Elena stood against him, paralyzed by the overwhelming presence of Julian Kincaid. The firelight painted his magnificent chest in hues of copper and gold, and the heat rising off his skin was a physical assault.
"I don't know what to do," she repeated, her voice a fragile reed.
"You don't have to do anything," he had said. You just have to take it.
He didn't wait. His mouth descended onto hers again, but this time, the kiss was deeper, slower, and devastatingly thorough. It wasn't the angry conquest of the club; it was a deliberate possession. He tasted her, using his tongue to explore the soft contours of her mouth until Elena forgot how to breathe.
She made a sound—a desperate little whimper—and her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were the only stable thing in a violently spinning world.
Julian groaned low in his throat, a guttural sound of satisfaction that made her pulsating ache deepen into a heavy, exquisite torment.
He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth down her jawline, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. When he reached her neck, he didn't bite, but he sucked the sensitive skin gently, possessively. The action sent a jolt of electricity that started at her throat and exploded deep within her core.
"Mine," he rasped, the single word branding her skin. "You are mine now, Elena."
His hand, warm and heavy, slid from her waist, slowly tracing the delicate curve of her spine before settling firmly on the dip of her lower back. He pressed her closer, annihilating the last sliver of space between them.
The hard, insistent ridge of his desire pressed against the thin black silk. The contact was shocking, intimate, and immediately brought a flush of heat to her cheeks. She was flooded with a desperate, dizzying realization: he wanted her. The powerful, terrifying Julian Kincaid was utterly hard for her.
"The silk," he commanded, his eyes closed as he buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. "Take it off."
"I... I can't," she stammered, her fingers suddenly useless.
Julian pulled back, his eyes opening. They were dark and predatory, filled with a raw, consuming hunger that stripped away her shame.
"Watch me," he said.
He reached down and hooked a finger under the thin strap of her slip. With slow, deliberate cruelty, he slid it down her arm. He repeated the action on the other side. The silk pooled around her waist, held up only by the heat of his body.
He looked at her, his gaze worshipping the curve of her bare breasts, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Elena felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet strangely powerful under his unwavering scrutiny.
He lowered his head. He didn't kiss her. He simply exhaled a warm breath against the hollow between her breasts.
Then, his mouth found her.
It wasn't gentle. It was demanding, drawing a loud gasp from her as a wave of heat washed over her entire body. He used his tongue, his teeth, and his hands to torment and tease, until Elena was gripping his shoulders, whimpering his name in pleas for relief she didn't know how to articulate.
She was falling apart. Her knees felt weak, her center was coiling and clenching, desperate for the final touch.
Julian lifted his head, his own breathing ragged. His eyes were blazing.
"You like that," he stated, not asked. "You like being taken."
His hand left her waist and slowly, sensually, traced a path down her abdomen, pushing the last remnant of the silk slip down her legs. He let it drop to the floor.
She was naked before him.
He reached for the towel at his own hips. It fell, joining the silk, revealing the full extent of his magnificent arousal. Elena made a small sound—a frightened, awed intake of breath.
He was pure muscle and fierce desire.
He lifted her easily, wrapping her legs around his waist, settling her against his rigid hardness.
"Look at me, Elena," he commanded, his eyes drilling into hers. "You signed the contract. Now you pay the price."
He didn't give her a chance to respond. He moved, thrusting once, deep and true, conquering the warmth that was ready and waiting for him.
Elena cried out—a sound that was half pain, half relief, and entirely surrender. The world shattered.
The sheer size, the intense warmth, the feeling of him anchoring himself in her core, was overwhelming. The pulsating ache was immediately replaced by a profound, stretched fullness.
He paused, resting his forehead against hers, their bodies slick with sweat in the firelight.
"Tell me," he rasped, his voice raw with effort, "Tell me you're mine."