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He paused, scratching the back of his neck, a predatory glint in his eyes. There was no shame, no regret. Only acceptance.
“Okay. My obsession needs a way out. I need to fuck you to get you out of my head, and it’ll only ever be that. Nothing more.” His eyes were proprietary despite his words, and his touch was possessive. “But as long as you’re mine,” he said, grabbing my throat again, tilting my face up to meet his smoldering eyes full of warning. “You’ll only be mine to touch, mine to fuck, and mine to mark. No one else touches what belongs to me.”
“Yes. You, Ryden, you’ll be mine to use, mine to wreck,” I breathed out.
He looked at me, his eyes no longer startled or bewildered. “You’re a maddening woman, Yara West,” he said. “Now can I kiss you? And don’t fucking stop me this time.”
“Yes.”
Growling, he pulled me closer, and his lips met mine in a punishing kiss. We fought for dominance. I finally relented when he bit my lip hard until I could almost taste blood.
His kisses were electric, filled with a raw passion that left us both gasping for air. His hands wandered down my curves, seeking, studying, and keeping the fire burning. I knew it would take a long, long time before that fire died. Weeks. Months. Years, even.
“Oh,” I groaned when he sucked my lower lip between his teeth and pulled, his finger softly pressing against my pulse. I dragged my nails up his chest, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt, tracing the lines of his tattoo, relishing in his groan.
“Touch me,” he breathed out. “I want you to touch me everywhere.”
My hand trailed down his chest, down his abdomen, until I cupped him through his pants, and he shuddered. He leaned closer and bit my lip, hard. His tongue darted out as he caught the drop of my blood, his eyes dangerously distracting. “You taste so good.”
He tilted my head up with a hand and lowered his head to my neck. His teeth scraped gently down my throat, sending shivers up and down my spine. I ran my fingers through his hair as he sucked my pulse.
“More,” he breathed, cupping my breast through the silky fabric of my dress, thumb grazing my nipples, as he continued to press soft kisses against my neck, nibbling, biting. “I need more.” He whirled me around and slid the zipper down my back, tracing his tongue down my spine before he turned me around to face him. His eyes held hunger and lust, but there was also something unexplainable in his eyes as he kissed my chin with a deep sigh. “More. All of it. I need all of you.”
He bent down and bit me just above my breast where my tattoo was. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered, tracing the butterfly, stopping the exploration when his finger met the scarring. The butterfly’s wing was hiding the mark my father had given me that night I killed him. “Who did this to you?” he growled, anger taking over the lust.
“It was a long time ago,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t ask more questions. “Forget about it. The one who did it… he’s dead now.”
“Your father,” he seethed. “It was him, wasn’t it?” I nodded, and he pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me.
It took him a few seconds to calm down. When he pulled back, his eyes were fierce. His finger softly rubbed the scar as if he wanted to take the pain away from me. He licked the edge of it before taking my tit between his lips. I arched my back to give him more access. He bit, sucked, rolled. He did it relentlessly as if he was possessed by the god of lust, as if he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.
This wasn’t enough. Not yet. My pussy wanted his tongue in it, wanted his fingers digging into it, wanted his cock. I tugged at his shirt, and he sighed when my finger touched his heated skin. His eyes sparked as he stalked me like a predator, taking in my breathless state, a knowing look in his eyes.
He was made of the dreams a woman would dream in the sultry nights, moaning and begging, pleading and praying for release. I was that woman now.
Rolling my dress up, he ran his fingers down my thigh, softly soothing the ache within. My shameless body was ready for him, ready to be shaped by him.
He dragged one sharp nail down my abdomen, down my stomach, and then he tore my panties off. I moaned when his fingers drew a teasing line over my swollen pussy, bringing me to hell and heaven.
“You’re already so fucking wet for me.” His voice was a dark rumble. I had never heard something sexier. “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to lick your pussy clean? Do you want me to eat you out until I’m not starving anymore?” I trembled.
“Tell me. Use words.” His voice was a command.
“Oh, shut the fuck up…” I groaned when he pressed his finger against my clit and rubbed it oh so softly. I almost passed out from the sensation it sent along my nerves. He continued to tease and touch me until I screamed. “Get on your knees, Ryden, and eat my pussy like a fucking good boy.” Breathless, I looked at him, challenging him to deny me, defy me.
He gasped, his eyes round as saucers. I knew he wanted to take control, he wanted to play this by his rules, but he was sucked into my dark whirlpool, and there was just no way out of it. He bent his forehead to my shoulder with a ragged breath as if he knew it too.
I wanted to be in control this time. I wanted to show him that this was my game, that I could have him whenever, wherever I wanted him.
“Yes, baby.” With a long breath, he finally went to his knees, his hair spilling over his forehead, his eyes blazing with untold need.
“Part your legs for me and let me taste what I’ve craved for a long, long time, my Little Killer.”
Little Killer?
Why would he say that?
The fuck.
