His knee forces my legs farther apart, and I pant against his palm as he strokes himself. He relinquishes a dark groan as he slips the hard length of himself down my pelvis.
I arch off the wall, my breasts aching for contact, craving friction as they brush against the hard planes of his chest. He drags the smooth tip over my clit before he thrusts between my thighs, seeking my slick, wet heat—teasing, but refusing to enter.
“Fucking Christ, you’re soaking me, and I know you can feel how hard I am…how badly I want to take this sweet pussy…make it mine.”
His rough groans send a shot of arousal coursing through me as he pumps mercilessly between my thighs, each ruthless thrust driving the ache deeper. His palm muffles my protest, yet it can’t hold back every breathy moan, betraying my need as the ache builds into a sharp, painful throb.
“I love everything about you,” he whispers, a coarse frictionover my skin, “even your sickness, all the bad things you’ve done. You caught me in your web, and I want you to bleed me dry, London. That’s how twisted you’ve got me.”
As his words brand into my flesh, I catch our reflection in the mirror—and the tattoo etched between his shoulder blades. An intricate keyhole filled with indecipherable marks I can’t make out.
“Look at me.”
At his harsh command, my gaze locks onto him, taking in the heated intensity in those blue eyes, the corded tendons in his neck, the flexed muscles in his arms as he continues to stroke himself against me. I’m hit with a wave of lust so shattering, I nearly break beneath him.
Grayson lowers closer, his lips grazing my ear. “I want you to beg me to fuck you,” he says, the gravelly lilt of his accent making my shiver.
Wantis a dangerous emotion. When it’s strong enough, all others fade into the background. I nod breathlessly against his palm in surrender.
As he drops his hand, I drag in a breath, then give him a wicked smile before I bite my lip in defiance.
He releases a deep chuckle that does something dangerous to my insides. Then he drags his thumb roughly down the center of my lips, eyes darkening. “Oh, I can bite, too.”
Instantly, his hand collars my throat, pinning me in place as his teeth sink into my shoulder, eliciting a strangled cry. His thrusts slow, dragging his cock along my sex with long, controlled moves.
“You’re shaking, baby,” he murmurs, “your thighs trembling, soaked… Goddamn, all you have to do is ask.”
Nails digging into his shoulders, I meet his eyes, desperation pooling like liquid fire in my belly. My mouth parts?—
And a dark gleam sparks in his eyes right before he cuts off a growl and pulls back. “Jesus, fuck—” He gripshimself, jerking his cock with fast, hard strokes. The feel of him against me is torturous, igniting a painful throb in the neediest part of me.
His other hand fisted in my hair, his groan reverberates through me as he shudders, and warmth spills across my stomach.
His hot breaths drop against the angry pulse in my shoulder as I’m left trembling with denied gratification, my belly cold from his release. Shame burns through me as I try to shove against his chest and reach for the towel. He grabs my jaw and flattens my back against the wall.
“I love making a filthy mess out of you, London,” he says as he runs the smooth head of his cock through his mess coated on my belly. My breaths turn ragged at the feel of him pulsing after release.
He takes a forceful step back, his gaze roaming deliberately over me as if admiring his work. Then he retrieves the towel and tosses it at me.
I barely catch it, fumbling to cover myself as lingering desire and humiliation war within me. “Such a psychopath,” I say. “All you do is use me.”
He tugs his jeans in place and zips up slowly, smirking. “Now we’re even.” He winks, smug satisfaction curving his lips.
“If we’re keeping score, then you have one coming six feet under.”
He licks his lips. “You should work harder on mastering your passions, doctor.”
He leaves the room, and I watch his reflection fade from the mirror. I clutch the towel tighter and step toward the vanity, blowing out one of the candles, desperate to extinguish the lingering shame with the dark.
A faint rattle alerts my senses, and my pulse quickens as I rush toward the door, only to find Grayson there, handcuffs in his hand. I barely have time to recoil before his arms lock around my waist, the cold metal biting into my bandaged wrists.
“No—”
He says nothing as he drags me deeper into the house, deeper into the shadows. Any courage I gathered is stripped away with each forced step into the unknown. Grayson guides me through a darkened doorway and closes it behind us—sealing me inside with him.
24
CAGE
