Page 10

His mouth is on my cock before I can protest or tell him it isn’t wise, because people besides our housemates and Vesper even looking at him during a sexual act makes me see red. It’s the reason I don’t allow many chases. If someone were to walk in, I would hunt them down and make them bleach their own eyeballs.

Vero sucks my cock into his hot, wet mouth, making me forget everything but him. I know this isn’t about getting off for him; this is him claiming me, needing to taste the violence on my skin, absorbing it and making it a part of himself.

His eyes are wide, pupils blown, flicking between my face and my body as his hand grips my thigh. His fingernails are just long enough to dig into my skin, to draw blood, leaving his mark on me where everyone can see it.

This is Vero’s kind of crazy. Not the manic energy that makes his words race or body move erratically, but rather, this obsession that turns him feral and amplifies his need to physically claim what’s his. And I let him because watching Vero like this, completely unhinged for me, is better than any high in the fucking world.

He moves his beautiful lips up and down my shaft, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. I fist a hand in his short hair and tug him back, so he stares up at me. “Vero,” I warn, but it comes out rougher than I intend.

Once I release his hair, he presses his forehead to my stomach, his hands sliding across my hips, holding me in place while he anchors himself. I bend slightly, forcing his chin up with my knuckles.

“You good?” I murmur.

He exhales slowly and nods.

I pull him to his feet and crash my mouth against his as he drags his nails down my back again. Violence hums under my skin, but with him I can’t lose control. He is fragile sometimes and needs to be treated as such.

I pull back far enough to look at him properly, seeing his wide eyes, swollen lips, and the smear of my blood on his jaw from where he licked my face. He looks absolutely unhinged. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life—not that I would say that out loud, because he would never let me live it down.

I grab him by the throat and walk him backward until his spine hits the wall.

He doesn’t flinch. That’s one thing about Vero; most men would shrink under my hands—they can’t help it, it’s instinct—but he leans into it every single time. As if my grip is exactly where he wants to be.

“Turn around.”

He does it immediately, no arguments or smart remarks, and it tells me his head is still riding the high from the fight, that he needs this as much as I do. I yank the orange jumpsuit down, and he braces both hands flat against the wall.

Pressing my chest to his back, I place my mouth to the side of his neck and bite down on his shoulder, hard enough to make him hiss as his fingers splay against the wall. Then I spit on my fingers and push them inside him, and he drops his head back against my shoulder with a groan.

“Brawley.”

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“Stop being a tease and fuck me. We don’t have all night.”

I add another finger, and he swears under his breath. As he pushes back against my hand, I stare at the line of his throat when he tips his head back, and the way his shoulders pull tight. He is mesmerizing. I have been beside Vero in every state there is, yet I will never get used to this one, when everything slows down and all his manic, restless energy finally has somewhere to go.

When I’m satisfied, I remove my fingers and line myself up and push inside him slowly, one hand gripping his hip, the other flat against the wall beside his head. He exhales, and I give him a second to adjust.

Then I move, and the slow gives way fast. I set a rough pace, and he takes every bit, pushing back to meet each thrust, his erotic sounds bouncing off the narrow walls. My fingers dig deeper into his hip, and tomorrow the shape of my hand will be branded on him, but something about that knowledge makes me grip harder.

I slide my hand from the wall to around his throat, pulling his back flush against my chest, and his head falls back onto my shoulder, his pulse hammering against my palm.

“This is mine,” I say into the side of his head.

“Yes,” he gasps.

“Say it,” I demand.

“Yours,” his voice cracks.

I tighten my grip around his throat and fuck him harder, his whole body shuddering against mine.

One of his hands comes back and grabs my thigh, his nails digging in and drawing blood. I don’t care; I would let him tear me apart. His orgasm hits before mine, and he tightens around me. Vero’s breathing cuts off completely for a second, and his legs nearly buckle, but I hold him up and keep moving until I follow him over. Then I bury myself deep and stay there, my teeth finding the curve of his shoulder again.

We remain like that for a moment, both breathing hard, the flicker of the single bulb the only other movement in the room.

I release his throat, and as he turns his head, I catch his mouth with mine. His hand comes up to grip the back of my neck, pulling me closer.