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With one hand, he pins her against the refrigerator. His body shoves against hers, his other hand grabbing the meat of her thigh, hard. Her skin screams in protest, but before she can utter a word, he’s hiking her leg over his hip and crashing his mouth down on hers.
Her shout is muffled, almost silenced, by his mouth. A kiss that tastes of her tears and his rage—of their poison.
A poison she’s so fucking addicted to.
Teeth aching, and the back of her head pulsating against the hard, dented refrigerator, Billie hits out at him. One hard fist to the side of his head.
It doesn’t stop him. He only shoves her up the cold door, off the floor, and his mouth twists against hers.
“I fucking hate you,” he growls and—hand abandoning her thigh—reaches down for her pajama shorts. With a single tug, he rips them apart, between her legs, right at her core.
And jolts of electricity fire through her.
Billie gasps something breathy into his mouth.
Tell me again.
Tell me how much you hate me.
Tell me anything but love.
The clang of a buckle comes before the pull of a zipper. And then he’s free, shoving the head of his cock against her opening.
With a yelp, she strikes out at him again, her smack clipping his temple, hard.
Still… she’sreadyfor him.
She knows she is. She feels it throughout her body, the tingles and the thrill, the danger calling to her. His poison inside of her, forever.
“You’re a fucking cunt,” he grunts as he tightens his grip on her neck.
Her body gives him no resistance—
And he shoves himself into her heat in one, swift move that has her shout against the pressure of his lips.
Billie grins something horrid against his lips, smudged tears wetting her cheek, and his cock filling her whole. If he’s gonna do it, then… “Fuck me like you miss me, El.”
Words are weapons, and she uses hers as a knife that she plunges into him, one she twists just to hurt him that bit more. She knows it does, she knows it hurts him when he makes his moves to punish her…
With his free hand, he doesn’t grab her thigh. He keeps one hand on her neck and brings his other to lock around her waist and hold, tight, never breaking eye contact.
Then he bringsherdown onhiscock. He brings her pain.
The impact jerks through her body with a muffled grunt. She grabs onto him, one hand twisted on the shoulder of his t-shirt, the other fisted in a clump of his curls—
And she holds on.
There nothing sweet in how he fucks her. It’s pure pain, it’s hurt, it’s anger.
Her tears flow freely, poisoning the taste of their shallow kiss, their mouths pressed together so hard her teeth ache, but the kiss never comes.
He’s not here for her. Not for her pleasure.
He chases his own.
Preston’s fingertips squeezing into her skin are sure to leave bruises. He moves into her with a rough grind, not for her pleasure, but to add to her pain. To make her feel what he feels at her hand.
Still, just as fucked up as he is, she is too.
