Blood to Dust

Sex.

He needs to take from me, like the rest of them. It’d be the ultimate betrayal against Godfrey.

“Blood oath,” I repeat with abandon, our lips ghosting one another, never leaving, never saying goodbye. Greedy. Ravenous. Desperate. “We’re in this together, Beat, baby. Fuck me.”

Yes. Fuck me. Against orders. Against logic. Against the fucking wall.

His tongue circles around mine frantically, his mouth drops to my neck, dragging downwards. He licks the sensitive spot behind my ear and moves down to bite my breast through the fabric of my dress, leaving goosebumps so powerful I’m quivering like a brittle leaf. He leaves a trail of that sticky blood he drew from my lips with every brush of his tongue. I feel my wetness dripping down my right inner thigh, crawling to my knee, my body begging for some action.

“Aren’t you fucked up after what they did to you?” he growls. “Aren’t you scared of sex?”

I grab one of his wrists and guide his hand to my inner thigh, moving it up and down my soaked flesh. “Can I fake this, Beat? Can you fake lust?”

“Why you?” A groan that sounds a lot like a beg makes his chest tremble while he pins me to the wall, lifting me so my legs are wrapped around his waist, his swollen, angry erection trapping me between his huge arms. Now he’s the one grinding against me, and his willpower to resist me is running on fumes. Every little thrust of his hips hammers another pin on his self-control casket.

“I can have any pussy in the world. . .and the only one that I want is as toxic as poison ivy.”

“Beat.” I place my mouth on his salty skin. I have no idea what I’m licking with the blindfold on. It’s even more of a turn-on. “You can have me. We could have it all. I’ve got the money. We can fuck and run away, start over and leave this mess.”

I guess Nate is too drunk to even comprehend what I just suggested, because he snarls and tugs at the fabric of my gray dress, wanting to strip me naked but too drunk to know how.

“He’ll kill me if I fuck you.” He grabs me by the ass and lifts me upwards, nuzzling his perfect, straight nose into my throat and sucking. Sex is a powerful drive, and for a young man recently out of prison? It just might throw him off a cliff. “But maybe I deserve death. And maybe. . .” His teeth find my earlobe, tugging. “Maybe I don’t even care anymore.”

“Fuck me,” I whisper into his mouth again, both of us shuddering with looming release.

His hands leave my body and disappointment slams into me, but only for a second, because then I hear him patting his back pocket and producing what might be his wallet. I hear him yanking out a condom and ripping the wrapper open.

“No foreplay,” he grunts.

“No problem.” I lick his skin again. He could probably drill a missile into me and I’d be fine with it. Yes, he is business, but oh, how I enjoy working my charm on him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone.” I hear the sticky rubber as he rolls the condom on and butterflies take over my chest. Am I happy because I’m close to securing my freedom, because I’m about to have sex with an obviously out-of-this-world mysterious ex-felon with a banging body or because I’ve played this scene in my head more times than I’d like to admit ever since I fell into his captivity?

You guessed it. All three.

“Are you telling me this because you’re going to come fast?”

His hands find my waist again and spin me, throwing my body hard against the concrete with a thud. He yanks my underwear down to my knees, pulls my dress over my ass and smacks it lightly. “That too. But mostly, because it’s going to be brutal.”

He takes my ass cheeks in his hands, pulls me up so that my behind is against his erection and plows into me in one go.

Shit. He is huge. And I don’t mean good-huge, either. No. He is this-should-come-with-a-warning-label huge. I cry out in pain, my nails digging into the wall for comfort, but nothing can dull the agony of having him inside me. Nate’s so thick, my thighs spread open automatically even in this position. And he’s so long, he hits my G-spot without even trying, which is good, because he isn’t trying to please me.

And I’m pretty certain having sex with him is the equivalent of experiencing natural birth.

“Jesus,” I moan, not exactly sure if it’s from pleasure or pain. Instead of pumping into me, his fingers dig into the flesh of my ass, moving me in the rhythm of his frantic trance. Brutally. Repeatedly. Urgently.