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I unleash.
I strike him right across his sharp cheekbone, my knuckles feeling like fire.
The back of his head smacks against the wardrobe.
Then he raises his head, his damp black hair flopping across his forehead, and his eyes search mine in the same way that Pastor Ross’s did when he was praying to God. “Do it again.” My fist shakes, I hesitate, and his hand is still on my throat. “Do it again or I’ll tell how I used a riding crop on her ass and a ruler on her cunt and I dominated that sweet witch until she was puffy and pink and slick with—”
Pure jealousy slams into me and I punch him again, this time getting his jaw until I hear his teeth clank together and his grip on my throat loosens, his chin dipping down.
“Crane,” I say, breathing hard, my knuckles burning, my shoulder hurting from the action, and somewhere deep inside me I feel the horseman stir in that darkness. “Please don’t make me do it again. I don’t want the Hessian to come out. He might break the rules and come out during the day.”
Crane lifts his head, his hair obscuring most of his haunted eyes. “Maybe that’s what I deserve. Maybe that’s what I want.”
I swallow hard, not liking any of this, how quickly our roles have reversed. I’d always wanted to see Crane snap, to see that flippant mask slip, to know what it’s like to punish him for a change, but I don’t want any of it. Not like this.
“Well, I don’t want it,” I say gruffly. “I don’t want it, Crane. This isn’t safe.”
I knew that word would get his attention.
He nods slowly, my words sinking in. His gaze drops and his hands go down to my trousers, pressing the heel of his palm against my erection, which I hadn’t give much thought of until now.
“Then I just want to fuck,” he says, his voice low and husky, sounding more normal again and when he gazes at me, I see pupils blacken in lust. “I want to fuck. I want to come inside you and make you come too.”
He presses harder against my length and I gasp. The foolish little noises I make when I’m with him embarrass me and I feel my cheeks already going hot.
“There’s that color I like to see,” he murmurs before he grabs me by the back of my neck and gives me a possessive kiss that makes my fingers curl at my sides. “My pretty boy,” he adds as he breaks away with a smirk.
Then he reaches up and grabs my hair in his hands and gives my hair a sharp tug, making my mouth drop open, the pain causing my dick to twitch with blood, with need. It’s fucking beautiful.
“Yes,” he hisses, leaning in to lick the rim of my open mouth. “Oh damn it, Brom, I’m going to fuck your seed right out of you.”
With another tug that makes my eyes water, he leads me over to my bed and orders me to get undressed, and then undress him when I’m done.
I work as fast as I can with shaking hands, shucking off my clothes and his, my dick already so thick and swollen that I feel the faintest breath on it will making me climax. Then, when I’m nude, and his naked body is standing before me, those extra inches on him seeming to have that same effect on his cock, I stare openly at him. Last night I never saw a thing but now he’s raw and open and right in front of me.
Crane looks like a God. Perhaps a fallen one at the moment, but still a fucking God. His lean, long yet defined body, his skin pale as the moon, smooth as silk, only a dusting of black hair under his harms and the trail running from his stomach to his cock that stands up like a heavy, darkened pole between his muscular legs.
It thrums through me, this want, it fills up every crevice and hollow until I can’t see straight, can’t think straight.
Then Crane pushes me so I’m on my back and on the bed and he comes over me, the heat of him overpowering and even though it’s the afternoon and grey light is coming in through the window, it feels like the whole world goes black and is whittled down to just him, like he’s standing at the end of a tunnel.
“Can I be your savior?” he murmurs, running the tip of his nose over mine.
I can only swallow in response, hoping my eyes tell him the rest.
Except he’s not the only one who needs saving in this bed.
I hope he knows that too.
He kisses me, hot, deep, violent and my breath catches in my lungs, wrung out, and it’s so easy to succumb to this man. I reach up, running my fingers over the defined bones of his clavicles, his shoulders, then down over the hard planes of his chest and the chiseled grooves of his abdomen. I’m trying to remember this, the way he feels, in case it doesn’t happen again. In case there might be a day soon, too fucking soon, where the Horseman takes over and doesn’t give me back.
