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He laughs at that, a smile that shows his perfect white teeth, and I hate how my heart thumps anxiously at the sound of it.
But his eyes are still cold, the coldest fire, and they stare at me with stark intensity that seems to rummage inside me.
“That’s a fair observation,” he muses, his gaze dropping to my lips for a moment. “But I do love it when you fight back. Such a big strong man like you reduced to a writhing mess when I have you under my control. Is that what you do with Kat? Do you take it out on her, the things you wish you could do to me but can’t because you’re not man enough?”
“Fuck you,” I say and manage to get enough leverage against his arm to work my saliva up my throat and spit on him.
The spit lands on his cheek but the bastard doesn’t even flinch.
“Spitting?” he questions, slowly reaching up and wiping it off with his long fingers. “That’s a new one for you.” He rubs my spit between his fingertips, indulgent. “Seems like a waste, doesn’t it?”
Then he takes that hand and slides it down under the waist of my trousers until I feel my own spit meet the thick head of my erect cock.
I gasp but the sound is strangled with his arm on my throat and I didn’t even realize how painfully hard I was until he touched me, my eyes rolling back in my head.
“That’s the noise I’ve missed, sweet boy,” he murmurs, his hand continuing down my length, pressing my shaft against my skin, the spit mixing with the beads of arousal from my crown. His hand is slick, hot, burning, or maybe it’s me and my hips buck involuntarily against his palm.
I shouldn’t have done that. It brings out another laugh from him and he pulls his hand out.
“I told you I was going to punish you,” he says. “Just wanted to make sure I could still make your cock weep.”
Then he takes his arm off my throat and I cough, wheeze, suck in gulps of air that burn as they go down.
He eyes my neck and raises his brows. “That’s going to leave a bruise,” he remarks, the corner of his mouth lifting maliciously.
While I’m coughing, he reaches up and undoes the black tie at his collar and before I can question it, he’s shoving the tie between my teeth, gagging me. I make a move to ram my forehead against his, but he ducks his head and slams me back against the wall again. Pain erupts at the back of my skull.
Fight him.
Fuck him.
Kill him.
I feel that darkness coming again. The more he hurts me, the more the horseman wants to take over, almost as if the spirit is looking out for me.
“I told you I liked the struggle,” he says, fastening it behind my head. “I just don’t like being spit on.” He licks his lips and a familiar heat lowers his lids halfway as he brings his hands down over my bare chest, my shirt already torn from his emergency surgery earlier.
“You can tell me to stop,” he goes on, his voice thick, “but I’m not sure I’ll listen.”
Cruel bastard.
I bare my teeth at him through the tie.
But I’m not about to tell him to stop.
I might hate myself for it, it might invite chaos and terror into our lives, but I’m not about to tell him to stop.
His palms are warm and my skin leaps against his touch and my cock is even harder than before, so much so that when his fingers find the buttons on my trousers and undoes the first one, my stiff length practically bursts from my pants.
With a quick tug he pulls down my trousers over my thighs until my cock springs fully free, heavy, dark and full, the tip gleaming in the candlelight.
I watch as his fingers curl around the base and the sight of my cock in his hand makes the blood thrum violently in my skull, intensifying all the pain from my shoulder, my throat, my head into a crescendo until it all but disappears.
“Let me see you stripped down to the bone,” Crane whispers in my ear, giving my cock a sharp squeeze. “I want to know what you’re really made of on the inside.”
Then he brings his mouth to my neck and presses his lips there until I shiver. “I’m starting to think I never knew you, Abraham Van Brunt.”
Because you never knew I was the devil, the thought rakes across my heart.
It comes from that dark place, the one that hides the horseman and all the worst parts of me.
Crane pauses at that and frowns, as if he can hear that thought.
Then he steps back. Releases his grip on my cock so that he’s keeping it in place by a loose circle of his thumb and forefinger.
