The Syndicater: A Dangerous Dark Romance (Dark Verse Book 6)

She needed sex. Not a thought she’d ever thought she would think, not when sex had been a weapon of trauma through her life.

But things had changed. Sex was pleasurable now, potent, powerful.

Her body was burning up—both literally and figuratively. It was almost as though the heated touch of his gloved hand during the party had thrown up a previously lowered switch. Hours had passed, and this hunger, this mad, raving hunger inside her, had only festered and grown like a beast. Her skin tingled from the heat she could feel pulse through her entire body, each and every pulse throbbing ardently at the juncture of her thighs. Her breasts felt uncomfortable, heavier, each rasp of the dress against her hard nipples sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her aching core, molten lava pooling low in her belly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so wet without Dainn doing something. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so empty, almost mindless, the need to be filled and taken so acute it almost hurt her.

She was in heat. There was no other way she could describe it.

Lyla closed the door to her suite and headed to the bathroom, needing to take a shower to cleanse herself and rid herself of this heat.

She closed the door behind her quietly, and switched the lights to low, casting the same warm, mellow glow around the lavish bathroom, the dark brown tiles and granite sink top gleaming in the soft light, the dark granite ledge around the tub cool against her heated palm. She stared at the tub, remembering all the times she’d tried to go under when she’d been alone, her memories of taking baths by herself not a good one, only made better with Dainn rewriting her trauma with her—bathtubs and masturbation, both things that she’d hated.

Maybe it was time to rewrite some of her own.

She filled the tub quickly, knowing if she had to do this by herself, she’d take her sweet time and not rush it. Not when she was going to masturbate for the first time in her life.

Cracking her neck, filling the water with bath salts he’d packed for her, Lyla stepped over the wide ledge and into the tub, her toes making contact with the warm water before her foot dipped in, followed by the rest of her body. She sank into the water, another gasp leaving her lips as the warmth tingled over her skin, teasing her between her legs, the water swirling around her heaving breasts. And she reveled in it, leaning her head back against the rim as the water rippled over her before slowly settling down.

Everything was sensation. She was utter sensation.

Gripping the edges of the tub, eyes closed, she let herself drown in them. The scent of the lime and something musky combined in a heady sensation, reaching her as she took a deep breath. The water lapped over her nipples, like slow, soft, smoother caresses of his hands, pooling between her thighs and teasing her aroused little nub with warm, warm currents she felt through her whole body. Her toes tingled, feet arching slightly as she let herself bask in the sensory pleasure, the sound of her own heavy breathing mingling with the occasional sound of water at the edges of the tub, the only sounds in the huge bathroom.

She let her hands move away from the tub and drift into the water, the buoyancy tickling her palms as she kept her eyes closed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she put her hands over her aching breasts, squeezing softly. A loud moan escaped her lips at the sudden amalgamation of relief and pleasure that shot through her, her nipples hard points against her palms, and she rubbed them wantonly, her neck arching along with her spine, seeking that relief. His hands always held her breasts firmly, sometimes with tenderness, sometimes with utter possession. Her thoughts lingered on the possessive grip now—the way he squeezed her breasts in his large, burned hands, tugging at the nipples with strong, sure fingers. Her actions matched her thoughts, pulling on her nipples with the same intensity, and a current of pure electricity shot straight to her core, her walls clenching madly.

Heart hammering as her breathing fastened, the sounds heavy in the room, her gasps and moans mixing together in a heady combination, she bit her lip, letting herself fantasize.

He bit too. On the tops of her breasts, he took the flesh between his teeth and just nipped, enough to send fire licking into her belly before flicking her nipple with his tongue. This way, then that. Her fingers moved in sync, playing with her sensitive breasts, her arousal a sharp ache in her core, her hunger gnawing in her belly.

Leaving one breast, she slowly trailed her hand over her wet skin; feeling the stomach, Lyla let herself linger on the soft skin. Like he lingered, with his calloused fingers catching over her skin, with his scruff rasping over it, with his teeth nipping his way down, with his tongue tasting every inch of her, god, he lingered. So much he drove her mad, left her a writhing, quivering mass of arousal, biting her hipbones and over her thighs, coming to a stop as he spread her legs.

She spread her legs, the water lapping against her heat, rising like steam inside her blood.

Lyla dipped a hand down over her inner thighs as the other tugged on her breast. He loved the softer skin of her inner thighs. He loved nipping at it, seeing it flush. He loved licking it with small strokes of his tongue, teasing her like that for minutes. And with that heat in his mismatched eyes. So much heat. In his eyes. In her blood. Everywhere.

She panted as she caressed the skin, so, so close to where she needed the relief but tormenting herself because that’s how he drew it out, and he was there, right there, inside her head, tormenting her.

Her mouth opened as she breathed heavily, and slowly, finally, she touched her folds, parting them. She could see in her mind the way he watched her as he did it, see his own heavy breaths as he exposed her to his eyes, see the blaze in those before he dipped and tasted her.

Lyla moaned loudly, canting her hips up as her finger found her throbbing little nub, sending waves after waves of heat crashing through her body, her heart skittering and her pulse pounded in her ears, her body shaking, so, so sensitive she couldn’t believe it.

Biting her lips, she opened her eyes.

And locked eyes with his intense ones.

She froze, her chest heaving, her finger on her clit as the other hand rested on her breast, eyes on him.

He sat there on the ledge, still dressed in his dark suit that he’d donned for the party, watching her with those intense eyes, his own breathing heavy.

How long had he been watching her? How had she not heard him come in?

She didn’t care.

His eyes traveled the length of her body under the water, resting on where her hands were, before coming back to clash with her own.

Her breath hitched, a new wave of arousal, sharper, starker, washing anew over her.

Licking her lips, never removing her eyes from his, Lyla dipped a finger inside herself, the sensation almost making her eyes flutter close. Almost. She couldn’t remove her gaze from his even if she wanted to. She didn’t. Because he watched her like she was the finest dessert and he was a man starved.

He was starved.

Another finger joined the first, pumping in and out of her, never reaching the depth he did, the skill his fingers did, the satisfaction. But he was there, and watching him watch her as she pleasured herself was heady. She would never have been able to do it a few months ago. Now, there was no cloud of hesitation anywhere.

A moan left her as she pressed the heel of her hand hard into her nub, and suddenly, Dainn removed his suit jacket. She watched with lidded eyes as he took his gloves off, taking his time, placing them on the counter, along with the jacket. Then, he did the same with his cufflinks, and then, he began rolling his sleeves up over his forearms, exposing the burns on his hands and the dark hair and the ropes of muscle. He sat back down on the ledge and leaned forward, one muscular arm over her to the opposite edge of the tub, caging her in the water.

She tilted her head back, to keep their gazes locked, the dark, musky scent of his flesh and cologne wrapping around her as he leaned closer and closer and closer.

And kissed her pulse. It fluttered.

His scruff rasped over her skin as he kissed her neck, coming up to her jaw, biting and licking and suckling on her skin, the heat an inferno inside her body as her fingers worked over it.

‘You’re a fever in my blood, flamma,’ he muttered against her ear, the sound of his low, deadly voice tipping her over the edge. Lyla turned her face into his shoulder, biting his hard muscle over the shirt as pleasure washed over her, her body trembling but hungering for more, more that she wasn’t able to find no matter how hard she rubbed herself.

‘Dainn,’ she whimpered against his skin, and suddenly his hand was right there, cupping her. Lyla watched his muscular forearm dip under the water, the fabric of his shirt wet and clinging to his arm, and she panted.

He swirled a finger around her opening, once, twice, teasing, tormenting her as she came down, before boldly pushing two fingers inside her. She felt her walls clench around him as he pumped his fingers skillfully, over and over and over, building her right up, her body arching into his touch as her hands came out of the water, gripping the back of his neck, wetting his shirt even more as she pulled his face down.

Their mouths clashed together in a frenzy, his fingers increasing in speed as the heel of his hand pressed into her, his tongue spearing her lips in sync with his mad, mad fingers, making her heart thunder as the heat coiled at the base of her spine, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter and he kept stroking and moving and kissing and never stopping and she couldn’t breathe as her breasts heaved and water lapped over the rim and he was surrounding her, inside her, moving in her, just as he always had and he always would and suddenly, he pushed his fingers in, curling them, and she shattered with a loud scream muffled against his mouth.

He pulled back his lips as he pulled out his fingers, and Lyla opened her eyes, her body limp but not sated, watching him. His lips were wet, as was his torso, the front of his trousers tented with the evidence of his own need.

Lyla blinked up at him as he stood up, his own fevered eyes on hers, and removed his wet shirt from his body, throwing it in a corner. She watched the play of muscles over his flesh, his abs rippling with every heavy breath he took, as he undid his belt and removed his trousers, standing there without hiding his piercings.

Fuck, she’d missed them.

She watched him with unabashed hunger, feeling that warm, low coil of arousal spring forth from her core.

Before she could do a thing, he had her out of the tub and into his arms, carrying her out of the suite and to the bed.

He dropped her on it, his eyes intense. ‘Hands.’

The words, the command, filled her with need. She extended her hands, watching as he wrapped his belt around her wrists.

He turned her to face the headboard, climbing up behind her, his face scenting her neck and his hand cupping her breast possessively. ‘You got one, but you’re getting punished tonight, flamma. For touching another man.’

She whimpered, needing it, needing him. She could feel his heavy erection against her back, the metal on them kissing her skin as one of his hands traveled lower, cupping her boldly again.

Fire shot through her blood.

‘I’m proud of you,’ he whispered into her flesh. ‘For taking your pleasure yourself. Did you think of me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Such a good girl for me, flamma.‘

His words inflamed her even more.

His fingers played with her, plunging and rubbing and stroking, bringing her to the edge. She began to breathe heavily, her breasts heaving, her eyes rolling back into her head.

And he stopped.

Lyla came crashing down, a cry leaving her lips.

‘Shhhh,’ he hushed her. ‘You can’t be loud, flamma.’ His fingers restarted. ‘Someone might come in if you make a noise.’ He pushed a finger inside, nipping the side of her neck. ‘You know what they’ll see? A stranger with their precious little guest. They will see you begging for my cock, see you a needy mess for me, you don’t want that, do you?’ The heat in her body was going to give her a stroke as sensations assailed her. She bit her lips to wrangle her cries.

He brought her right to the edge again and stopped.

Lyla moaned, and she bit her tongue to strangle it.

He started again, and stopped again.

Again and again.

Until she was a whimpering, needy mess that he’d called her, eyes cheeks wet with tears and her mind gone from almost pleasure that he kept her coasting on, never fulfilling her.

‘Please,’ she begged, sobbing in frustration. ‘Dainn, please.’

‘Who do you want, flamma?‘

‘You. Only you.’

‘And what will happen if someone else touches you?’

‘You’ll kill them.’ It turned her on even more.

‘Now tell me.’

‘I love you,’ she whispered, her pussy on fire. ‘I love you so much. I missed you so much. Please, complete me, Dainn. Fill me. Please. Touch my soul.’

Her words must have triggered something in him because the next thing she knew, she was pushed forward, her cheek against the mattress, her hands tied with the belt in her front, her legs spread apart, and he plunged into her in one stroke. Lyla muffled her scream in the mattress, coming around him immediately, his piercings rubbing against her walls in ways that felt like coming home, his cock so deep she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.

His hands gripped her waist and kept her in place as he fucked her into the bed, hard, fast, brutal, taking out days and days of distance and separation in one hard thrust after the other, and Lyla kept coming and coming and coming, until she was a mess of fluids and mindless and dazed, just letting him fuck her until, after what seemed like hours of him battering her pussy, she blacked out.

Lyla came to on her side, feeling him inside her again, wrapped around her back, not moving, just staying in her, locked in like he was finding home too.

Lyla turned her neck to look at him. ‘I think you missed me.’

He pressed a kiss to her lips. ‘I did.’

Her pussy and heart both clenched at that.

‘How’s everything been?’ he asked her as if he didn’t already know. Or maybe he didn’t.

Lyla turned back to face forward and he spooned her, and she began telling him everything that had happened, talking more than she’d talked in days, all the while, he stayed still inside her pussy, inside her heart, inside her soul.

Things had changed. She had changed. She was still changing, transforming, and for the first time, it didn’t scare her. As she lay in the arms of the man she loved, the man who never let her be lonely, a man who had always touched her soul, Lyla looked forward to seeing who she would become on the other side.