Page 51 of Lethal King

Rozalia

No matter how hot the water gets, his stench still clings to me.

Rian Kilpatrick.

Me.

We fucked like animals.

And it was amazing.

The hate he pounded me with sent shockwaves through my body. The way he forced me to take every last inch of his huge cock made me cum harder than I ever have before. Not once. Not even twice. But three fucking times.

What the hell was I thinking?

Steam swirls around me as I slam a fist against the porcelain wall.

That was stupid. So fucking stupid and naïve and dangerous. I should have killed him—and as long as I did, it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d done it before or after I used that cock to satisfy my reckless hormonal urges.

But I chickened out, flustered by my own conflicted satisfaction. Now, the lion is still alive, and I can’t stop thinking about how I want more.

I need more.

I need him.

Chasing me. Fucking me.

Devouring me.

Stop!

With a brutal yank, I nearly tear the shower faucet out of the wall. The water is so hot I can feel my organs cooking. Yet not a single ounce of dirt seems to wash down my tainted skin.

I’m filthy. And I’m covered in him.

Fresh earth and burning wood.

The stench haunts me like a fucking ghost.

Hell, even back in the castle, when I hid behind the bookshelf, listening to the lion order around my recording from his shabby throne, I could smell him. How? I don’t fucking know.

Before he’d arrived, I’d sprayed enough of my perfume around the fake security room to disguise my eventual approach.

He wouldn’t be able to smell me coming. And he didn’t. But all that time I was waiting, I could smell him. I could crave him.

His fragrance seeped through my perfume, through the thick brick walls, behind my skin. Now, I’m worried I might never be able to get rid of it.

“Fuck this,” I curse out loud.

Slapping at the faucet again, I turn off the shower and storm out into the bathroom.

The chilled tiles hardly do anything to wake me up. Half of my mind is still lost in a hazy dream state of lust and hate. The other half is full of self-loathing.

My thighs clench as I remember how good that thick girthy cock felt writhing up into my cunt. How it felt like Rian might actually puncture my guts and disembowel me right then and there.

He hates me so fucking much. But I’ve never been with someone who wanted me as badly as he did. Even as he fucked my brains out, and I pounded back down onto his swollen shaft, I could sense the difference. I’ve been fucked before, but never like that.

The specialness clashed with the hate in an addictive cocktail.