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His hand wraps around my throat, my windpipe suffering, but I don’t struggle. Even after everything, I have trust in Beckett, but I know it’s only because this isn’t how he wants to end it. This is too secluded, too intimate for him to make it final.
This is his final warning to me.
He’s reminding me of everything we were and everything we could have been with each stroke of his cock. As my pleasure mounts, my body beginning to lose itself to him, he hastens his speed. My walls start to clench around him, and he pulls me up into his grasp. This time, he doesn’t deny me an orgasm. He pushes me completely over the edge, my body wrapped in his as he comes moments after, his touch tight, his body hot. Slowly, he lowers me to the bed and starts to fully withdraw, but I stop him, my hands coming to press on his chest.
“My turn.”
Taking control, I force him over, landing him on his back on the queen-sized bed, my legs straddling him with ease. He gives me a grin, one that matches the salacious one on my lips, and I force us to become each other’s latest scandal. Grinding against him, I copy his prior stance of leering over him, only breaking away to unbutton his black shirt, and I see from the way his eyes flicker between my tits and face that he’s not going to say no.
“What do you want from a devil like me, Beckett?”
“Nothing.”
Translation: everything.
“I’m going to remind you how good we used to have it.”
It’s a vow, one so wrapped in anticipation I can feel him practically ache under me.
I reach between my legs, feeling his erection, but I don’t take my eyes off Beckett’s. I watch him intently as I guide his throbbing cock to my opening, dropping my body onto him, taking him fully. My body stretches to take all of him, and he arches at the feeling of me wrapped around him.
“Fuck, Natalia.”
As I ride his cock, eliciting moan after moan from him, I fall, taking my sweet time to pepper his ripped body with kisses, making my way to his lips.
This is nothing like our times together before. This is darker, rougher, more possessive.
Rolling my hips against him, I kiss his neck, marking each tattoo as mine, my hand threading into his hand as my other pushes across the mattress. Slipping my hand under the pillows, I feel blindly until I find what I need—a small flip knife.
Still rocking against him, I keep my movements fluid until I’m able to press the blade into his neck, the sliver of silver glinting in the moonlight.
The thrill of seeing his shock is exhilarating.
“I told you I’d kill you while you were buried in me. I don’t need a wedding ring to keep that promise.”
He laughs, and the blade pushes a little deeper, splitting the skin slightly as he does so. The sight of red against his skin hastens my heart rate, and my adrenaline builds.
“You knew I was in here.”
“I know you.”
And because of that, I kept myself prepared.
