I took gasping, gulping breaths. His hand gripped my bare breast, massaging it, kneading it, bruising it. My blood was goose bumps and shivers.
I’d give him everything he needed.
Anything. Forever.
“I thought I’d lost you forever.”
He scythed his teeth into the soft flesh above my breast, thrusting, pounding—hammering, until I saw stars.
Everything I needed, everything he’d deprived me of because of that constant contradiction inside of him—to protect or to take—was unleashed in a constant, ruthless rhythm.
Hard. Rough. Savage.
The need in my gut twisted and I cried out. He refocused on me, teeth still locked on my flesh. His predatory, diamond blue eyes focused on my orgasm. His rhythm turned ruthless.
I gasped and he shoved his fingers into my mouth. I want to bite him, I want to—
His eyes narrowed, wet mouth lifting off my breast enough to growl, “Don’t you fucking hold back.”
I bit down and, fuck, the change in him. His dick throbbed inside me, unleashing a new flurry of aching between my legs. His eyes darkened to navy blue-black slits, and I was catapulted over the edge.
I come.
Fast and devastating, without any finesse. Months of bottled up desire, need, desperation exploded from me. He fucked me harder—ruthless—and I bit and slobbered my moans around his fingers. I disappeared into it. All I could see through the haze was him—his eyes.
A monster’s in the dark. Hungry. Ravenous.
I don’t know how long it lasted, but when it was over, no inch of my chest was left unblemished or unravaged by his teeth.
He looked at his fingers, and I got a flash of a grin, but it was gone too quickly.
It wasn’t enough, he wasn’t finished. I could still feel him inside me—hot and hard. And I could still feel it inside him—the unquenched thirst in his chest. Breathing, beating—a living thing.
He needed blood from the soul.
Slowly he slid out of me, still hard.
He stood to his feet and took sweet, deliberate minutes to undo his tux and tuxedo pants, but his eyes were just as desperate as before—if not more so.
When the last item of clothing lay on the steps, he growled, “Get up.”
Godlike.
That was the adjective I always used to describe him—because it was the only one I could use. As he palmed his cock, he eyed me from his ridged nose and clear blue eyes, and once again I felt like a mortal graced with the presence of something greater. Golden light from the skylight above set his abs aglow, the perfect chiaroscuro for the deep ridges.
I licked my lips. He looked like he belonged in the statuary, not standing above me.
“Get up,” he repeated, still fisting his cock.
“I can’t move my legs,” I admitted. I was jelly. I was loose.
“I’m not done with you.”
I mumbled something about being done.
He bent down, pushing the hair out of my face, lips at my ear. “Little wife.” His voice was sweet and gentle. “Do you want me to stop?”
His sweet words and cruel actions spun me undone into heat.