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“A vile, cruel man with violent tendencies. But make no mistake about the reason you’re here.”
“Why?’ I dared to ask. “Because you take what you want?”
“As the only man who’s ever going to be inside of you again, I plan on taking my time tonight,mi diosa. However, I’m not a gentle man, something else for you to remember. Sometimes I’ll provide pleasure when you need it the most, but there will be other times you’ll learn to beg for the only thing that can bring you the moment of raw ecstasy. You see, Eden. I don’t just take what I want. I defile it, destroy it. Then I make it mine.”
CHAPTER13
Cruz
When anger and desire mixed, the combination was almost always explosive.
My fury wasn’t directed at the beautiful woman sitting on my lap, but toward the man holding her in his arms, longing to rip off her clothing and fuck her like the beast I’d become. I’d told myself I’d take the night slowly, enjoying the back and forth between us. But the second I’d seen her in the dress, my hunger had ratcheted off the charts.
I fisted her hair, crushing her bottom against my aching cock as I captured her mouth. The taste of wine mixed with the sweet juice of her mouth, my balls immediately tightening as I allowed my mind to wander to the same filthy fantasy I’d had the night before. The incomparable need I had for her outweighed every aspect of business, including the fact I’d had a moment of recognition upon seeing the artist who’d painted the atrocities.
Given what had transpired during the last day, the events had set me on edge. I’d need to escalate my plans. I’d sent Jameson to hunt down the informant, putting him on ice until I could deal with him. Then he was to keep an eye out on Mr. Wallace, ensuring he didn’t leave his posh hotel, where he’d spent the afternoon with his personal treat he’d picked up. While he could have made dozens of phone calls, he’d been smart enough not to force my wrath.
However, time was no longer a luxury.
I shoved aside any aspect of business, concentrating on my beautiful prize.
The needs I had weren’t just sadistic. They were twisted in a way even my depraved mind couldn’t process. I needed to taste her lips and her pussy. I needed to drown in her fragrance. I wanted to use her.
Whip her.
Shackle her.
Dominate her.
Fuck her.
I would tie her down, stretching her limbs wide open, leaving her for days. I’d take what I wanted, covering every inch of her skin with my cum. I needed to mark her with my belt, ensuring that she followed my commands. And I wanted to tattoo her with my name so no one would dare touch her again. I’d do all of those things and more, especially after she became my wife.
Even now, I couldn’t think clearly, the hunger too significant, eliminating all rational thoughts. I also had no regard to the fact she’d left the double doors opened to the dining hall. I certain as hell wasn’t going to stop what I was doing to close them, preventing her a moment of embarrassment.
She was mine. Mine.
Mine…
If any man dared to touch her, they’d face my wrath. If she ever thought she could get away from me, I would lock her away, keeping her protected.
And well used.
I was a very sick man.
What made the moments so damn exciting was that she wanted the same thing. Tonight I would cover a canvas with her face and body, depicting the filthy things she would face.
Then I’d cover every inch of her skin with bold hues of red and purple, capturing the look as she writhed on a crisp white sheet.
All I cared about was fucking her right here and now. Then we’d have dinner and engage in the lively conversation I’d been looking forward to. I’d chosen her attire as a test; would she toss the items aside or indulge me in wearing them?
Her decision had pushed me to the point of no return. The single taste of her hadn’t been enough. Tonight was all about fulfilling needs the way only she could. I rolled my hand down her back, lifting her bottom until I was able to tug the material away from her buttocks. As I fingered the thin G-strap, she moaned into the kiss, pushing her fisted hands against me.
I rubbed the tip of my finger back and forth as she slipped her hand between the edges of my shirt, swirling her fingers around in circle after circle.
The kiss was explosive passion, more so than the night before. I thrust my tongue inside, dominating hers as she shifted up and down the length of my thighs. If my admittance troubled her, there was no indication she even believed what I’d said.
I’d guessed about the music, remembering the single time I’d met her had been when she was enduring a lesson, her mother tapping her foot relentlessly like a metronome. My interruption had been met with a finger placed over her mother’s mouth, hissing admonishment.
