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He groaned as his gaze locked onto my spread and exposed centre. “Damn. I’d hope your mouth would line up with my cock. Sucking me would’ve definitely shut you up.” He sighed. “Ah well, I have other ways.”
I’d never felt so vulnerable as he ran his nose along the trimmed black hair between my legs then stuck his tongue inside me from above.
Not a lick.
Not a lave.
A takeover.
I didn’t scream this time, I choked.
My entire body went to explode—
He stopped.
Tears rolled from my eyes, falling the wrong way, soaking into my hair. “Hen…”
“Don’t,” he barked. “Until you say my name correctly, you don’t get to come.”
Breathing hard, Henri left me upside down as he strode across the snuffbox and grabbed a sharp little knife from the rack housing all manner of awful implements.
I hovered in that nondescript magical place, hyper aware of his every move.
I lost all track of where we were and why and how and became nothing more than a river of need.
He returned with a tiny jewel-handled dagger. Flicking a look at Victor, he grabbed his discarded jeans on the floor and grabbed the vial from his pocket. “How many scars am I allowed?”
Victor paused mid-thrust, his hips plastered against Rachel’s. It took a moment for his mind to catch up. “However many you want. Now shut the fuck up. I’m busy.” He resumed his rock.
Henri fisted his two toys.
I trembled as he marched back toward me.
I waited for him to flip me the right way up.
To whisper to stay calm. That he hadn’t lost himself.
But he merely latched his mouth on my pussy again.
Every nerve ending arrowed right where he punished me.
My entire system fritzed and fried.
The lashes on my back braided with the pleasure between my legs, and I lost myself completely.
Overwhelming.
Encompassing.
Tears sprang.
I sobbed as he ate me out. I shuddered as his teeth scraped my clit. I scrambled and screamed as he drove me straight toward that lacerating climax only to stop as the first ripple of release worked its way through my entire body.
He laughed cruelly and pressed the sweetest kiss on the paper-thin skin of my inner thigh. “Not yet, little nightmare. I mean to make you bleed first.”
His left hand landed on my thigh, stroking me in the exact spot where his own leg wore the permanent reminder of where he’d tried to take his own life.
I shivered as he pressed a kiss there, then replaced his lips with the dagger. “Don’t move.”
