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Beatrice shook her head. “I’m not his. I don’t want to be his. But my body can still feel him inside it.”
His hands clenched where they rested on the mattress, far enough from her legs not to touch her. Rage coursed through him, and Montrell wished the fucker was alive so he could kill him again. He shook his head, and she jerked the knife away from his neck so she wouldn’t cut him.
“Bea, having me inside you instead doesn’t make you mine. You belong to yourself. You coming into my room at all is the most precious gift.” He took a deep breath as his hands loosened. “Don’t take that gift away from me.”
“Goddammit, Montrell.” She shifted her pussy over his cock again until she found the tip. “Stop pretending. You’re hard. You want this.”
He reached for her hips to stop her, but the knife came back, pressing into his flesh again.
“We’re doing this,” she breathed as she thrust against him. His cock slipped a little deeper this time, just past the head. The tears his girth brought to her eyes hurt him much worse than the blade did.
“Please, stop.” He hated those tears. If she cried harder, he would really go soft.
“It’s fine,” she muttered, biting her lip as she rocked him deeper. “It always hurts. Sex is supposed to hurt.” Her small gasp of pain made him grab her hips, despite the threat of the knife, to stop her movements himself.
Blood dripped from the blade’s shallow cut at his neck.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried.
His hands dropped away. “You’re too dry, and my cock is a big fucker.”
She snorted, less than impressed. “The Albanian hurt too. It’s not because of your giant dick.”
“But you admit it’s giant.” He tried out a lopsided smile, even though it was the furthest thing from what he was feeling.
Her sudden stillness as she blinked at him was worth it. They were both breathing hard, he realized, but in all the wrong ways.
“You’re not wet enough, Bea.”
Her eyes squeezed shut, and one of the tears fell. “I don’t get wet anymore. Stop making this harder for me than it already is.” She opened her eyes, and there was a renewed determination there. “Sex is about pain.”
His fists clenched the sheets as a new idea took hold. “Is that it? Do you want to hurt yourself?” And for the first time, he was angry with her. “If so, we’re stopping right now. You’re not using me for that. I was serious about protecting you. Even if it’s from yourself.” He reached for her, serious about pushing her off, but he froze as a paleness filled her face.
“I don’t want to hurt myself,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. She lifted herself off of him.
The motion sent a shudder through his body. Her eyes flew open as she stared down at him in shock. He was a prick, a total, piece of shit prick, and now she knew it.
“Well, hell, I’m hard as a rock, Bea. Of course I fucking want you.” In light of that admission, he blew out a breath, then tightened his jaw. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
The knife moved away from his throat, which was a damn shame. He was a sick fucker. He wanted to come at knifepoint. Another time, maybe.
His thoughts scattered when her hand cupped his cheek, her fingers brushing over his beard. “You really are sweet.” She sighed, pulling away all too soon.
“Let me touch you.” The words were out faster than his brain could stop them, but the shake of her head was immediate.
“No. It wouldn’t work anyway. I told you.” There was something in her eyes, something he hated more than the pain. “I don’t get wet. My body doesn’t work right anymore.” She started to shift away from him.
He grabbed her hips, and suddenly the knife was back at his throat as her expression went hard.
“I said no,” she warned him.
His hands fell away at the reminder. “Fuck. I’m sorry. Just let me think.” His brows pulled together at the obvious solution he’d been too out of it to realize. “Well, what about lube?”
She blinked as her face went slack in confusion. “What?”
“I’ve got—” He started to reach for the nightstand but halted as the knife pressed against his neck. Damn it if his cock didn’t jump against her ass. He lay flat, breathing through the sudden surge of desire that was strangling him. He gestured toward the nightstand and was grateful when her eyes slid away. “Top drawer. I’ve got plenty of lube. I like to masturbate with it.”
And her eyes were back on his face. “You—” She swallowed, staring at him.
