was so full that I gasped, covering my mouth with my hands.
"Oh... fuck me," I said in a whisper that was barely audible above the sound of his ragged breathing. Yes, I sounded like a whore, but this man made me do it. He led me to it. I couldn't blame myself. This was a force I had never encountered, a hunger I had never known.
I grabbed his thigh, drawing his trousers that got rumpled, as he began to pound me. It was hard, fast, and relentless. The sound was echoing in the background, a series of wet slaps against the side of my van. He held my hips with a strength that felt both brutal and safe.
"Yeah... oh... your ass never changed," he growled against my hair, and what? That line, that impossible line, sent a jolt of pleasure and confusion straight through me. It shouldn't have turned me on, but it did. It made me grind my hips back into his, my body instinctively seeking more of his punishing rhythm.
"Oh goodness... heaven, I'm cumming..." I gritted my teeth while the words came out of their own accord. My muscles were tightening, my head was spinning. I was on the edge of a precipice, and I was about to fall.
"Yes... my love... Cum for me," he said, and this time, the man was thrusting so fast that I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. It was too much, it was everything. He held my hair and moaned so hard that I felt a rush, a blinding, white-hot pleasure that made my knees buckle.
He groaned deeply, his head falling forward onto my shoulder as he emptied himself into me. I felt the heat, the fullness, and for a moment, the world was completely still.
Then something disrupted the moment. Someone was knocking, no, banging, on the side of the van. A woman's voice. A voice I knew.
I bumped into her, when I took an accident victim to this hospital. My trailed down immediately to how I met her.
—----------
She was tall, elegant, dressed in a black silk gown with slits up both sides. Her heels were blood red. Her hair was dark and tied up in a sleek knot. Her lips were perfect, glossy. Her skin glowed like porcelain. Everything about her screamed power and money. But something about her felt... off. Wrong. Like touching cold steel in warm water.
When our skin brushed, a strange heat sparked. I jerked back.
She turned slowly, her eyes like ice. "Watch where you're going, idiot."
She smirked and yanked at my hair, not too hard, but enough to make a point. Her fingers were sharp. Cold.
I stared at her as she walked off, laughing cruelly, headed toward the parking lot. Her hips swayed like she owned the ground she walked on.
My chest tightened. My skin crawled.
Who was she?
Why did my body react like that the moment she touched me?
Why do I feel... angry?
Like I've met her before.
Like I've hated her all my life.
The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow. Her voice, her cruel laugh, her face. It was her. The same woman from the hospital. The same woman whose cold, hateful touch had ignited a fire in me I couldn't explain.
And now she was here, watching us.
"What are you doing with this lady, Lucian!" Came the voice of the lady, full of rage and venom.