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That is what Nathan calls me. That’s sweet Nathan, the one who didn’t lie, the one who didn’t manipulate me. But the hate that springs in my body when I hear that word now is lethal. I’ll never forgive him for what he did yesterday. He said he saved me from one of Volkov’s men. I think I would have rather died than watch my notebook disappear in flames.
I try to turn around, but Jake’s hands are on my hips, keeping me in place. His thumbs start kneading my ass cheeks. “Why?” he asks again, his voice a little rougher, a little more demanding, edging toward anger as his brain slowly makes the connection.
“Let me turn around,” I try to say in a resolved voice.
He ignores my demand. Instead, his grip tightens, possessive, too close to painful. “Is that what he called you?”
It’s not even a real question, it’s rhetorical. His thumbs are pressing so hard on my ass cheeks, his fingertips anchored on the front of my hips, marking me with toxic greed.
“Why do you do this to me, Jamie?” I can’t see him, but I can practically hear how tight his jaw is. “Why do you remind me of you and him? Do you want me to hurt you? You’re practically begging for it.”
“I’m not I–”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” he seethes as he flips me around. He rises over me, straddling my waist. I put both my hands on his chest to keep some distance between him and me. Angry Jake is a danger to life, to health, to sanity. He slaps my hands away, like they’re nothing but a pestering fly, and moves further up, dragging himself along my body until he’s straddling my chest.
“What are you doing?” My heart picks up as he grabs my wrists, pinning them against the sofa above my head with one hand.
“You seem to forget who’s in charge.” His voice is lethal, poisonous. “You’re a disobedient little bitch. Every time I leave a bit of slack on your leash, you run wild. And I can’t have that.”
I try. I promise I try my best to feel rage, disgust or even slight repulsion. I don’t want a misogynistic bastard as a boyfriend. I don’t want an asshole who thinks he can own me, who thinks he can call me a bitch, treat me as his pet.
Except I do. I do if it’s Jake. It’s liberating, it’s magical. The tightness coiling like a dangerous snake in my stomach, the violence of my heartbeat, the madness coursing through my veins. The insanity of our relationship gives me life.
I pull at my wrists, but it’s like my body just wants to test that I truly can’t get away. And I can’t. He’s got me exactly where he wants and I’m ready to be used all over again.
“Goody doesn’t want to be fucked without a condom. Such a safe little angel,” he taunts me.
He takes his dick back out of his boxers and his free hand pries my jaw open.
“Well then, I’m gonna have to use one of your other holes, aren’t I? Fix that filthy mouth, make you choke on my dick to make sure you watch what you say when you’re around me.”
I try to reply something, try to at least pretend to defend myself, but he slips two fingers in my mouth, sliding them against my tongue, going so deep that I gag around them.
“That’s it, Angel. Choke on your words.” He takes his fingers out just to replace them with his thumb, that same thumb that was inside me a few minutes ago. I taste myself on his skin, vibrate to the scent of my arousal. He pulls down until my mouth is slack for him and shoves himself inside my mouth. His cock hits the back of my mouth, attempting to breach down my throat and my body automatically tries to bring my hands to his hips to push him away. He holds tightly, a bruising touch that lights my skin on fire. I gag, saliva pooling at my lips, slowly dribbling and dragging along my chin as he pulls out and back in.
“I’m not playing no game anymore, Angel. Mention him again and I’ll choke you unconscious, you got that?”
He called me beautiful, and I asked him not to. I’m the one asking not to be reminded of him. But if there is truly something that brings Jake to the brink of sanity, something that brings out the demons in him, the darkness that’s eating him up from the inside out, it’s the mention of Nathan.
I instinctively rub my thighs together as he goes deep again, a moan forming in my mouth and pulsating around his dick. He fists my hair, pushing even deeper. I choke on him, spluttering.
Shit.
This is scary.
My eyes open, expecting to see him lost in a lustful craze. No. He’s watching me struggle, his spine straight, his gaze looking down on me with all the smugness in the world. The evil in his soul is reflecting in his eyes and an arrogant smile pulls at his lips before he licks his bottom lip. He watches the fear on my face with such satisfaction that my heart picks up at the terrifying thought that he might actually be trying to choke me.
I attempt to move my head, but he pulls slightly out, barely enough to feel oxygen slither into my lungs before pushing back in. He repeats at a quicker pace, his jaw falls slack, pleasure relaxing his features. I’m still struggling to breathe and for some reason it makes my thighs tighten, my awakened clit seeking release from them.
Just when I’m about to fight back again, desperate to take a gulp of air, he pulls out completely, pulling away from his position, releasing my hands and going further back. I’m so worried about bringing air in, gasping for it, that I don’t realize what he’s doing until I feel spurts of thick cum on my breasts, my collarbone, my neck.
I freeze in shock, my heart galloping, my eyes widening in disbelief. But that’s not the worst. The worst is when I see his hand coming back from his pocket, his phone rising in front of me and the sudden flash.
I bring my hands to my front, pulling down the top he had pushed up.
“Jake,” I shout. “What the hell?!” I push him off me – he’s a lot more compliant now that he released his anger on me – and I jump off the sofa, running to the bathroom, locking myself in.
I re-run the whole thing in the shower as I thoroughly wash his cum off my body. How does he do it? How does he poison my mind so I let him do whatever he wants to me? It’s not just because he’s hotter than anyone I’ve ever seen, it’s not because he’s more beautiful and enchanting than any mythological God. There’s something about his broken pieces, they fit right into mine. Maybe I’m more broken than I thought.
