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“Please…” I breathe, trembling.
“Please, what?”
That’s the thing. I don’t even know why I said it. I don’t know what I want. I only know I’m hanging in limbo, lost in the way he makes me feel.
He lets out a dark chuckle. “You want to beg? I’ll make you beg.” He pushes me, and I land on my back before he flips me over onto my stomach. I gasp when cool air hits my ass once he pulls down the thick leggings I wore to keep warm outside.
“This ass,” he mutters, sinking his fingers in until I know I’ll have bruises. “I could feast on this ass.” Instead, he delivers two sharp smacks, one on each cheek. Instinct makes me try to fight my way out from under him, but he’s not having it.
No, instead, he takes me by the hips and angles me, so I’m in the perfect position for him to impale me. “Yes! Oh, god, yes!” I don’t know what comes over me, but I can’t make it stop, and I don’t want to. It feels so good. The sensation of being so filled and stretched. He sinks all the way to the base, and we’re completely connected. I could stay like this forever and die happy.
He doesn’t stay still for long, driving into me with a bone-jarring thrust. “No one else.” I can barely hear him over the blood rushing in my ears and the animal grunts I can’t hold back. “No one else. This is mine. You are mine.”
I know I shouldn’t say it. But right now, I don’t care about making sense or what’s right. I only know one thing: I’m his, here and now. “Yes!” I sob out, losing myself one stroke at a time, with each crash of his body against mine.
My moans lengthen until they are nothing more than a single, high-pitched whine that feels like it’s coming up from my toes. It’s happening, it’s happening, I’m going to come. “Yes! Yes!” I shriek, the tension in my core rising until I have no choice but to let go.
The most exquisite pleasure erupts, sending shockwaves rippling through my arms, my legs, my entire body. I don’t know if I’m laughing or crying or both—it’s all too intense, bringing up feelings I’ve never experienced before in the middle of an orgasm.
And I’m still caught in that dizzying high when Luka slams into me one last time before pulling out, breathing hard and fast before a telltale rush of warmth on my lower back tells me he’s finished. I can only whimper helplessly, still lost in an unspeakably sweet sensation.
Who is this man? What have I gotten myself into?
It’s not until he starts gently cleaning me up that I snap out of it. “Stay still,” he murmurs, gentle now. All it took was coming that hard to cool him off. I couldn’t complain even if I wanted to, not when it was so good.
Finally, once I’m clean, he goes through the process of fully removing the rest of my clothes. “Get into bed while I go downstairs to get us something to drink,” he advises. “I plan on eating that pussy.”
I should fight him. I should tell him to go fuck himself next time he feels like coming. But all I can do is smile, still a little drowsy and dizzy in the aftermath.
He’s right. Only he can do this to me. Nobody else has ever come close.
I push myself up on my palms and finally stand on shaky legs before taking the corner of the comforter and pulling it back. It’s a nice enough room, masculine, but just as sparse as the downstairs. I guess he doesn’t have anybody to impress.
I’m about to slide between the sheets as ordered when my big toe catches the corner of something under the bed. Curiosity makes me crouch before I think about it. It’s a picture frame. I wonder why he keeps it under the bed. Is it snooping to want to know more?
I can’t help it. The corner of the frame is sticking out like it’s begging to be discovered. I glance over at the partly open door and listen hard to make sure Luka’s still downstairs. Why am I so nervous about this—and if I know it’s wrong, why am I about to pull the frame further out?
“Oh, wow,” I whisper, holding a wedding photo. The couple is coming down the aisle after the ceremony while guests on either side of the aisle throw flower petals. She’s a gorgeous brunette, beaming with joy, her smile the sort you usually only see in a magazine spread.
And the groom is a laughing, joyful Luka. He’s a little younger. His hair is a little longer. But he’s Luka, all right, holding his bride’s hand while looking at her the way every woman wants their man to look at them.
“What the fuck are you doing with that?” A bottle of water hits the wall above my head, hard enough to burst.
I drop the photo with a yelp—thank god it didn’t have far to fall, so there’s no damage done. I’ve barely stood upright by the time he reaches me and takes me by the arms. The way he squeezes makes me yelp again, louder this time, while tears fill my eyes. “You’re hurting me!”
He doesn’t hear me, or he doesn’t care. His fingers dig deeper as he yanks me close so he can scream in my face. “Why can’t you leave well enough alone? Why can’t you keep your fucking hands to yourself?”
“I’m sorry!” I’m sobbing by the time he throws me away from him. I land on the bed before he sweeps his arm over the nightstand, sending the lamp and clock crashing to the floor. That isn’t enough. The nightstand itself comes next, tipping over and splintering against the wall.
Then he whirls on me again, and the rage in his eyes—and his clenched fists—make me recoil in fear. “Please, don’t hurt me.” I throw my arms over my head, cowering, waiting for one of those fists to make contact.
“Get out of here,” he pants. “Get away from me.”
I’m not about to press my luck. I’m too scared to even look at him.
My hands shake as hard as the rest of me, but I manage to get my clothes together, pulling on my sweater and leggings in the hallway, then shoving my feet into my shoes before running down the stairs and out the door without a backward glance, my coat and hat in my arms. The last thing I hear is something else hitting the floor up there. Something heavy.
I think I just dodged a bullet. A very violent, terrifying bullet.
