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“Shh,” he says, his jaw muscles flexing. “The damage is done. We have to finish this now.”
And he does. He pushes deeper, stretching me further. Going all the way. He doesn’t stop until I’ve taken every inch of him.
Breathing hard, he leans his forehead against mine and locks his hands around my hips. Then he pulls out until only the head is lodged inside and impales me again. His movements are rough and uncoordinated. He seems to battle to control himself. Like me, he appears to be struggling with the torrent of stimulation. He jostles me between his palms until he finds a rhythm that works for him.
Unable to keep up or to follow, I burrow my face in his neck and simply let it happen, embracing the pain, but just as I do, the stretch turns to pleasure. My inner muscles submit to the intrusion. I inhale his scent. He smells like citrus and cedar and sex. His skin tastes like salt where I’m pressing my lips on the pulse that beats in his throat.
He tenses, his neck muscles straining.
He comes.
It’s over.
Yet he continues to pump himself dry. He thrusts until he softens inside me, waiting and watching.
He braces a hand on the wall next to my face, his arm a rigid, solid mass of muscle under his jacket. “Did you come?”
Biting my lip, I shake my head.
He nods. Pulls out. Looks down.
I follow his gaze. We’re a mess, covered in my blood and his cum.
“Sabella.” He grips my chin and tilts my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Why would you lie about this?” His voice is pained. “Is this what you wanted? How you wanted it to happen?”
I look away, sagging a little as I let the wall carry my weight. My legs aren’t up for the task. My limbs are heavy, my arms like lead. I barely manage to pull down my dress and cover myself. “I’m drunk.”
His voice is level. “I know.”
Lifting me into his arms, he carries me to the bathroom. It’s a big bathroom with a spa tub. My parents didn’t spare any expenses. He deposits me on the closed lid of the toilet and strips. I watch as his clothes come off, first the jacket, then his shoes and socks, and finally his shirt. He’s lean but strong, his muscles a portrait of perfect masculinity.
The ink on his chest holds my attention. Two salivating wolves with vicious teeth are in a stare-off. The artwork is exquisite. It’s the first time I get a good look at it, and I itch to trace the ornate outlines framing the black picture with my fingertips. A single word is inked over the deep lines that cut with a V into his waistband.
Resilience.
It’s fitting. The word sums up everything he represents and is.
He pops the button of his pants and shoves them with his briefs down his thighs. He’s big and toned everywhere, his powerful legs well-proportioned. His cock is semi-hard again, tinted with the color of our lust.
Our sin.
A mistake.
He leaves his clothes in a heap on the floor and, fastening his hands around my upper arms, drags me up. I sway as he finds the zipper on the side of my dress and pulls it down. He pushes the thin straps over my shoulders and brushes the fabric over my hips. Wrapping his arms around me, he unclasps the strapless bra at my back. For a fleeting moment, I thought he was hugging me. I’m glad he wasn’t. It was too tempting to lean into the embrace and soak up his heat.
When I’m naked, my automatic reaction is to cover myself with my hands, but he takes my wrists and arranges my arms at my sides.
“No.” He cups my cheeks between his palms. “Let me look at you.”
The gentleness of the act catches me off guard. He traces my jaw with a finger before brushing his knuckles over the curve of my neck. He takes his time to study me, following up each look with a touch by weighing my breast in his palm and feeling the shape of my nipple between his fingers. He measures the dip of my navel and the swell of my stomach before trailing a path down my thighs. Then he reverses his direction to sample how the globes of my ass fill his hands.
I’m too mesmerized by the reverence in his eyes to stop him. He’s looking at me like he’s never seen a naked woman. The fascination and sensual awe that are written in his features give me power I’ve never had.
When he’s finally satisfied, he turns on the tap in the shower. After testing the water, he pulls me by the hand into the stall with him. He’s unrushed and meticulous, cleaning every inch of my body and massaging my scalp when he shampoos my hair. He’s gentle when he washes away the blood between my legs.
