I GAVE IN. Against my better judgement, against my best intentions. I. Gave. In. There was little I could do to stave her off, this time. Like a moth to a flame, like a convict to the executioner’s block — it was equal parts insanity and hunger.
I ate at her like a starved man — satisfied to walk away with just the word please from her mouth. Not for anyone else. Just for me.
And I walked away. My cock hard to the point of pain, I walked away, and kept my vow.
But then the little brat had to scream in her sleep. And at two am, she was pacing outside my room, contemplating whether to come in or not. Like she gave a fuck about disturbing me.
I pulled her into the room. And somehow, it happened. In the single most clarifying yet arcane moment of my life, she goaded me enough that my cock ended up inside her.
She was a fascinating mixture of frustration and need. I’d wrung the orgasms out of her quickly. Seeing her like that, seeing the defiance leave her eyes as she tipped her head back in pleasure . . .
I’ve slept with many woman, and not a single one has tried to defy me the way she has. Not a single one has dared. Freya — she meets me every step of the way. She roils under me — devours me as if she too, is branding me, claiming me, destroying me completely.
And now, I’ve fucked things up so monumentally that there’s no going back. There’s no way to undo what’s been done.
Now, her scent consumes me — sweet wine, black vanilla and raspberry.
Her long eyelashes spill onto her smooth cheekbones. Brows pinched in pleasure, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted.
Her chest heaves as she comes down from the high. Her tits aren’t as big as I’m used to — but full and perky, nipples wet and swollen from my mouth — they’re suddenly a priceless work of art.
I could get off just looking at her.
She’s ruthlessly, wickedly stunning. Light seems to shine from her, along with the faint gleam of sweat covering her soft skin, her chestnut hair fanned around her face on the bed.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
I lower my gaze to the sight between her legs, where the markings I made with my mouth and teeth bloom darker. A primal thing inside me revels in the sight.
My come is dripping down her thighs.
And I’m hard again.
I recall my rules. Hard. Fast. Always from the back. Never raw.
I broke half of them for her. What’s another half?
Before I know it, I’m leaning over her, grabbing a pillow from above her head. Freya lets out a soft sound of surprise as I ease her hips upward, positioning the pillow flush under her.
My fingers sink into the soft flesh of her thighs as I spread them.
Her eyes are glazed over, her pupils are dilated as she looks up at me for a brief moment, her gaze drained of humor.
“Say no,” I grind out, meeting her gaze. “Tell me it’s too much. Tell me you don’t want it.”
I need her to say it. I need her to fight me. I need her to keep that burning that flame of hatred between us. Push me away and create some distance. I need it like I need oxygen.
She doesn’t do it.
She just shakes her head, giving me a look marked with soft submission. “I can’t.”
I blow out a harsh breath between my teeth, blood rushing to the surface of my skin.
Fine.
Guiding myself to her entrance, I wet my shaft with the slickness of her slit. And then I watch as I slowly pierce her. She whimpers, spine arching off the bed and into me.
She’s wetter this time. Slick with both our releases and soaked enough for me to ease in without pain.
Inch by excruciating inch, she takes me into that velvet embrace. I place my hand on her lower stomach as I sink deep into her, into that small, heavenly place, and feel us join.
She’s a drug.
And I’m an addict.
Her legs widen more, taking me in and my thin hold on control snaps.
I keep the rough palm of my hand pressed into her lower stomach to feel myself move inside her.
And then I slide deep into her in one fluid motion, right to the hilt.
She gasps, arching her spine off the mattress.
I narrow my eyes. “Does it hurt?”
She faces the ceiling and brings her lower lip between her teeth. “Not enough.”
I pull out slightly and thrust in slow. Torturously slow. Even though it’s killing me. I won’t hurt her, this time. I drive into her and deepen my stroke, curving my spine into her waist.
It’s gentle. Sacrilegious.
I fuck her soft and slow.
My formidable opponent.
Predator. Witch. Temptress. Mine.
It’s rushed and slow at the same. A lilac haze over reality, and I realize that she wants it just as much as I do.
Being with Freya isn’t about power or something physical, I realize. It digs deeper. It creeps into my veins and flows with my blood. My soul craves hers.
Clenching my jaw, I tuck away the thought. Not now. I don’t want to think about anything that will only serve to widen the chasm in my chest.
I cant my hips forward. Still slow, still gentle.
One hand still on her lower stomach, I reach down with my left to press the pad of my thumb around her clit.
She moans out something incongruent, covering her face with her hands as she arches into my touch. Something inside me softens at the sight.
Our skin meets in fire. Our breaths mix, growing more fervent. Her gaze meets mine, red-rimmed and desperate.
My gaze narrows on the faintest white scar on her chin. Her plush mouth parts — with a top lip slightly bigger than the bottom.
I bring my hand up to her mouth, tracing my inked thumb across her bottom lip. I’m obsessed with a lot about her, but this part of her makes me hyper fixate — the way it juts out so naturally to make her lips settle in a constant pout — one that’s only pronounced when she’s angry or annoyed.
“Open,” I order, tugging her lower lip down with the blunt edge of my thumb.
Crossing her brows, she opens her mouth a little. I press my thumb inside her mouth, almost groaning from the soft, wet feel of her tongue. My cock twitches inside her.
“Suck.”
Her frown deepens, and her teeth graze my thumb, like she’s more inclined to bite my thumb off than suck it. I keep it inside her mouth, nevertheless. She seems to change her mind, because half a second later, her lips close around my digit, and her cheeks hollow as she sucks herself off me.
I want her to the bone.
I want her to the marrow.
I want a taste of her mouth.
Leaning down, I press my chest into her skin, stealing her breath, mere inches away from her face.
Freya gasps, panic flaring in her hazel eyes as they go wide as she looks up at me.
She shakes her head. Her brows cross, raw pain etched in her face.
“Don’t,” she says, tears glazing her vision. “Please.”
She says it with desperation. Her voice soft and slow, like she’s speaking to someone who’s about to detonate a bomb.
The tears line her eyes, wetting her lashes like tiny gems.
I clench my jaw. Irritation thrums through my veins, and a sound of dissatisfaction rumbles from my chest. I don’t move.
“Torren,” she says, “Please.”
Begrudgingly, I pull back.
She’s drawing a line.
I can have her body, but not her mouth.
Sheʼs smart, to keep something from me. I’m selfish enough to take it all.
I lean down into her and speed up—faster, deeper. Her arms come around my waist as she buries her face in my chest. She strokes the scruff at the nape of my neck.
I find that soft, sensitive spot instead her, and I carouse in the silky feel of it. She cries out, arching her back. She tosses her head back and buries her hands in my hair.
She writhes under me. I lower my hand to her clit, fucking her while keeping up with that slow, steady, circle of my fingers. Slow, at first, then quickening when I notice her reaction.
“Torren.”
“Shh,” I murmur, voice soothing as I circle her clit. “I know.”
She’s near, I can feel it, but she’s holding back.
Her nails find purchase on my back, digging into the flesh of my back.
I thrust a little harder in the places that elicit small, breathless moans from her. She holds back for longer than I expect, and then finally lets loose on that little tether.
Her body shakes, face flush with heated pleasure. “I’m going to . . .”
The words tamper whatever hold I still have on my sanity until I’m barrelling over the edge. Blood pounds in my ears, oceans of rapture flooding through my veins.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Body, mind, soul — she has all of it wrapped around her finger.
It can’t mean anything good.
We come together.
I feel her walls spasm around me.
Pleasure explodes through my core as I spill into her, filling her up with me. A moan rips through me as I come. She shudders under me, breathing in the crook of my neck, as she sucks up every ounce of me into herself greedily. She takes it all.
When it’s over, my mind is in a fucked-up haze. I pull up to look down at her, and she blinks up at me, wide-eyed and innocent.
It strikes me, then — the image of children running around the room, their features a mixture of us. Would it be so bad?
She shivers under me, and I force myself to pull out of her and take a step off the bed.
Clenching my jaw, I try to blink back some clarity into my mind. She’s covered in sweat, exhausted and in mild pain.
I head to the bathroom, cleaning up. I run warm water over a towel. I snatch up a pair of boxers, slipping them back on.
When I walk back to the room, she’s still on the bed, lying her side, curled into foetal position.
The sight makes me want to gather her up in my arms and keep her there forever. But that won’t do, so I walk over, nudging her to her back with my hand on her shoulder.
Freya startles, palms digging into the mattress at her sides as she sits up.
I press a hand on her naked skin, pushing her back to the bed. “Lay back.”
Her brows meet, and she must be tired, because she doesn’t argue. When she’s finally flat on the bed, I glance down at her again.
It’s fucking annoying, how perfect she is.
There are a few strands of her hair falling across her face. I lean over with my free hand, brushing them aside. Her hazel eyes soften, the fire that so often burns in them when she looks at me, extinguished.
Agitated, I grit my teeth and lower my gaze to her body. I run the warm, damp towel over her both her arms, over her chest, which shudders at the touch. Then down her valley between her breasts, to her stomach.
And then I settle the towel on her thighs. She flinches slightly when I run it over the inside of her thighs.
I wipe my cum from her inner thighs, from between her legs. And then I discard the towel with the pile of clothes on the floor.
When I glance up at her, a frown pulls at my lips.
She’s crying, thick tears rolling down her cheeks.
Is it because the pain is sinking in? Or is it because if the brief tenderness she coaxed out of me?
Whatever the reason, I hate the sight. It’s unnerving.
“Don’t cry,” I order roughly, running the back of my hand over the crest of her cheeks, and then the front of my hand once over again. “It fucks me up to see you cry.”
She draws a stunned breath, her hazel eyes wide and fresh with moisture as she glances up at me.
“I… I don’t understand. You…” she stutters, blinking back tears. “Do you hate me?”
My chest bleeds, constricting to the point of pain. And somewhere between it all, anger slithers up my spine and curls its fingers around my throat.
“Yes,” I say, gently. “More than anyone else in the world.”
Her features crumble for a second, before she steels her expression and nods tightly, covering her body with my sheets.
I feed her a mild painkiller, and order her to wash it down with water.
It’ll hurt much more in the morning.
I leave her to her own devices, stepping back into the bathroom for a shower. I’m too alert to sleep, and I need her scent off me before I go insane.
How I feel when I’m with her — it’s foreign.
I’ve never experienced anything like it. I need to clear my head, or else I’ll go crazy and try to fuck her over and over again, until she’s worn out.
And she’ll let me.
I groan, turning the shower temperature all the way down.
I have to leave.
If I don’t, I’ll be sucked right back into that tight, wet space between her legs. Back to her breathy little moans. Back to her.
When I walk back into the room, Freya’s asleep. I change into a pair of slacks and a loose white button down, walking over to her.
There are dried tears on her cheeks. I watch her sleep for a few minutes. It’s when she’s like this that she’s the softest.
There’s a dull, painful ache throbbing dormant in my chest.
She hates me.
But at the very least, she feels safe enough to fall asleep in my bed. At the very least, she subconsciously hands over that small piece of trust to me.
Before I can stop myself, I lean down, placing my lips to her forehead.
She makes a soft, sleepy noise, but she doesn’t wake. Something in my chest stirs.
“Sleep tight, little hellfire.”
And then I turn, leaving the room.
❖ ❖ ❖
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