Page 30 of Savagely Scarred

“Yeah.” His cock slides into me slowly. “But you’re my hot mess.” He pulls out before slamming back into me.

Gripping my hip, his other hand presses down into my stomach to keep me from sliding across the counter while he pounds into me relentlessly. His hair is still messy from sleep, sticking up in all directions. Sweat glistens on his chest and abs. He licks his bottom lip and bites it in concentration, watching his cock slide in and out of my pussy.

God, he’s so fucking gorgeous.

I can’t contain myself any longer and I do something I haven’t done with him before. I slide my hand down between us and rub my clit. His eyes are wild when they snap to mine.

“Fuuuuck,” he moans.

His attention bounces back and forth from my hand to my heaving chest, and to my face. When I let out a guttural moan, he turns feral and fucks me harder until we are both falling apart together.

Dropping his forehead to my chest, Sage breathes heavily into my skin. He mumbles something that sounds like ‘Holy fuck.’ His mouth is sticky from the orange juice and my cum.

“Roberts is going to be pissed that we’re late,” I remind him.

“I’ll deal with him,” he says and straightens. “Since we’re already in trouble, we might as well make it worth it.”

I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him. He grabs me and throws me over his shoulder.

“Sage!” I protest.

“What?”

He carries me up the steps. His glorious ass is on full display because he didn’t take the time to pull his briefs back up.

“We need to shower anyway.”

He plods down the hall and enters the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind us.

“And I need to make sure you’re thoroughly cleaned.”

Chapter Eight

Kyle

Atwig snaps in the distance, and my head jerks up. A rabbit scurries through the dense wooded area like he’s late for something. He’s barely noticeable under the scarce sunlight filtering through the tree branches.

Definitely more palpable than those flying rats in the city.

I inhale deeply through my nose. The air is clean. Free from the smog and putrid smells. As I start walking again, the only sounds are the birds and my footfalls.

Why doesn’t Olivia run in her own neighborhood? Even Central Park contains the unfavorable conditions of the city.

She apparently still enjoys punishment.

And I can’t wait to deliver mine.

I stop at the black iron fence and peer between the bars. A large pond sits on the corner of the property. An old willow tree seemingly keeping guard of the small dock on the edge. Glancing up, I inspect a tree branch hanging slightly over the tall fence.

Deciding it looks sturdy enough, I dig my boot into the base of the old oak tree and vault up the trunk. My hands grip the branch and I pull myself up, swinging my leg over until I am sitting on it.

I lean back against the trunk and pull my phone from my pocket and call one of my only contacts. Waiting for it to connect, I glance around the rest of the property and pause on the closest window.

“Hello,” a gruff voice answers.

“The address I gave you. I need access.”

“Hold on a sec,” he replies.