Violent Beginnings (The Moretti Crime Family 2)

That’s my mistake. Giving my back to the predator. He’s on me in a flash, his hand in my hair, pulling me backward. My scalp burns at the contact, and I collide with his firm chest, the air expelling from my lungs with the contact.

“Liar,” he grits out and nips at my ear hard enough to draw blood.

The world shifts as he shoves me forward and face-first into the couch. The sweatpants I’m wearing are ripped down my legs violently. I struggle to breathe and turn my face to the side, my cheek resting against the cold leather.

“I’ll fuck the truth out of you then.”

Opening my mouth, I go to tell him again that I’m not lying, that I really don’t know who this man is, but my voice vanishes when I feel the hard head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

“Tell me the truth…” He growls in warning, giving me one last chance, but I have nothing to confess. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to get a word out. My tongue refuses to work, and my entire body trembles uncontrollably. Nothing I say will convince him otherwise.

He’s going to use me, take from me, hurt me.

An eternity ticks by, and I gasp as he slams into me with the intensity of a bullet train. My lips part, and a gasp escapes. He’s huge, bigger than I’ve ever had, and he forces his way inside me without mercy. It’s like I’m being ripped in two. All I can feel is the leather beneath my cheek, and his hard body pressing into mine.

My core tightens around him without care to my brain’s thoughts. One of his mammoth hands moves to my hip.

With bruising force, his nails skin into my skin, holding me in place like I’m wounded prey that he’s going to devour. His other hand snakes to the front of my body, slipping between my quivering thighs. Devilish fingers find the tight bundle of nerves hidden between my folds.

The rough pads of his fingers press against my clit, and I can’t stop myself from moaning out loud. It’s like my body is betraying me, and I want to fight back, tell him I don’t know this man, that I have no idea where he came from, but I can’t…

Sinking more of his body weight on me, he molds our bodies together as if we’re two pieces of clay becoming one. Fear, anger, and pleasure blend into one when he fucks me, the slap of our skin echoing all around us.

His fingers maintain the same tempo as his hips, and everything fades away. The man in the room, the cell that’s waiting for me downstairs, and all the other worries I carry. All gone. I’m left drenched, flooded with arousal.

Even though I know this is fucked up, that I mentally shouldn’t want this, especially not with this beaten and bloody man in the room, I can’t stop him, and nor do I want to.

“Mine. You’re fucking mine, and no matter who comes for you, that will never change. You can lie to me, you can try to run, but I will hunt you down and drag you back here. You will never be free of me. Never.”

The words he speaks don’t even reach my brain. I can’t comprehend them at the moment. All I know is that I can’t let him stop. I can’t. I need what he’s going to give me, the pleasure and pain. I’m an addict for his pain, for his anger.

“Lie to me,” he grunts, bringing his mouth to my ear. “Lie to me again and see what happens.”

Hot breath fans over my ear and throat, my muscles quake, and my nipples harden from the friction of my shirt against the leather with each thrust.

Releasing his hold on my hip, he grabs a fistful of my blonde hair and tugs my head backward. The skin of my scalp screams, the pain searing through each strand as his grip tightens. “Look at me. Look at me and tell me you don’t know him,” he roars.

Like an obedient slave, I look up. “I-I… don’t…”

The worst part of all is that even with the pain, I still know I’m going to come… hard, harder than I’ve ever come before.

My lungs deflate in my chest, and my eyes flutter closed. A tsunami of an orgasm overtakes me, pulling me into the deep abyss. Like a rag doll, I sag against the cushion and let him use my body to the fullest, and he does. He fucks me with punishing need, at a pace that’s frightening, that has me clawing at the couch and mewling like a cat in heat.

His own movements become jerky, and he releases his hold on my hair and grips me by the hips with both hands. Holding me in place, he pumps into me a few more times, each thrust driving a blade of anger into my chest.