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I lick my lips, unable to reply or look away from the lust-ridden wench in the mirror, ready to let an alphahole have his way with her.
“Are you ready for me to bang you senseless, and keep going even when you beg me to stop?”
“Yes.” I can’t believe that word just made it out of my mouth. But hell yes, I want it so bad, I fucking need it.
“I will do bad things to you, wild flame,” he purrs, “but I promise you’ll come so hard, it’ll be worth it.”
“Yes, please,” I mutter. His reply is a mean chuckle.
“I won’t be giving you orgasms for free, though.” Then lower, his eyes unblinking like those of a demon finally asking for its toll, “I want that number. I want your body count.”
Everything in me constricts, my body going taut against him. It’s not lost on Zayne, whose arms snake tighter around me. The image in the mirror is different now, a sinner caught in the tentacles of a punishing beast.
“If you don’t give it to me, I’ll use you, but I won’t let you come. I’ll make it hurt.”
It’s not that I’m self-conscious about my past–frankly, there’s nothing there to be ashamed of. Truth be told, I was never the sexual butterfly Zayne expects that I was. In fact, I only had one boyfriend before Joseph. My still-husband was the second man in my life, and I haven’t been with anyone since him. I never cheated on Joseph either, even though he treated me like shit and had me watch him bang prostitutes for his own pleasure. During The Rite, he looked forward to watching me get gang-banged, too. I tried to fuck other guys since he disappeared if only to reconnect with myself, to heal, and, unfortunately, Zayne knows that better than anyone. But my mouth seals because there’s no way in hell he’s gonna believe me. Especially since I played the part of the sexually confident rich bitch in front of him.
“Give me the number, Sirenna,” Zayne insists. There’s so much natural authority to the man that it hurts to disobey him.
“You wouldn’t believe me,” I manage, unable to look away from the picture in the mirror. It’s like staring at a scene from Dante’s circles of hell.
He removes one hand from around me only to reach between us and whip his belt from the loops of his pants. His thigh flexes when he uses it as support to double the belt, which he then lets hang over my pussy. I squirm and lick my lips, remembering how he slapped me at the bar, and I almost came from it. The idea of him doing it with his belt this time triggers something in me that is fucking sick. This man reaches a part of me that scares me to death.
“The number,” he demands, gravel in his voice.
“I told you–you wouldn’t believe me, and it would only make matters worse.”
“Then make sure that what you tell me is the truth.”
“Fine.” I raise my chin. “Two. My body count is two.”
Time freezes, those eyes fixing me in the mirror like icy diamonds. His face is angled to my cheek, a grin pulling at his beautiful lips. The silence puts so much pressure on me that I have to add an explanation.
“I had a boyfriend in college. Two years. He was too heavily into using weed, so we broke up. Six months later, I met Joseph. The rest is history.”
The silence remains.
“I never cheated on Joseph,” I offer. Damn it, I’m talking too much. I’m making it look like I’m lying.
“You were right,” he growls, his chest vibrating against my body. “Lying did just make matters worse.”
Next thing I know, he spins me around and throws me on the bed. I end up sprawled on it, my legs open to give him a perfect view of the wet, folded flesh between my legs. At this point, the panties are useless, just a wet scrap of fabric sitting askew and doing nothing to cover me. I scramble towards the headboard, trying to close my legs, but he slaps his belt lightly over my knees.
“Open,” he commands.
He watches me carry out his order with a dangerous hunger. My knees fall to the side, offering him my glistening pussy. I lick my lips as he starts unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes roving all over my body. The twisted side of me claps her hands happily at the prospect of finally seeing this bully naked. But when those perfectly sculpted muscles are finally revealed, my mouth pops open.
The world slows down as my eyes take in each burn scar on his chest, the rosy streaks where the skin welded back together.
“What the hell happened?” My words come out ghostly, and a different kind of dizziness spreads inside my head like I just got smacked.
Zayne throws his shirt on the floor and undoes his pants, releasing his erection. It’s big, corded and, paired with the burn scars marring his skin, frightening. A dusting of hair spreads over his chest, his happy trail marking a dark line down to his cock. He looks like he survived a war that led to the gods’ demise and is now trapped in a human world that’s too wretched to contain him.
He kicks off his shoes, gets rid of the pants, and climbs onto the bed without answering, pushing my knees farther apart with his. Then he reaches under the small of my back and raises my hips, positioning me in such a way that he can place the large crest of his dick at my pussy while also getting a downright pornographic view of what he’s doing. His jaw clenches, and his eyes flash with danger as he says,
“This is going to hurt.”
With that, he slides the first few inches of that massive dick inside of me. I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my life, but still, every inch hurts. I reach over my head to grab the headboard, but it’s cushioned, and there’s nothing my fingers can hook into. The solution Zayne finds to keep me in place is to grab my throat, the pressure restricting my ability to breathe. I grab his wrist with both my hands, but there’s no way I can move him.
