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A flicker of worry crossed her face before rebellion replaced it. “Yes.”
I crushed her to me, wrapping her tight in my embrace, claiming her mouth with savage cruelty.
I kissed her possessively, brutally, quickly, callously.
I kissed her in gratefulness for shoving me past decency.
I kissed her in rage for proving I had no control.
“Fuck me, Elder.” Her lips moved under mine, whimpering as my arms banded tighter. “Please, fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”
“Oh, Pim…” Tearing her away, I turned and threw her on the couch behind me. “You never should have said such things.”
Standing over her, cock hard, heart fast, mind a mess, I growled. “I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck you until you can’t stand to be fucked anymore.
“And then I’ll fuck you again. And again. Because there’s no earthly way I can stop now.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
______________________________
Pimlico
HE FELL ON me.
That was the only way to describe it.
He stopped fighting.
He tumbled.
He trampled me between desire and cushions and tore my legs apart beneath my dress to wedge his hard heat between them.
And then he kissed me.
And it was different from all the other kisses in the world.
Different to how he kissed me in Monte Carlo. Different to how he kissed me on the Phantom.
Different good.
Different bad.
Just different.
His lips were hot. His tongue wet. His teeth hard. His breath fast. His taste downright addicting.
I’d instigated this. I’d finally been the one to demand sex, not the other way around, and the thrill inside quickly faded for paralyzing passion.
I’d told him to fuck me.
I’d used crude language to shatter his final restraint.
And I was glad.
I was ecstatic beneath him.
I was joyous pinned below.
There was no fear of what would happen or thoughts about my healing. I would fuck Elder as surely as he would fuck me.
This was mutual, not one sided.
I wasn’t afraid.
I’m not afraid.
I was breathless as he kissed me deeper.
I was squirmy and hot and wet and achy and so, so impatient for more.
There was no holding back this time. No ropes around his hands to prevent him from hitching up my gown. His touch messy and jerky as he gathered handfuls of satin, up, up, up, billowing around my waist, letting air kiss my thighs and hipbones. No chains to stop his fingers from clawing at the garters and blood red lingerie the two women from Social Art had dressed me in.
Nothing to tamper his incredible touch or slow down our manic pace. This wasn’t making love or even the crude term of fucking—the same term I’d thrown in his face as a dare and demand.
No, this was urgency at its finest.
It infected him and me.
It was all around us, blocking us from the world, turning this room into ours and this moment into forever.
As Elder yanked at the lace between my legs, snapping off garters without caring, tearing pantyhose without looking, growling at the miles of fabric between us, I fumbled with his clasp and zipper on his trousers.
There were no sweet words or whispered sentiments. No gentle kisses or sensual seduction.
We had one goal.
One need.
Join.
Join.
Join.
The metal clasp came away; his zipper caught on my dress only for him to grab it and yank it down with a rip of cloth.
I had no idea what broke. I didn’t know if my dress was in pieces, or his trousers were in shreds, but it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered.
All that mattered was
him
inside
me.
Nothing else was in my mind; no other thought permitted in my body.
I needed him more than I needed water or food or air.
I needed him to stretch me, fill me, bruise me.
I needed him to claim every dark part of me and bring it into the light because I wanted this. I wanted to be sexual. I wanted to be a deviant. I wanted to be wanton and abandoned and utterly free to scream as he entered me and bite him when he thrust.
The overpowering lust thickened and heated and burned.
God, it burned.
Faster.
Quicker.
Hotter.
Our hands fumbled to the same command, tearing off clothing, pushing away barriers.
I couldn’t explain it or even bother to understand it, but if I didn’t have him inside, connected and joined, I would die.
Literally and spiritually die.
I’m dying.
I’m gasping.
I’m so…so…
“Elder…now.” I arched, seeking his cock, revelling in the pure pleasure of being myself. Of not second-guessing or censoring. Of not worrying about fists or abuse. Of not being afraid of rape or molestation.
Elder was perfect.
He was mine.
He’s not inside me.
“Elder…” I clawed at him, opening my legs wide, my head falling back as I moaned my desperation. Please…”
“Fuck, little mouse. You’re driving me insane.” His voice mingled with kisses as his mouth latched on mine. My lips turned raw from his five o’clock shadow. The sting of his affection righteous with the pain in my core demanding to be addressed.
Now.
Now.
God, now!
My fingers worked on his trousers, pushing and shoving them down his waist. My fingernails scratched him in their rush. My temper snapping at my insides at how much longer I had to wait.
