Page 58 of Monk

I wanted to tell him to shut up. Wanted to tell him he didn’t get to say things like that after what he had done, but then his mouth was on my breast, his tongue circling my nipple through the lace of my bra, and I forgot how to form words.

My head fell back, a moan escaping my lips before I could stop it as his teeth scraped over the sensitive peak, and I cried out, my hands fisting in his hair.

“That’s it,” he growled against my skin. “Let me hear you. Let me hear all those pretty sounds you used to make when I fucked you raw.” His hands moved to my skirt, unzipping it from behind with practiced ease, shoving it down my hips along with my underwear in one rough, impatient motion.

I kicked them off, my body trembling with anticipation and rage, and desperate, aching need as he stepped back just long enough to remove his cut, throwing it on a chair before yanking his own shirt over his head, and I drank in the sight of him. All hard muscle and ink. Scars I didn’t recognize were scattered across his chest and ribs. Evidence of a life lived hard. A life lived without me.

The thought sent a fresh wave of anger through me, and I grabbed him by the belt, yanking him forward until our bodies collided. A life where other women had touched him, tasted him, fucked him. “You don’t get to look at me like that,” I said, my voice shaking with fury and need. “You don’t get to act like you missed me when you spent seven years fucking club whores. When you let them touch what was mine.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something dark and dangerous, and possessive.

“You think I wanted them?” he growled, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into my flesh. “You think any of them meant a goddamn fucking thing? You think their mouths felt like yours? Their cunts felt like yours?”

“I don’t care.”

“They were nothing,” he said, his voice fierce, almost desperate. “Ghosts. Distractions. Warm holes to fuck so I could forget for five fucking minutes that the woman I loved was gone. Ways to forget the woman I couldn’t have.”

His words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. “John.”

He kissed me again, brutal and possessive, his tongue claiming my mouth as his hands slid down to cup my ass, squeezing hard, lifting me effortlessly as I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, my body remembering this dance even if my mind screamed at me to stop. I could feel his cock, hard and thick, pressing against my pussy through his jeans, and I ground against him shamelessly, desperate for friction.

He groaned into my mouth, his hips jerking forward. “Fuck, you’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” he growled against my lips. “I can feel it through my jeans. Seven years, and your body still knows who it belongs to.”

He carried me the few steps to the bed and dropped me onto the mattress, his body following me down, pinning me beneath him. The weight of him was overwhelming. I could feel every inch of him pressed against me, the hard ridge of his cock straining against his jeans, the heat of his skin burning through the denim, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath. “I need you,” he said, his voice rough and broken. “I need to be inside you. Need to feel you wrapped around my cock. Need to know you’re real and not another fucking dream I’m going to wake up from.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.

I should have said no. Should have pushed him away and told him he didn’t deserve this, but instead, I reached between us and unbuckled his belt, my hands shaking as I popped the button on his jeans and shoved them down his hips. His cock sprang free, thick and hard and already leaking pre-cum from the swollen head.

I wrapped my hand around him, and he groaned, his hips jerking forward into my grip. He was hot and heavy in my palm, the skin like velvet over steel, and I stroked him slowly, feeling him pulse in my hand.

“Fuck, Lina,” he breathed, his forehead dropping to mine, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m not going to last. Not with your hand on my cock.”

“Then don’t,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, and his eyes snapped open, dark and intense, and I saw everything in them. The rage, the pain, the desperate, aching need that matched my own.

He knocked my hand away and positioned himself at my entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against my pussy, and I gasped at the sensation. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough. “I want you to look at me when I claim you. When I fuck this pussy that belongs to me.”

I met his gaze, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and then he thrust into me in one brutal stroke, filling me completely, stretching me in ways I’d forgotten, splitting me open as I cried out, my back arching off the bed, my nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood.

“Fuck!” he groaned, his entire body trembling, his arms shaking as he held himself still inside me. “So tight. So fucking perfect. Like a goddamn vise around my cock. Like you were made for me.”

He didn’t give me time to adjust. Didn’t give me time to breathe as he pulled out almost completely, until just the head of his cock was still inside me, and then slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm that stole the air from my lungs.

It was rough. Raw. Desperate. Every thrust was a claim, a punishment, a plea.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, my body remembering this rhythm like it had been waiting seven years for it. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, obscene and primal, mixing with our ragged breathing and my broken moans.

“You feel that?” he growled, his mouth against my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “You feel how perfectly you fit around my cock? You feel how deep I am inside you? This is where you belong, Lina. Right here. Underneath me. Taking my cock. Always.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn’t. Because he was right. My body knew it. My heart knew it. Even my mind, screaming at me to stop, knew it. “Harder,” I gasped, my nails raking down his back, leaving red welts in their wake. “Fuck me harder. Make me feel it.”

He groaned, his hips snapping forward with bruising force, driving into me so deep I saw stars, so deep I could feel him in my stomach. The bed frame slammed against the wall with every thrust, the sound echoing through the room along with our ragged breathing and the obscene wet sounds of our bodies coming together, of his cock pounding into my soaking pussy.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. “I want to feel you come around my cock. Want to feel this pussy squeeze me when you fall apart.”

I slid my hand between us, my fingers finding my clit, circling it in tight, desperate strokes. The sensation was overwhelming as his thick cock filled me, stretched me, claimed me, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur, while my own fingers pushed me closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” he growled, his eyes locking on mine, watching me touch myself while he fucked me. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful when you’re desperate for my dick. Show me you’re mine, baby. Show me this pussy belongs to me.”