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He grins, exposing his dimple, and a softness in his eyes I’ve never seen before. It’s beautiful. Frighteningly so. For a second, I pause, taking in his complexity. The calm of his smile against his hard penetration.
“I thought you were going to be rough.”
He bites my lip again, this time harder. “I thought it was better not to scare you.”
“Or you turned into a pussy.”
“Yeah?” He raises a brow and slams into me. “You really think so?” He snakes his hand behind my neck and grips my ponytail, tugging my head back. My breasts thrust toward him. My eyes roll.
Pleasure. So much pleasure.
His mouth trails a path from my cheek to my shoulder, then my chest. His kisses become stronger. Harder. I squeal as he sucks on my skin. Shit. He’s leaving marks, tattooing me with his domination.
“Too much for you? ’Cause I haven’t even started,” he murmurs against the side of my breast, his hips still bucking, fucking the life out of me. Or maybe he’s fucking life back into me.
I don’t want that. I don’t want change. I need this sterile existence. “No. Not enough.” I need the harsh detachment to keep me sane.
I shove at his chest and buck my hips, encouraging him to roll. We tumble, switching positions, me on top, his muscled body beneath me.
“Better?” He raises a brow in question.
I nod. His cock sinks deeper, stretching me farther. “Mmmhmm.”
He cups my breasts, his fingers digging into flesh. I ride him, my hands splayed on his hard chest. All my muscles are tense, taut from the build of bliss. Then my foot twinges. A cramp strikes. “Shit.”
“What?” He scowls.
“I’ve got a cramp.”
“Not my fucking problem.” His words are rough, but his lips curve in a tease.
No, it isn’t his problem, but he pushes to sit, his hand sliding over my thigh, my calf, my heel. He curls my toes in his fist and the pain increases. He doesn’t stop fucking me; he continues the rhythmic pulse of his hips, the stimulation gradually fighting back as the cramp subsides.
“Better?” His eyes hold something that threatens to weaken me. Something that cracks my ribs apart in an attempt to touch my heart.
“Yeah.” I glance away and bury my head in his shoulder.
His hands find my ass as he continues to sit, our chests plastered together, our sweat mingling. He guides my movements, making me grind against the dick nestled deep inside me. The friction teases my clit, the pleasure pulsing through me from my core, to my stomach, to my breasts.
“For a fucking temptress, your pussy is as tight as a virgin’s.”
I close my eyes and smile. “You’re so sweet.”
He chuckles, digging his fingers deeper into my ass. Tomorrow, I’ll have a roadmap of marks on my body. A treasure trove of carnal memories.
He leans down, his mouth latching onto my nipple. He sucks. He grinds. He thrusts. Every movement catapults me toward an edge I’ll happily dive over.
“Tell me your name. I want to shout it when I come.”
I shake my head. I’m already close. I need to focus.
He growls, “Tell me.” The rough texture of his tongue swipes my breast, trailing my areola.
“Oh, God, don’t stop.” I want more. I need more.
“Then tell me.”
I pulse faster, my orgasm within reach. He groans, and the delicious sound acts as a trigger.
My pussy contracts, pulsing over and over. Wave after wave of ecstasy pummels me from the inside out. Drowning and re-energizing at the same time. I moan, longer, louder. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
“Damn you,” he growls, pistoning his hips.
I slowly blink through the shattering peak, my mind and body tangled in a delicious web of delirium and euphoria.
Each change in his expression becomes a memorable snapshot I vow to never forget. He shouts his release, his fingers creating scars—emotional and physical. That beautifully rugged face contorts. Sweat beads his skin. Wisps of hair cover his eyes as his forehead scrunches.
I watch, enraptured, as his pleasure takes hold, and I thrive on him succumbing. For once, he’s not in control. He’s weak. He’s human.
My chest tightens in excitement, as if I’ve won a battle. But what could I have won other than a temporary distraction?
His shoulders slump, and his grip loosens. The emotionless face I’ve grown accustomed to returns along with his steady breathing. I stare at the stranger poised between my thighs, unable to look away from the lazy intensity staring at me.
“Who are you?” he murmurs, resting back on one hand.
I snap out of the lust haze and command myself to focus. “I’ve already told you.”
“You haven’t told me a damn thing.”
“Then maybe it’s none of your business.”
His nostrils flare, and I’m equally a
Yes. He shouldn’t need to know. I certainly have no interest in learning his.
“It’s Emma.” I scowl. “You already know that.”
“Bullshit,” he grates.
I pull back with the evaporation of ecstasy. So much for a distraction. The memory of how I got here floods back. The images of Dan assail me, creating revulsion.
I crawl off him, my body immediately missing his, and move to sit on the edge of the mattress. I lean over, massaging my forehead as my mind rambles unwanted thoughts.
How did I get here?
I was happy once. Loving. Optimistic. I didn’t have a care in the world. Then Jacob changed everything, instigating a domino effect I had no control over. I functioned with continued detachment. I lived for one thing, and one thing only. And this is what I’ve become.
All the fulfilment I experienced moments ago washes out like a tide, and hollow disgust flows in with the force of a tsunami. I’ve just had sex. Mind-blowing, limb-shaking sex. Mere minutes after finding out I’m a murderer.
Who have I become?
“You should leave.” My statement is strong, belying the already fractured parts of me which fragment into tinier slivers.
I stay silent, waiting for a protest that doesn’t come.
The mattress jolts with his shifting weight, then he’s gone, moving away from the bed, his padded footsteps retreating. His clothes rustle. His shoes thud against the floor.
“Emma… Stephanie… Whatever the hell your name is, I want to see you again.” Each word is growled harsher than the last. “Tonight. At the bar.”
I grab my pillow and drag it to my chest. I won’t succumb again. I need to pull my shit together, not spread it out for the world to see. I have to figure out what to do now that I’m one of those people I usually fight to punish. And now, more than ever, I have to gain retribution for what has been done to my family before I become the focus of someone else’s vengeance. Or worse—trapped behind bars.
“Do you hear me?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I hear you.”
But hearing him doesn’t mean I’m listening.