Stolen Heir: Chapter 20

I’m lying in my bed in the dark.

My heart is racing like I’m on a treadmill.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

Why did he bring me back here?

I know Mikolaj wants me. I could see it on his face.

He was feeling what I was feeling. The same desperation, the same lust. The same wildness telling me to ignore all rational thought, to take what I wanted and damn the consequences.

I wanted HIM.

I know it’s insane. I know he’s my enemy, and that he wants to destroy everything I love.

But my body and my brain are two separate entities.

I’ve never even had a boyfriend! I had crushes, boys I thought were cute. It was almost a game—something I liked to imagine, without taking any action.

I never really wanted to be kissed, not badly enough to make it happen. There was nothing special about any of those boys. Nothing made them stand out. They were interchangeable in my fantasies.

I’ve never had a strong attraction to anybody.

Until now.

My attraction to Mikolaj is a compulsion. It’s nothing as simple as lust. It’s every emotion wrapped into one: fear, intimidation, arousal, fixation, and anguish. It’s so intense that nothing as normal as a crush could hope to compare to it. It’s a force of nature. It’s a goddamn tsunami.

It takes control of me.

I know he’s feeling it, too.

But he pushed me away, and he brought me back to my room and left me here.

Why?!

One tiny corner of my brain is still thinking rationally. It tells me, “Because he knows this is doomed. He knows he’s going to kill your brother, your parents, and even you. And the tiny shred of morality left inside of him says that it’s wrong to fuck you before he murders you.”

It’s a sobering thought. One that should shake me out of this madness.

I roll over under the blankets, closing my eyes, trying to force myself to go to sleep.

I’m plagued by the throbbing between my thighs. The itching and burning of my skin. I wanted him to touch me so badly. Why didn’t he run his hands down my body at least?

If he had just kissed me again, I could be satisfied. I could go to sleep thinking of that.

But he refused to touch me at all.

It almost makes me angry.

He told me to convince him. Then he sat there like a fucking robot.

Yeah, I’m definitely pissed.

I used to be a girl who would curl up and cry when she was disappointed. Well, not anymore. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of doing what people say. I’m tired of being locked in this room.

I slip out from under the blanket and pad barefoot toward the door.

I’m still naked, other than my underwear. I never recovered the nightgown—it’s probably still down in the billiards room.

I try the door handle. It turns silently under my palm.

I’m going to take that as a sign. Mikolaj didn’t actually lock me in my room. He’s not sloppy. Either he did it on purpose, or subconsciously he wants this as badly as I do.

I creep out of my room and down the dark hallway.

I remember how terrified I was, the first time I did this.

I’ve spent more than a month in this house now. I know its sounds as well as I know the sound of my own heartbeat and my own breath in my lungs. I know exactly how to avoid Andrei, who’s supposed to be keeping watch tonight. I hear him in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of milk. He always drinks milk, never water.

I cross the main floor.

I hear another sound, up the staircase that leads to Klara’s room. It’s a low murmur, like two people talking quietly, not wanting to be heard. I’d bet my arm it’s Marcel. I’ve seen how he looks at Klara, and how she looks at him, when she thinks no one will notice.

They won’t hear me. They’re too wrapped up in their own whispered conversation.

That means I just have to watch out for Jonas.

I cross over to the west wing, the forbidden part of the house. It’s only been nine hours since Mikolaj chased me out of here. He looked so angry I thought he’d strangle me right then and there.

Before I was propelled by simple curiosity. Now I’m driven by something stronger.

I climb the staircase and walk silently down the long hallway. As I pass Mikolaj’s office I peek inside, in case he’s stayed up working. It’s empty.

I come to the master suite with its heavy double doors. I turn the latch and slip inside, thinking for certain he’ll still be awake. It’s only been an hour since he dropped me off at my room. I expect to hear his low, clear voice, demanding to know why I’m back here already. But the suite is dark and silent.

I cross over to the bed.

There he lays. My beast. My enemy. My captor.

He’s naked on top of the covers, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. For the first time, I have a full view of his body.

Every inch of his skin is covered in tattoos, except for his hands and face. His body is a living, breathing piece of art. It’s a complete tapestry of patterns, images, and swirls in shades of gray, blue, and oxblood.

Beneath the tattoos, planes of lean, hard muscle. He’s more ripped than a male dancer. I see the deep cuts of his abs, then his hipbones, then the waistband of his boxer shorts, barely covering his cock.

My mouth waters and I have to swallow hard.

I almost put that cock in my mouth.

I don’t know how in the hell I got the courage to do it. I unbuttoned his pants and it jumped out like a snake, twice as big as I expected. It was terrifying and I had no idea what to do with it.

At the same time, I was fascinated by that smooth, bare skin. It looked like the softest skin on his whole body. When I held his cock in my hand, it felt like it had a life of its own, twitching and throbbing against my palm.

I expect him to wake up any second, with me standing over him. He’ll probably be furious.

Right now, his face is totally relaxed.

I’ve never seen it like that.

It makes me realize how beautiful Mikolaj is. His features are so sharply defined, they’re almost godly. What would he look like if he were happy, if he actually smiled? It would be too much. I don’t think I could stand it.

I stare at his face a long time.

I’m looking at the man he could have been. A man without anger or bitterness. A man without pain.

Now my heart is hurting, and I don’t know why. Why should I have sympathy for the Beast?

But I do. Some bizarre connection has grown between us, without either of us wanting it.

I slip into his bed, expecting him to wake any second.

He’ll wake up now that I’m lying next to him.

Now that I’ve rested my hand on his stomach.

Now that I’m sliding it into his shorts . . .

He sighs—a long, slow, masculine sigh. It makes my thighs squeeze together.

I have his cock in my hand. It’s warm, half-hard, getting harder by the moment.

I bend over and take it in my mouth.

I can smell his skin, warm and musky with sleep. And I can taste his cock, which has a flavor all its own—rich, salty, and compelling. It floods my mouth with saliva. My tongue slides easily over his smooth flesh, the head of his cock filling my mouth.

The harder he gets, the wider I have to open my jaw.

I have no clue how to give a blowjob properly. I’m just trying things out as I go—sometimes licking, sometimes sucking, sometimes just sliding my lips and tongue around on it.

Really, I’m just doing whatever feels good to me. But it seems to work well enough, because his cock has gotten equally as hard as it was before in the billiards room, when I danced for him.

Mikolaj’s hands thrust into my hair, holding my head on both sides.

I glance upward and see that he’s fully awake, looking down at me.

I thought he’d be angry or annoyed.

Those are the only two options I was expecting.

Instead, I see an expression I can hardly understand. It almost looks like gratitude.

He’s holding my head, rolling his hips so that his cock slides in and out of my mouth in a steady rhythm. I keep licking and sucking as best I can. His breath is coming quicker, and he’s making little sounds, something like a sigh and a groan mixed together.

He starts thrusting harder and his cock goes too deep, hitting the back of my throat. I gag.

“Sorry,” he pants.

Mikolaj has never apologized for anything before. It sounds so odd that I almost laugh.

I keep my eyes open, enthralled by the sight of him. His body looks insanely sexy, his arms tensed, every muscle on his chest and stomach flexing.

He keeps pumping his cock in and out. My jaw is starting to hurt but I don’t want to stop. He’s looking down at me and I’m looking up at him and we’re locked together in this thing that is intimate, intense, and impossible to stop.

Then he closes his eyes and tilts his head back on the pillow, and I feel his cock start to pulse in my mouth. He lets out a long, low cry. My mouth is flooded with warmth, slippery and salty but not unpleasant.

His cock is still pulsing, so I keep sucking, not wanting to stop too soon.

When it’s finally done, he lets go of my head and grabs my arms instead, pulling me up on the bed so he can roll over on top of me.

He kisses me, not caring if the taste of his cum is still in my mouth.

This kiss is nothing like the one in the ballroom.

Mikolaj is still warm and heavy with sleep. His lips are softer than I would have imagined possible.

“What are you doing, little ballerina?” he growls.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say.

“I know why,” he says.

Now he’s the one sliding down the length of my body. He stops at my breasts, taking each one into his mouth in turn. He sucks on the nipple until it’s fully hard, then he gently rolls and squeezes it between his fingers while he sucks on the other.

Then he goes further down, all the way between my thighs.

I have the impulse to push him away. I’m nervous that I might taste or smell bad. I wish I would have checked, before I came in here.

But Mikolaj doesn’t seem any more concerned with the state of my lady bits than he was with my mouth. He buries his face between my thighs, licking my pussy in long, wet strokes.

Oh my god, I never imagined anything could feel that good.

I’ve touched myself before, plenty of times.

A tongue is so very different from fingers. It’s warm and wet, and it seems to awaken nerve endings that I never knew existed.

It sends a flood of moisture out of me, so much that I worry for a second that I’ve wet myself. Mikolaj is still licking and kissing me down there, totally unconcerned.

He moistens one of his fingers and slides it inside of me. I gasp, thinking it’s going to hurt. I don’t usually put anything in there, not toys or my own fingers, because it’s painfully tight.

Even though Mikolaj’s finger is much larger than mine, it seems to fit perfectly inside me. Probably because I’m more aroused than I’ve ever been before.

Actually, it feels much better than tolerable. It feels incredible.

His finger gives me something to grip around, while his tongue is lapping steadily at my clit. It seems to increase the sensation, so I can squeeze on his finger while grinding my clit against his tongue.

I can feel that familiar sensation starting to build—the start of a climax. But god oh god it feels so much better on his tongue than on my pillow. It feels like a warm bath and a massage and the sexiest dream imaginable, all rolled into one.

The pleasure builds and builds until I’m almost afraid.

Then the orgasm goes rushing through me, flooding down like a waterfall.

I’m bucking my hips against his face, trying to smother my cries in the pillow. I’m embarrassed to be this loud, but also, I can’t give a damn, because it just feels so good.

I shout and squirm. Then it’s all over and I’m lying there, panting and sweating, thinking how crazy this is.

Mikolaj has given me the most pleasurable moment of my life.

We’re looking at each other across the pillow.

I think he’s as lost as I am. He doesn’t know what to do.

He kisses me once more, softly on the lips.

Then he says, “Go back to your room, little ballerina. Don’t let anyone see you.”

Quietly I slip out of the bed and I run back the way I came, my body weak with pleasure and my head spinning round and round.