Take (Deliver 5)

With a hand in her hair and one framing her face, he fucked her slowly, delicately, as if committing every sensation to memory. He fucked her as if this were his first time, too.

What a ridiculous notion. He hadn’t gone down on her like a novice, and he certainly didn’t fuck like one, either. But there was an innocent attentiveness in every thrust. A thoughtful slide of motion that implied this was more than sex to him, that it was grave and significant.

She knew she was just reading into his deceptive words and strangling herself with misguided trust. No doubt he fucked Iliana with the same dedication.

“I hate you.” She yanked on the rope, desperate to break free.

“Ah. We’re back to that.” A smile twisted the aroused male’s gorgeous features.

His skin was on fire, burning against her. His weight, solid and hard as cement, tacked her to the bed from chest to feet. She registered every point of contact, every quiver that ran through his muscles, every hitch in his breath. All of it affected her deeply, the intimacy shredding and destroying her. She wanted this to be different so badly it broke her fucking heart.

“You’re raping me.” Another shameful tear slipped out.

The hand on her face glided through the wet track, wiping it away, stroking with too much tenderness. “If you need to hate me, then hate me. Use me. Take pleasure from my body.”

“You’re confusing me.”

“I’m a bad man, Kate. Never confuse that.”

She should’ve nodded her head emphatically. But she could only stare at the stunning paradox of beauty and atrocity that embodied Tiago Badell.

Was he really as terrible as he claimed? Did true evil admit to being evil?

What was she thinking? He was the absolute worst. He’d poisoned Lucia, mutilated Tate’s back, kicked Kate in the stomach, locked her in a room for a month, tied her to the dinner table. Raped her.

But he raped her gently.

Gently?

Could that word even be used in this situation?

She was losing her goddamn mind.

“Hate is a feeling.” The warm wetness of his mouth brushed against hers. “As long as you feel something, you’re with me. I need you with me.”

“Fuck what you need.” She gnashed her teeth, aiming to bite off his tongue. “Go talk about your needs with someone who cares.”

His cock jerked inside her, triggering an unwelcome clench in her pussy. He lowered his head, and her pulse jumped through her veins. She tasted his minty breath before his mouth closed over hers.

She tried to fight, lips pinched and neck arching away. But the hands in her hair held her to the pillow, trapping her face exactly where he wanted her.

Then he plundered. Just like when he put his mouth between her legs, this assault wielded the same skill, potency, and seduction. Demanding full lips coaxed and pried until they caught her bottom lip between them, tugged roughly, sucked deeply.

His teeth joined in, nipping in warning, biting when she tried to pull back. The longer she refused to kiss him, the harder his hips plowed against hers. He wouldn’t allow her to escape his gaze, his kiss, or the toxicity of his presence.

“Give me your mouth.” His voice dropped low, his heavy cock sliding in and out, faster, deeper, scrambling her mind.

She searched for a breath, unable to catch it through her nose. When her lungs burned, she had no choice. She gulped, gasping, and he dove in.

Sweeping past her lips, his tongue hunted hers, lashing, curling, claiming in a vigorous ambush of breathy kisses. He moaned into her mouth, and rumbling vibrations spiked through her, annihilating her pleasure zones.

Her body yielded. Melted. Sighed.

Because the man knew how to kiss. Sweet hell, he knew exactly how to own her.

Every nibble and lick carried just the right tickle, taunt, and floaty, languorous pull. The stubble on his jaw inflicted just the right burn. The firmness of his lips created just the right cushion to caress and bruise. And his taste… Oh God, his mouth burst with flavors that were uniquely him. A fusion of sharp mint, warm caramel, and dark, bold decadence. He tasted like sin.

He didn’t just kiss her. He devoured her with his entire body. His hands were everywhere, kneading her ass, coasting up and down her thighs, palming her chest, her neck, her face, and tangling in her hair. All the while, his hips never stopped moving, a constant piston of endless energy and forbidden pleasure.

Frenzied ripples of sensation swallowed her resistance as he stroked his length along her walls, digging in, reaching deep, jerking, and stirring. Tongues locked, hands trailing, cock stabbing, he meant to own her. And in that moment, he did.

It was the kiss. His fucking kiss had the power to crash walls, fuck minds, and bleed souls. It threaded between vulnerable and arrogant, selfless and greedy, polished and primal, silken and brutal, and she sucked it from him helplessly, needfully, knowing it was wrong, which only made her want it more.