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Between that and the ever-present scent of her arousal, I can’t help falling to my knees, spreading her thighs, and feasting on her.
“Oh, please…” She can’t finish her plea without moaning as I continue my clean-up job, lapping at her juices and driving my tongue inside her. She jerks her hips, attempting to fling me off, but all I do is drape an arm over her, holding her down, forcing her to take every last lash of my tongue against her sensitive folds.
“You bastard… I fucking hate you… oh, god.” She can try all she wants, but there’s no pretending her way around the animalistic lust in her voice, louder with every dismissive, angry, cruel thing she growls behind her hood.
“Keep fighting. It only turns me on,” I whisper before diving in again, parting her lips with my tongue, dragging it up the length of her slit before I find the pulsing bundle of nerves. All it takes is the slightest flick of my tongue, and she screams, and now her angry, frustrated bucking turns to writhing and grinding as she loses herself a little bit at a time with every flick and stroke, every time I suck her clit between my teeth.
“They say losing your senses makes this more intense,” I whisper upon coming up for air. “Is that true?”
“I hate you,” she pants, her voice weak. All it does is make me laugh before using the fingers of my free hand to spread her lips, exposing her clit. With the tip of my tongue, I flick the very tip once, twice, and a high-pitched whine splits the air. Her juices are flowing freely, her once quivering hole now spasming, and I know from the sight and the scent that she’s close. And it’s torturing her.
“Let me come!” she finally screams once her resolve finally breaks in the face of sensation. “Please!”
“Oh, so you changed your mind. Now you want to come. Now you like this.”
“Fuck!” She lifts her hips, begging me.
Finally, I can’t wait to hear her, to feel her lose control. My own resolve breaks, and I plunge in, growling, wild, and the sound of her ecstatic shrieking is almost drowned out by my animal grunts. She rewards me by nearly drowning me, coating my mouth and chin, and I greedily lick up every drop. I can never get enough of her.
She’s still fighting to catch her breath when I lift my head and wipe my chin with the back of my hand. “Keep telling yourself you have any control over this.” I laugh. She’s too weak to fight. Precisely where I want her.
Yet she’s not too weak to attempt to struggle when I pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder. “What are you doing?” she demands from behind her hood.
“I’m taking you somewhere so that we can continue to have fun.” Is this a good idea? I can’t be bothered to think about that now, not when I have her warm, luscious body in my arms, not when she’s completely at my mercy.
Yet there’s one last barrier to get through, my brother, who happens to reach her front door moments before I’m on my way out. He takes in the scene in a quick, head-to-toe glance. “Damn it,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Have you been having fun here without me? Pretty selfish of you to not invite me to join in. Since when do we not at least offer to share?”
“Sorry, little brother,” I reply, pushing past him while she struggles weakly. “You lost your chance. She belongs to me now.”
23
LILI
“Let me out! You fucking psycho! Why are you doing this?” Then, because I’m desperate and trying everything I can. “My father’s going to kill you for this! My alpha will have your ass!”
That doesn’t get me any further than anything else I’ve screamed in the hours since Wilde unceremoniously dropped me on a bed, then yanked the pillowcase off my head after I spent who knows how long begging to be allowed to see.
It was sheer torture, being tied up and blind all through the ride in the back of his car. I hope I never experience terror like that again as long as I live. He wouldn’t say a word, not even when I cried. And I did cry once, toward the end, when despair almost won out. I can look back all I want and tell myself I cried in hopes of getting through to him, but that’s not the truth. I was scared out of my mind, more afraid than I’d ever been. Considering the way my life went before this, that’s saying something. When you spend years being the pack punching bag, more than a little bit of fear is involved.
The thing about Wilde is how he seems to enjoy this. It’s not just a matter of reminding me of my place, keeping me down, the way it was when everybody called me a freak. He loves hearing me beg like he literally gets a thrill from it. He loves knowing I’m confused, helpless, and at his mercy. Even Dexter never put a hood over my head and laughed while I begged for information.
