“Please…please.” I dig my nails into his chest, but I might as well be touching an unfeeling wall.
“Shhh. I told you I’ll break this little cunt, didn’t I? You’re taking my cock so well, Lisichka. Mmm. So fucking tight. Your blood is the best lube I’ve ever had.” He drives in again and my limbs shake from the violence of it.
He doesn’t take it easy. He definitely doesn’t let me adjust.
He’s a beast after his own pleasure and I’m just the vessel at his disposal.
No matter how much I sob and beg, he’s not hearing me. A part of me likes this. I like the primal savagery of it all and how harshly he takes me.
I don’t want him to take it easy on me.
I’d never admit this, but a part of me enjoys how he massacres my hymen and uses my blood and arousal as lube.
He drives inside me with harsh strokes, pulling out to the crown, then ramming back in until my back scrapes on the deck.
He does that over and over until I think I’m going to faint.
But something entirely different happens.
In the middle of the savage fucking and methodical thrusts, my belly tightens, my nipples pucker, and my skin heats so suddenly, I think he’s probably killing me with his thing.
“Mmm. Such a good girl. Do you feel your cunt milking my cock?”
My mouth falls open, but only choked gasps escape. My heart thunders as the tightening heightens and the pain morphs into the exact opposite.
Pleasure.
Boundless.
Absolutely insane.
It’s the type of desire that comes from extreme pain. The knowledge that he wants me so much, he’s hurting me.
He wants to hurt me.
He finds pleasure in chasing, manhandling, and fucking me like an animal.
My insides coil and rebel.
I fall into it.
Into being ravaged, taken, taken, and taken.
He craves my softness as much as I yearn for his dominant cruelty.
“You’re addictive. I want to break you.” Thrust. “Own you.” Thrust. “Mark you.”
He accentuates the last statement by biting my throat in the exact spot he did yesterday.
Everything inside me comes crashing down as sharp pain and pleasure overlap and detonate me all at once.
I’m falling and screaming and moaning, and he’s still fucking me.
He’s thrusting inside me like a madman, and then he’s feasting on my neck, biting, sucking, licking. I can feel him stiffening before warmth floods my insides.
And then he lifts his head, chasing crimson red off his lips with his tongue.
My blood.
He’s marked me fully, thoroughly.
It’s painful, it’s erotic.
It’s wrong.
But feels absolutely right.
JEREMY
“Who did you say came here?” I pause in the middle of the jog to stare at my running partner, Ilya.
Nikolai was with us when we took off from the house, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he got bored and decided to sleep under a tree.
He didn’t need to come along in the first place, but he’s been acting worse than my mother since the fire last night.
Granted, I almost died, but I didn’t. Despite having a closet fall across my middle, I got out of the incident with a few scratches, a gash on my stomach, and lacerations.
The doctor said I should recuperate, so jogging is the last thing I ought to be doing, but fuck that noise.
I need to purge the energy that’s been tearing me open worse than the injuries.
The wound burns, and the pain spreads all over my skin and splashes the ticking sound in my brain.
I’ve always considered myself assertive, efficient, and highly unaffected, but my resolve and the very marrow of my control have been tested over the past few days.
So when Ilya just relayed the piece of information, I forget all about my attempts to calm down.
My guard jogs in place, sweat glistening off his pale skin that appears pasty in the cloudy daylight.
Ilya straightens and nonchalantly wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “In the midst of the chaos, right after you were taken to the East Wing to recuperate and when we were putting out the fire, Miss Knight showed up at the gate. She asked the front guard about Miss Volkov and then about you.”
I narrow my eyes, absolutely loathing the heartburn flowing through my chest. It’s the injury. My doctor will be hearing about his incompetence in putting me back together.
Also, what the fuck is Cecily playing at now?
That night, the night I smeared her blood all over my cock and fucked her like a seasoned whore instead of an innocent virgin, I planned to abandon her on the deck and leave.
We weren’t lovers and I don’t even like her. I only fucked her because we both cater to the depravity of pretending to be primal strangers in the dark.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
But the thing is, I couldn’t.
She looked so vulnerable and small, her pale skin serving as the perfect bait for predators that lurked in the dark. I simply was not allowing another predator besides me to touch her.
My courtesy should’ve stopped the moment I carried her to the house. But no, I went to further lengths.
I have no fucking clue what came over me when I warmed water and wiped her from head to toe. I massaged her muscles, too, especially when I felt her turning catatonic.
I shouldn’t know that state is possible, even during sleep, but I do.
Very fucking well.
So I massaged her cunt with my tongue, partly because I wanted to, and partly because I figured it could loosen her muscles.
And it did.
She was slowly relaxing and releasing low, pleasure-filled sounds that hardened my cock and toyed with the beast inside me.
I was so ready to claim her again, strap my mark on her, and forbid her from leaving.
But she did something.
Something that I nearly killed her for.
She called me by that fucker’s name.
She was probably dreaming about him and wishing he was the one who chased and fucked her like an animal, per her initial plan.
I can still feel the quickening of her pulse and the quivering of her flesh beneath my fingers when I choked the fuck out of her.
It’s a miracle I managed not to kill her at that moment.
Or any of the other moments that followed.
“What are your orders?” Ilya asks when I remain silent. “Should I continue to keep an eye on her?”
“For now.” I glide my forefinger along the side of my sweatpants.
The wisest thing to do under the circumstances is to drop the subject, ignore her as I’ve been attempting to the past couple of days, but the fucker of a beast who has been craving her since that first taste refuses to let go.
I meet Ilya’s gaze. “What else did she say?”
“She refused to leave until we told her about your state, and when I did, she complied and got off the property without incident.”
She wasn’t supposed to be here in the first fucking place. What does she want after the ‘Lan’ episode?
My fist clenches with the need to find the fucker and erase his features. She won’t be thinking about him if I somehow transform him into an ugly monster.
How are you any different from him?
I internally shut down that voice and start walking again. Ilya falls in step beside me, vehemently refusing to leave me unguarded, despite the fact that I told him I prefer to do this solo.
He also said I could have complications since I refuse to rest, so he’s here in case he has to take me to a doctor.
“Boss.”
“Hmm?”
The sound of birds and other small forest creatures swirl in the pause Ilya takes to speak up.
So I throw him a glance.
He clears his throat. “She looked worried and had tears in her eyes. Miss Knight, I mean.”
I slide my finger against my thigh, back and forth, back and forth. Like a cryptic language.
Fuck if I care.
That’s what I should say, and mean it, but I don’t.
This is the part that didn’t go according to plan. The part where I could’ve and should’ve been able to cut ties with her the moment we were done on that deck.
The part where I should’ve erased her from my life as if she were never there in the first place.
But it took my beast one taste to develop an obsession with her.
Or maybe the obsession has been there for some time now and it only just grew.
“She was most likely worried about Annika,” I say.
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s not important right now.” We walk for a few more silent beats. “We need to plot payback for last night’s fire.”
Our security team was able to gather footage of some men in masks who managed to infiltrate the property.
And while we couldn’t get identities, Ilya was able to pinpoint one of them as an ex-colleague from the Serpents by his tattoos.
The part that caught my attention, however, isn’t foolish painted masks or tattoos. It’s not the audacity of those fucking snakes to come to our property, breach our security, and set us on fire.
It’s how they got here.
Through the forest.
We’ve had a few infiltration attempts in the past, but they all came through the gate or over the walls.
No one would even consider coming through the forest, considering its thick and mystic nature, not to mention the cameras.
Which brings me to suspicion number two. How the fuck did they manage not to get caught by our cameras?
Only one got a shot of them, and that was newly installed.
It’s as if they knew exactly where the cameras are. And that’s impossible unless there’s a traitor in our ranks.
“Did someone say payback?” Nikolai sprints in our direction wearing only shorts and then punches the air. “With fists and mayhem and burning down the whole fucking island?”
“We can’t act rashly when we haven’t gathered enough info yet,” Ilya says, forever the mediator.
Nikolai lunges forward and pins Ilya with an elbow to his throat. Ilya isn’t a small man, but my friend is similar to a titan. “I say how about you admit that you’re the one who gave the Serpents inside intel? Confess now and I’ll only skin you after you’re dead. If you don’t, I’ll do the opposite.”
I touch his shoulder. “Let him go.”
“This motherfucker is suspicious, Jer. It’s no coincidence that our inner security was leaked to the Serpents after he defected from their ranks and pretended to be your loyal servant.” He stabs Ilya’s trachea with his elbow. “Speak before I murder you.”
“I didn’t do it,” Ilya mutters even as his eyes bulge. “I wouldn’t have sold them out and revealed their identity if I had.”
I grab Nikolai by the nape and wrench him back, forcing him to release Ilya.