I shook my head.
No.
Please never stop.
His lips lower to my jaw, voice darker, vibrating with intent. “Then fucking move.”
But I couldn’t move. I was jelly.
He stood, studying me with his head tilted slightly, neck veins throbbing. Eyes edged with that crackling blue gleam they’d had all night, as if he was barely holding himself back.
He flipped me like a rag doll, the steps biting into my stomach. He kicked my legs apart with his foot, palm coming between my legs.
Rubbing.
Hard.
I went cross-eyed.
He grabbed my chin in a biting grip, forcing my neck to twist, eyes back to his burning ones. “Don’t break eye contact again.”
He kept palming my pussy until a whimper left my mouth—a plea. Why wasn’t he inside me?
“I’m not coming in your cunt today,” he snarled.
The tip of his cock pressed against my ass, invading.
Hot. Hard. Too much, too big.
“Can you feel your legs yet?” he rasped.
I nodded—barely.
“Good.”
He stepped off, all the sensation gone. I was left an aching, desperate mess, staring up at the chandelier above the steps.
Why?
“Beg at my feet, wife.”
Seventy-Five
GRAY
Story scrambled to her knees with barely a second’s hesitation.
“Fuck me,” she begged, looking up at me through her lashes. “Bruise me. Please.”
Fuck.
I dragged my hand across my bottom lip, my jaw.
/> She was dangerous like this.
With that bottomless hunger and those trusting, pleading eyes. Like I could do anything to her and she’d let me. I first glimpsed it in her the day she stole my kiss. The deep well of hunger. The thing that made her beg more. The hungry, starving, aching need in her that matched mine.
It was the reason she slid into my blood.