“I won’t be gentle.” He flashed one of his infamous half-smirks—the one he’d probably used thousands of times and resulted in thousands of orgasms. It felt dirty to the bone, being with him in a way so many others had. Problem was, no one told me how enjoyable his filthy halo would feel rubbing on me.
“I don’t need gentle. I’m a warrior, remember?” I grabbed his face, bringing him down for a scorching-hot kiss.
He slid all the way in with one thrust, biting the side of my neck like a tiger draining his victim of blood. “That’s what makes you so unfortunately irresistible.”
He thrust inside me in long, deep strokes. With each shove, I felt the bed moving an inch. The headboard slammed against the wall, the mattress squeaking its protest beneath us. Hunter hoisted one of my legs over his shoulder, wrapping the other against his waist while his eyes bore into mine. The bed and I whined in unison.
“Slow down,” I half-protested when I couldn’t understand whether it was me shaking the bed with my tremors, or the bed quaking beneath me.
Hunter was relentless. He was so hard and thick, I wondered if my insides would forever be molded to the shape of his erection. Screwing with him would make for an easier birth experience, I swore. He widened and stretched me, and I’d never felt so deliciously full in my life.
Hunter stopped, grabbed the back of my thigh from his shoulder, and flipped me over on my stomach. Reaching down between my legs, he hoisted my ass up in the air and spread my butt cheeks with his thumbs.
“Indulge me, baby,” he hissed, coating his finger with my juices and sliding it into my tight hole. It squeezed around him nervously, and he wiggled his finger a little inside, stroking gently.
“Why?”
He kissed the side of my face, the silhouette of his features in my peripheral. He was so beautiful it squeezed my heart, making me want to cry.
“Because I’m your favorite villain,” he whispered.
With that, he withdrew his finger and then slid it back into me, an inch at a time. I cried out, clenching the sheets between my fingers and squeezing my eyes shut. He pushed his fingers into me at the same time. I loved it. All of it. Having him in both my holes. So full of him.
I loved that it felt a dash degrading.
Most of all, I loved that Hunter Fitzpatrick was crazy enough to screw someone behind his father’s back and risk losing his inheritance. Brave enough to fuck the daughter of a mob boss like an animal, knowing the potential consequences.
He was fearless, and a rebel, and a sinner, and a saint.
A prince who’d never wanted his title.
A pure-hearted rake.
He was everything a woman should run away from, personified. And yet here I was, falling deeper.
Overwhelming pleasure coursed between us, and I felt him swelling and jerking inside me as I fought my next climax, desperate we do this together.
“Are you coming?” I panted.
“Baby, I’m about to need an IV after this shit. Permission to be filthy?”
“Granted.” A moan tore from my mouth at the same time he pulled out of me. My knees knocked together. I shook, feeling the loss of him. He ripped the condom off, cupped my pussy with his hand, shoving three fingers into me, and pressed his cock into my sore, tight hole. With my butt up in the air and wide open, I felt the thick liquid of his cum shooting around it in hot ribbons. He pushed his fingers deeper between my lips, covering my entrance completely so his cum couldn’t drip into it. I came, too.
Hunter collapsed on top of me, his chest pressing against my sweaty back, and before we knew what was happening, the bed tipped over to one side, one of its legs breaking. The shattering noise of split wood filled the otherwise silent room.
I rolled down from the tipped mattress, and the only thought that crossed my mind was that my shoulder didn’t need another hit, especially after I was making some progress. But before my body reached the ground, I felt Hunter’s arm wrap around my waist, pulling me back up the bed gently. I clung to him like we were stranded in the middle of the ocean on a piece of wood.
“Jesus,” I groaned. “How’d that happen?”
“Is that a hypothetical question, or can I give you the long, dirty answer?” Hunter murmured into my ear, nibbling on my lobe, making me giggle.
I scrambled to get up on my feet, but he pinned me down, grabbing my butt. He kissed the side of my face.
“Wait here. I’ll clean you up.”
“The bed is broken,” I reminded him. “This is not a movie. I’m not going to luxuriously rest on a bed that’s tilted down.”
He rolled his eyes at me theatrically. “Cramping my style.”
He lifted me, honeymoon-style, and carried me to his en-suite bathroom. In there, he hoisted me on the counter, took a towel, rinsed it in hot water, and cleaned between my legs. I watched him the entire time. There was no way he did that with all of his hookups.
Stop thinking about them. Stop obsessing over the many girls he’s been with. There are more to come, and anyway, it’s none of your business.
“You handled things in a really badass way today,” I said after a while.
The silence was comfortable, but watching his face as his eyes focused on cleaning my most intimate places unraveled me. I still couldn’t believe I’d slept with someone who wasn’t a steady boyfriend of sorts.
Hunter shook his head. “I learned from a young age that women are not here to stay. My parents sent me to boarding school when I was six. I had nannies coming out of my ass whenever I was home. I don’t think my mom consciously knew she wasn’t there for me, but that doesn’t change the fact that she wasn’t. The nannies were interchangeable and frequently replaced. Da made it a point to change them every season so I wouldn’t learn to rely on a woman. I think it scared him to think one of his boys wouldn’t be fully independent. He did it with Cillian, too. Only difference was, Kill was born with a soul ten shades darker than a normal human—his father’s son through and through. We both grew up learning that women were disposable, born to serve us, and sire heirs. Da cheated on Mom. Mom cheated on Da. Kill…fuck knows what goes through his head while he samples his endless string of meaningless flings, but he knows how to do it quietly.”
I touched his face, urging him to say more. I could practically hear the wheels in his brain turn as he thought about it.
“What Da didn’t take into consideration was that I wasn’t Cillian. I wasn’t born a cold-blooded, self-serving degenerate with a taste for pain. So I went for the closest thing—a poor imitation. But it always came off without that Cillian Fitzpatrick shine. My flings are messy and public and, as it turns out, really fucking expensive.”
I laughed at that last part, cupping my mouth. Hunter let loose a tired grin, throwing the used towel onto the floor. The housekeeper would wash it when she came tomorrow morning, just like this was a hotel.
Maybe that’s how Hunter had always felt—like a guest, even in his own apartment.
I hopped down, pressing my hands to his chest. My whole body was sore. From the waist down, I felt like I’d been wrecked. From the waist up, every inch of my skin was covered with a red rash from his unforgiving stubble.
“Thanks.” I kissed the corner of his mouth.
“For what?”
“For being real. I know it’s hard.”
I started to my room, resisting the urge to invite him to my bed, seeing as his was broken. Never mind that we broke it together. I decided to be very careful with Hunter when it came to things that could be viewed as clingy or too relationship-y. Not just for his sake, but for mine, too.
The minute I stepped over his bathroom’s threshold, though, his hand snaked and caught me by the waist.
“Where do you think you’re going, aingeal dian? If you can still walk, that means we’re not finished yet.”
He carried me to my own bed and did unspeakable things to my body three more times that night.
Then fell asleep on top of me, our limbs tangled together.
And when we woke up the next morning, true to his promise, it was almost impossible to walk with the soreness between my legs. It felt like I was peeing fire, and I actually feared to do a number two.
But what I worried about most was my heart, which felt ten pounds heavier, and so swollen I almost tripped over my own feet.