Take (Deliver 5)

While his tongue chased and licked hers, he guided their hands along his shaft, angling to rub the head between her legs, touching her, touching himself.

It was erotic and tantalizing and so fucking wrong. She loved it. She hated that she loved it. He was corrupting her, and her mind seemed hellbent on rationalizing and justifying every illogical reaction.

“You’re right in that you have no power here,” he breathed against her lips. “Not while I’m holding you against your will and you’re constantly looking for an escape. But you have the power to take from me. When we’re together like this, you can take as much pleasure as you want. Deviate from everything Van taught you. Break free from your hang-ups. Explore whatever you desire without judgment.”

She wanted that, but she didn’t trust it. Not with him. He was spinning her around so fast she didn’t know which way was out.

Her eyes fluttered closed. “I don’t know how.”

“Look down. Look at us.”

She lowered her gaze, taking in her bloodstained body, his hand holding hers around his cock, and the semi-hardness of it gliding between her thighs, seeking entry.

He adjusted his grip to drag a finger along her slit, collecting the ejaculate he’d left there minutes ago. Then he smeared that into the blood on her thighs.

It didn’t feel forced or planned. He wasn’t pretending to be something he wasn’t. This was Tiago, the man no one else saw, in all his crude, natural, horrifying glory.

No one had ever captivated her the way he did.

“You’re covered in me.” He tipped her head back to stare into her eyes. “You’re wearing my spit, sweat, come, and blood. Give me your definition for that. The first word that comes to mind.”

“Raw.” Her brows pulled together.

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth curved up. “Raw isn’t a bad thing, Kate, and I’m not finished.”

He swooped in and caught her lips, stealing choppy breaths from her lungs.

What did he mean he wasn’t finished? Would he cover her in his tears next? Or… Oh, God.

A hot, wet stream flowed down her legs. The length of his dick rubbed against her hip, warm and half-hard in their hands. His mouth moved over hers, distracting her with the potency of his assertive tongue and sultry lips.

But she knew what was happening. A steady rush of liquid warmth drenched her lower half, tickled her feet, and stirred an appalling reaction between her legs. He was peeing on her, shamelessly pissing on her body, and her pussy throbbed.

It wasn’t the shocking dirtiness of it that turned her on. It was the intensity of his arousal from it. The quicker his breaths grew, the faster her heart panted. He kissed her harder, more frantically, and she met him lick for lick, bite for bite.

She clung to the sounds of his groans, the confident way he held his cock in their hands, and the sensation of his body’s hot fluid soaking her skin. It was the rawest form of intimacy she could’ve ever imagined.

Urinating wasn’t much different than climaxing. There was a need for privacy while doing either action. The urge to hold it, stall it, then the tightening, building internal pressure, until the burst, the gushing flood, and the overwhelming relief. It made her want to release her bladder and orgasm all at once, just to share in the freedom he was experiencing, to let it all go without the judgment of prudes in the outside world.

Because a prude was one thing Tiago was not.

As the warm trickle slowed, he sighed as if he’d just jerked himself off on her legs.

“Look at you.” He swayed back enough to let her see down the length of her defiled body. “So goddamn beautiful.”

“Yeah.” She unraveled her hand from his as modesty and shame crowded in. “I’m a glowing matriarch for women’s rights.”

Somehow, she’d forgotten to scream and fight him off while he was peeing on her.

“Hate me all you want.” He clutched her chin and put his face in hers. “But never hate your desires. Never be ashamed of what you want.”

“You pissed on me. I can’t want that.”

“Says who? You? Or the world you were raised in?” He released her to turn on the faucet and adjust the water temperature.

“It’s dirty,” she said lamely.

“I don’t have an infection.” He positioned her under the shower head. “It’s sterile enough to drink.”

“Where do you draw the line?”

“No shitting and no sharing.” He grabbed a bar of soap. “Those are our limits.”

“You can’t tell me my limits.”

“I just did.”

He proceeded to wash her body. Then his own. His dick, fully erect now, jutted from the apex of his powerful legs. But he ignored it as he focused on cleaning away the blood and urine.

She was at a loss. Part of her warmed at the thought that he didn’t want to share her. When he’d offered her to Arturo in the kitchen, it had been the worst possible scenario. Worse than Tiago finishing the job himself.