Read Online Fantasyland 02 The Golden Dynasty by Kristen Ashley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristen Ashley
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with a forceful tug that
wrenched my shoulder and made me cry out, I was across the bed and
up, my torso plastered to his, my legs dangling, feet skimming the
bed and his arms were around me, caging me in.
I tipped my head back to look in dark eyes
that were gazing down at me. Then I curled my fingers into the
hard, warm muscle at his shoulders, exerting enough pressure
hopefully to make my point and I whispered over my hammering heart,
“Please, Lahn, listen to me.”
He didn’t listen to me. Oh no. He didn’t do
that.
He shifted his torso so my legs swung to the
side then he fell forward, his mammoth weight landing on me.
I was winded but I was not beaten.
That, that right there, was why we needed
to get things straight .
I arched my back, shoved at his shoulders
and shouted, “Seriously, big guy, we need… to get… a few
things… straight! ”
His hand trailed my side then went between
our bodies.
I lost it.
On a frustrated, furious cry, I
struggled.
This surprisingly worked. I managed to push
him back, slide out from under him and nearly gain the side of the
bed before I was caught at the waist and pulled back.
I whirled and fought.
I managed to use my nails to score his skin,
opening up two thin, short streaks that beaded instantly with blood
just under his shoulder and that shoulder rocked back as I froze in
shock that I’d managed to wound him. Then he gave me his full
weight, tipped his head down to look at the scratches and, fuck me,
when he looked back at me there was something in his eyes I did not
like and whatever that something was made him grin like he was
supremely pleased.
Shit!
I unfroze and again gave it my all, just
like that heinous night, grunting with the effort.
The problem was, even with the bastard
knowing he was bigger than me, stronger than me, he gave it his all
too and it became clear that if I wasn’t smart, and fast, he’d
break bones if he had to.
God, I hated him.
And when he’d maneuvered me to my knees, my
back to him, my wrists held in one of his fists pinned unmoving to
my chest and I knew what was next, I reared back my head and
shouted it.
“ God, I hate you! ”
His free hand slid along the silk at my
belly and his mouth went to my neck.
“Kah Lahnahsahna,” he muttered.
I jerked (to no avail) in his arms, and
screamed, “ Stop calling me that! ”
His fingers curled in, fisting the material
at my belly, bunching it up and when he had it all up, his hand
moved down.
I froze.
“Kah Dahksahna,” he whispered against my
neck.
“Fuck you! I’m not your queen!” I snapped,
my hips finally moving to avoid the path of his hand.
“Kah rahna Dahksahna,” he murmured and his
hand slid into my panties.
My hips stopped moving.
“ God,” I whispered on a jerk of my arms
that did nothing to loosen his hold, “I freaking hate
you. ”
His fingers glided between my legs.
And that was when it hit me his touch wasn’t
clinical. It wasn’t removed. He wasn’t shoving me face first into
the bed and taking me from behind like I was nothing but a warm
vessel to receive his seed.
His touch was gentle, light, soft.
Oh shit.
His finger glided light as a whisper over my
clit.
Oh shit!
“Lahn,” I whispered.
“Lahn,” he repeated, pushing his hips into
my back as his finger started to circle in what was very clearly a
caress. And dear God, I couldn’t believe it but it was a nice one.
It was a sweet one. And my body, damn it all, recognized it as
such.
What on earth was happening?
“Please.” I kept whispering.
“Please,” he repeated after me again, still
circling his finger with a gentle touch.
“Don’t,” I begged.
“Don’t,” he repeated and my eyes closed
slowly.
God, was this happening to me? After all
he’d done, was this really happening to me?
His finger asserted just a wee bit more
pressure.
My head automatically fell back to his
shoulder as a tiny spiral of pleasure unfurled in my belly.
Yep, this was happening to
wrenched my shoulder and made me cry out, I was across the bed and
up, my torso plastered to his, my legs dangling, feet skimming the
bed and his arms were around me, caging me in.
I tipped my head back to look in dark eyes
that were gazing down at me. Then I curled my fingers into the
hard, warm muscle at his shoulders, exerting enough pressure
hopefully to make my point and I whispered over my hammering heart,
“Please, Lahn, listen to me.”
He didn’t listen to me. Oh no. He didn’t do
that.
He shifted his torso so my legs swung to the
side then he fell forward, his mammoth weight landing on me.
I was winded but I was not beaten.
That, that right there, was why we needed
to get things straight .
I arched my back, shoved at his shoulders
and shouted, “Seriously, big guy, we need… to get… a few
things… straight! ”
His hand trailed my side then went between
our bodies.
I lost it.
On a frustrated, furious cry, I
struggled.
This surprisingly worked. I managed to push
him back, slide out from under him and nearly gain the side of the
bed before I was caught at the waist and pulled back.
I whirled and fought.
I managed to use my nails to score his skin,
opening up two thin, short streaks that beaded instantly with blood
just under his shoulder and that shoulder rocked back as I froze in
shock that I’d managed to wound him. Then he gave me his full
weight, tipped his head down to look at the scratches and, fuck me,
when he looked back at me there was something in his eyes I did not
like and whatever that something was made him grin like he was
supremely pleased.
Shit!
I unfroze and again gave it my all, just
like that heinous night, grunting with the effort.
The problem was, even with the bastard
knowing he was bigger than me, stronger than me, he gave it his all
too and it became clear that if I wasn’t smart, and fast, he’d
break bones if he had to.
God, I hated him.
And when he’d maneuvered me to my knees, my
back to him, my wrists held in one of his fists pinned unmoving to
my chest and I knew what was next, I reared back my head and
shouted it.
“ God, I hate you! ”
His free hand slid along the silk at my
belly and his mouth went to my neck.
“Kah Lahnahsahna,” he muttered.
I jerked (to no avail) in his arms, and
screamed, “ Stop calling me that! ”
His fingers curled in, fisting the material
at my belly, bunching it up and when he had it all up, his hand
moved down.
I froze.
“Kah Dahksahna,” he whispered against my
neck.
“Fuck you! I’m not your queen!” I snapped,
my hips finally moving to avoid the path of his hand.
“Kah rahna Dahksahna,” he murmured and his
hand slid into my panties.
My hips stopped moving.
“ God,” I whispered on a jerk of my arms
that did nothing to loosen his hold, “I freaking hate
you. ”
His fingers glided between my legs.
And that was when it hit me his touch wasn’t
clinical. It wasn’t removed. He wasn’t shoving me face first into
the bed and taking me from behind like I was nothing but a warm
vessel to receive his seed.
His touch was gentle, light, soft.
Oh shit.
His finger glided light as a whisper over my
clit.
Oh shit!
“Lahn,” I whispered.
“Lahn,” he repeated, pushing his hips into
my back as his finger started to circle in what was very clearly a
caress. And dear God, I couldn’t believe it but it was a nice one.
It was a sweet one. And my body, damn it all, recognized it as
such.
What on earth was happening?
“Please.” I kept whispering.
“Please,” he repeated after me again, still
circling his finger with a gentle touch.
“Don’t,” I begged.
“Don’t,” he repeated and my eyes closed
slowly.
God, was this happening to me? After all
he’d done, was this really happening to me?
His finger asserted just a wee bit more
pressure.
My head automatically fell back to his
shoulder as a tiny spiral of pleasure unfurled in my belly.
Yep, this was happening to
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