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“Not yet.” He grabs my hand, pulling it away from my pussy. “Not until I’m inside you.”
He stands up and wraps his hands in my hair, tilting my head back and forcing me to look at him. “This sweet little pussy only comes onmycock,myfingers, andmymouth.” He cups my pussy, as if proving his point. “And I only come deep in your cunt.” He brushes his thumb over my lips, smearing my own wetness over me. “In this pretty mouth.” He licks his lips. “On your perfect body.”
He yanks my hair again, then his mouth crashes on mine. I moan in his mouth. Grip his shoulders. It’s rough. Feral. Violent. He growls and pinches my bottom lip between his teeth when he pulls away. I swipe my tongue over my lips, tasting copper. Heavy breathing fills the space between us.
He grabs my hips and flings me around, bending me over the edge of the sofa. His palm flattens on the small of my back, holding me in place.
He leans forward. “You wanted to know what’s on my mind?” His voice is low and gravelly against the back of my neck. He reaches around to cup my swollen, wet flesh. His touch is possessive, almost reverent. “This,” he groans, tracing a finger along my slit then pushing it inside. “Taking this. Owning this.” He spreads my legs apart with his feet as another finger sinks in. Then a third. Fucking me. Pumping and thrusting while I’m panting and moaning. It hurts. Fuck. It hurts. But not enough for me to want him to stop. “This. Belongs. To me.”
Tears spring to my eyes as I cry out his name.
He wraps his hand around my throat, just below my chin. “I need to fuck you, angel.”
“God, yes.”
He pulls his fingers out and squeezes my throat with his other hand. “Beg me.”
“Please.” It’s a breathy plea.
He chokes me harder. Smacks my ass. “Again.”
“Fuck me. Make me come. Own me. Please.”
“Jesus Christ,” he rasps as he brings his cock to my entrance, guiding the thick head along my opening. My body quivers when it brushes over my clit.
I want this. I want him to own me. I want him to take me. Whatever battle he’s fighting in his mind, he can take it out on my body.
His hands grip my hips and he sinks all the way inside. He squeezes my throat. Sparks dot my vision. Blackness closing in around the edges. My eyes flutter closed. His fingers dig into my flesh as he pulls me against him with every thrust. Skin against skin. He hisses through clenched teeth. My hands clutch the leather. Body against body. Hard against wet. Taking. Claiming. Owning. Until we both come undone.
32
Callisto
It’s morning. The sun is barely up. It hasn’t even warmed the dew off the grass yet. The chill from the night is still in the air when I step out onto the terrace and watch the city as it wakes.
Last night, I agreed to let Makenna in. And I want to. Fuck, I want to. I want to give her every part of me, even the darkness. She makes me feel like my demons are nothing more than fallen angels.
I told her the truth about who I am once before. This isn’t any different.
Except it is.
This isn’t telling her she’s in love with the man in the shadows. This is asking her to love the darkness they’re made of.
And I will. I’ll tell her everything as soon as she wakes up. There’s just one thing I need to do first.
* * *
The restaurant is empty.Reneeis busy filling up sugar containers before the breakfast rush comes in. I imagine regulars sitting in corner booths, sipping coffee that she places on the tabletop before they ever look at the menu. It’s that kind of place.
I lean one hip against the booth behind her and fold my arms across my chest. “There are three qualities I possess that make me good at my job.”
She squeals and jumps back a step, holding a hand to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me.” She lets out a heavy breath, and her eyes immediately fall to the floor the moment she sees my face. “I’m sorry. We’re not open yet.”
I stand up straight and hold up a thumb. “I can smell a lie from a mile away.” I add my index finger for number two. “I don’t experience emotions such as fear or remorse.”Unless it involves Makenna.I tick off a third finger for my final note. “And I have a photographic memory.”
Tiny packets of yellow sugar substitute fall from her trembling hand and scatter all over the tabletop. “How did you get in here? The door is locked.”
“HowI got in doesn’t matter. What you should be worried about iswhy.”
