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My thumbs hook the band of my panties, and I slide them down my legs. Inside my chest, my heart is a sledgehammer. But the throbbing ache in my core is a wrecking ball of need that trumps all.
“I’m not running, husband,” I dare him to take me. Use me. Ravage me. Wreck me. “Not anymore.”
“Oh,” he clucks low. “Little wife. What have you done?”
My heart gives a quick little flip as he throws open the door of the shower, his wet body hitting mine as he slams his mouth to mine. His tongue invades, hot and hard. His lips sink into my lips, my jaw, the tender flesh at my throat, skating over my shoulder. My head falls back as he lifts me into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist as the hot tip of his burningly hard arousal prods at my core. It’s so good—so painfully, decadently, wrongly good.
My back arcs as he bows to pull my nipple between his teeth, rolling his tongue around the tight bud. Cries spill from the depths of me as my hips begin to roll, sliding my slippery wet core over the hard length of him.
“Fuck.” He sucks my breast so hard into his mouth, I whimper. “You feel so good, little wife.”
And then he’s moving. His strides are long, and with every one, I feel the shift of his erection against my core, teasing me. Taunting me.
I feel so empty.
We fall to the bed, his body blanketing mine, caging me against the mattress beneath him even as I spread my legs to cradle his. Every inch of him is hard against all my soft. His fingertips bite into the flesh of my hips as he grips me in place, notching his tip and thrusting home in one violent push. My back arcs, chest slamming into his as I scream into the night.
I feel as though I’m being torn in two, the sting is sharp, and he gives me no time as he growls, “I told you to run.” And then he’s hooking my thigh with his big hand, lifting it high as he pulls back and thrusts in again, deeper.
“Oh!” I grip his shoulders, nails tearing into flesh. Blood pebbles in the half-moons I leave behind as he wrecks me. It’s not kind and loving, this collision. It’s unchained obsession. There is violence within this need. “God. Please.” I’m praying or pleading—for what, I’m not sure. I only know that I don’t want it to end. I never want this to end.
He unlocked something inside me, and now that it’s free, I think it’ll die if it’s ever caged again.
This pain—I need it. Within this act, everything else is seared away.
He’s fucking me so hard now, his hips slapping into mine, grinding so violently, I can feel the base of his pelvis grinding into my clit. It drives me wilder, still, and my legs fall open as wide as they can, inviting him into the ruins of me.
“Can’t get close enough—to—you.” He grunts roughly, hips bucking. “So tight. I want to climb inside you.” He falls over me, pistoning into me again and again, his thrusts erratic—frantic. Desperate. “Scream for me, little wife. Come all over my dick, and scream for me.”
His words, sinful and deviant as they are, send me soaring over the edge.
And I do exactly as he commands.
I come all over his dick as I scream his name into the night. Again. And again. And again.
Twenty-Nine
Kirill
The farther we drove from the cabin, the quieter, and more withdrawn, she became. Now that we’re home, she’s climbed back into her shell.
We’ve been home one night, and she’d had no interest in being intimate with me. She’d denied my advance, saying that she was sore. I wouldn’t put it past her, considering how I’d had her only a couple nights ago. Still, this morning as I dressed, she sat in bed with the blankets pulled high around her body, honey-colored eyes wide, watching me.
She watches me as though she’s waiting for the monster to reappear. As though I’ll transform simply by donning my suit. Even now, I can feel her eyes on me through the window as I walk to meet my man. He’s holding a box where, inside, one orange tabby kitten, and one tortie kitten lay curled together.
Peeking inside, two sets of eyes meet mine. One amber, the other green. What the fuck have I done?
“They’re small,” I clip.
Sasha chuckles. “They are.”
“Are they going to die?” That would displease my wife, and thus, would displease me.
Sasha frowns. “Why would they die?”
“Can they be apart from their mother?” I stare into the box, unsure. “They are very small.”
“They are ten weeks old. Plenty old enough to be away from their mother.”
