Blood Ties
by Lana Sky!
A New Dark Cartel Romance!
BLURB
In this twisted dark cartel romance, revenge and hate collide with the past...
As Ada adjusts to the hellish predicament she finds herself in, one thing becomes painfully clear—Domino isn’t the only monster with her life in his hands.
And by no means is he the most dangerous.
Jaguar brings with him a wealth of mystery—and violence—that threatens to rock what little ground with Domino she’s managed to gain.
In the end, Ada will have to make a choice with both her life and her body on the line.
Only one man can offer her mercy should he choose to.
The other…
Doom.
If only she knew which fate would hurt less—losing her freedom, or losing her heart?
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EXCERPT
When he’s close enough, he cups my chin, tilting it. I grit my teeth experimentally, wondering if I have the strength to resist the intention written in his gaze.
I don’t. He merely flexes his fingers, and my lips fly apart.
“These lips,” he murmurs, shocking me further by stroking the underside of my jaw with his thumb. “Some men would kill to have a mouth like this at their disposal.”
Still holding me, he returns his opposite hand to his cock. In this position, I’d only have to lean forward to have access to him—and the way he tilts his hips in a silent demand makes it clear that’s exactly what he wants. Me at his beck and call like a worthless whore. Like trash, as disposable as he claimed I am. My cheeks heat with shame.
Though why should I feel that way?
I’m not the man absently praising a woman he hates. He assumes there’s power in degrading me. But I am a Pavalos.
We were born into power and taught from day one how to claim it. The catch is that I never had to do so without my father’s commands, but there is no better time than now to start.
Meeting his gaze, I hold it, leaning forward of my own accord to graze the tip of him with my tongue. He lurches, and I savor the brief moment of triumph. He claims to own me, but he can’t own this.
If I ignore the man, his cock is a beautiful specimen. He’s circumcised, his arousal so thick already, he’s practically pulsating. Were I the whore he claimed I am, his beauty alone would make his personality easy to overlook.
Warily, I cup him in the palm of my hand, testing the formidable weight. Aided by the warmth of the water, he’s molten, and I feel a jolt shoot through my core.
“You look at my cock like it’s a lollipop.” His cool remark complicates my desire to ignore him. To thwart me further, he grips my chin, forcing me to meet his amused stare.
“Let’s see what that beautiful little mouth can do. Open it.”
I bristle at the command. No. This moment feels as fragile as he proved my body can be against his violence. If I let him dominate me in this arena, I might as well roll over and present my throat for the killing blow.
This brief power, and my sexuality…
They’re all I have, and I own both by delivering a slow, savoring lick to the underside of his shaft despite his warning.
His shock is a thing of twisted beauty. He groans, his head shooting back while the hand on my chin slides down to my throat, almost in a grateful caress. Then he squeezes so tightly my eyes bulge.
“I told you to open,” he grates.
Choking down any doubt, I lick him again, going slower, so slow the entire world seems to come to a screeching halt, hinging on the time it takes my tongue to clear the length of his shaft.
“Dios mío…” His voice is constricted with a grudging hint of something that could be pleasure, paired with his low grunt of annoyance. The hand around my throat sinks into my hair, cinching a fistful. “I told you to—”
I cup him again, curling my fingers around his impressive width. Then I stroke, up and down, each time with increasing amounts of pressure.
He breathes out roughly, his head still tilted back, eyes on the ceiling above. The shower spray continues to pelt us in that faint, fine mist, but the sensation acts like a cloud, obscuring us from the rest of the world.
In here, only the two of us exist, battling for control of this secluded realm. I aim to win. I have to—there isn’t any other choice.
“Damn you.” His anger is palpable in the vibrations running through me as he speaks. “Obey me. Open your fucking mouth—”
“I want you to make me come, instead,” I gasp out, the first request that pops into my head. My aim is merely to test how far I can push him—nothing else.
And his soft, startled grunt shouldn’t make my stomach flip. His brows shoot together, eyes like slits, and I nearly back down. Almost. But I’m genuinely curious of the answer to a question only he has ever made me bold enough to ask.
“Can you? Just with your cock, nothing else?” It’s a fantasy I used to mull over in agony while in my old bed, forced to make do with my own fingers, while the Domino I thought I knew ignored me.
Here and now, the real man doesn’t even try to disguise his interest. His expression shifts as he processes the challenge. When he grazes my windpipe with the tips of his fingers, I expect him to grip it, forcing my mouth open. Instead, he withdraws…
Only to snatch a length of my hair in the same breath. Viciously, he tugs, yanking me to my feet, wrenching me around so that my back is to him, my hands forced to brace against the wall of the stall.
He gives me no forewarning. No preparation. Only the water basting our bodies provides him any lubrication as he slams inside of me with a ferocity so intense, I cry out—that and the fact that I’m already wet for him. He hisses as my readiness drags him deep—so deep that his balls smack against my inner thighs, driving home the depth he’s reached.
It should hurt, I think.
But it doesn’t.
It stings, and it burns, and it’s terrifying just how good it feels.
I should hate this man, vomit at his mere touch.
And yet, he has me moaning in a way I never have. Only as he abruptly withdraws do I realize he imparted that single thrust. Nothing more.
“You think you can command me,” he murmurs against my throat. Then he bites, raking his teeth down to my shoulder. My startled cry nearly drowns out his next words. “I am the one in control here, Ada—” He jerks me around to face him, his eyes glowing, teeth bared. “Do you understand that?”
Lana Sky is a reclusive writer in the United States who spends most of her time daydreaming about complex male characters and legless cats. She writes mostly paranormal romance, in between watching reruns of Ab Fab and drinking iced tea. Only iced tea.
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