Sparrow

“I love this,” he whispered wildly, his mouth traveling down my body, his tongue swirling around my nipple. Everything about him was scorching hot, and I threw my head back, my eyes closed. “Love that I’m going to rock your world and ruin you for every other man in the world.”

When he entered me, I held my breath. It wasn’t just painful—it was torture. So bad, in fact, that tears stung my eyes. Troy was equipped with something resembling a semi-automatic weapon, and even though his cock was the first I had ever seen, I had a feeling it wasn’t a modest, fun-sized one. He moved inside me slowly, his eyes holding mine. Interest flickered in his gaze, and I tucked my head into his chest.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I felt my face heating. He didn’t look turned on anymore. Just…alert. He was searching me, looking for something, making me feel even more naked than I already was.

“Breathe, baby,” he said seriously. “The pain will go away, but the pleasure will stay. I got you, Red.”

He thrust in and out, and I winced every time he did, digging my nails deeper into his back, knowing I’d leave marks. Because I wanted him to stop. Because I wanted him to continue. Because I never wanted to leave.

He kissed away a tear that slid down my cheek, and I wish he hadn’t, because my heart broke a little more when he showed me tenderness. I wanted the ruthless version of him, the one that didn’t offer me hope, that didn’t promise a happily-ever-after ending. Troy was the guy who not only broke your headboard, but also broke your heart. And I didn’t want false hope to occupy any more space in my mind than it already did.

He was pumping in and out of me, faster, stronger, deeper. Soon, I learned his rhythm, and our hips moved together like a sensual dance.

The pain will go away.

No, it wouldn’t.

The pleasure will stay.

“I want you to come in my arms again,” he said, but I knew it wouldn’t happen. Not when all I could feel was him ripping through me. He snaked one of his hands down between us and started rubbing my clit, applying pressure. I gasped a little when he flicked it up and down with his thumb.

“Oh, God,” I panted. “That hurts in the best possible way.”

He kissed me, darting his tongue between my lips. Even his tongue fucked my mouth. The massive bed creaked a little with every push, the headboard banging against the wall with every thrust.

Wild. Possessed. Abandoned.

And it turned out that was all I needed, to twist and writhe again under him. I felt the familiar sensation of losing control over my muscles and tried pushing him away, because this time, the orgasm threatened to tear through me.

He held me in place, nailing me to the bed with the firm hand that played with me. “Fuck, you’re beautiful when you come.”

And I came again, this time harder, screaming his name to the sky and back. I don’t think anyone ever felt more intoxicated from another person as I was intoxicated from Troy Brennan. The scary stranger turned cruel husband.

It was only after my second orgasm that my husband started pumping harder into me, losing control himself. It was wild to see him letting go for once as he thrust deeper and deeper. He swelled inside me, filling me completely, and strangely, not only physically.

He was coming. His forehead rested on mine, his black strands of hair sticking to his temple. Our sweat mixed together.

Damn, it was sexy.

Hell, I was done for.

It wasn’t him taking my virginity that made me feel vulnerable. Not the fact that I was lying in a pool of our lust and my own blood. It was what I felt for him that horrified me. I wanted to step away from whatever I was feeling, put some space between me and Troy, gain some control over my heart. I was spiraling down, fast. Drowning, sinking, free-falling. I was defenseless, helpless, completely exposed. A sitting duck waiting for him to fill me with a buckshot and strip my feathers clean.

He flopped down next to me, pulling me into his arms, my ass against his body. The sheets beneath us were so wet, the thought of Maria finding them made my face heat with embarrassment. I would change those sheets tonight and do the laundry myself. Tomorrow, it’d look like nothing happened.

We lay there in silence while he drew letters and patterns on my skin with his finger. He wrote “God” and then “Troy” and then “Red.” Drew a house, raindrops and a pair of wings.

We weren’t kidding anyone.

This was not just sex. It was more and it was scary. A good thirty minutes passed before one of us spoke. Surprisingly, it wasn’t me.