Mesmerized by the movement, I’d ceased flailing. I’d stared. Hungry. So many meals I’d made of this male in the last waxing of the moon, that I craved. And when I hesitated, eyes stuck on that tongue, he acted. My cheek hit the wall. Old, musty brick and mortar leaving the taste of old dust and pain on my lips. My fangs ached, fully extended and throbbing.
My body, crushed, bent, manipulated, went slack from pain as if it were pleasure. I’d then done something unspeakable. I’d turned in his arms, eyes locked to his blood smeared lips, the thief tongue who’d stolen what was mine, and I’d put my mouth to his to get it back.
Devouring what he’d gathered, sucking his tongue, scraping it with my aching teeth. Licking at his mouth, even as his cheek healed. I’d bitten his lower lip, wrapping my legs around his waist. It wasn’t a kiss. I was wet and he was erect, but it wasn’t sex.
It was devastation.
Senseless, starved for more, I went straight to the nearest pulsating source. I’d raked my teeth over a black-hearted pulse. When my fangs punctured, I’d come. And… so had he. Because I’d jammed my hand down his slacks, and it was only his greater strength preventing it that kept his cock out of the hungry cunt that wept over his crown like a dribbling poison fountain.
I’d fought to put him inside me, as I did with most of my male food. Habit. Survival. The quota.
“Disengage.”
My cunt was still milking nothingness in that ill-spent orgasm. Sucking upward as if his spattered, warm spend on my lower lips might be dragged inside. Within my fist, the shape of his member, I felt it all. Each pulsation. Each spurt I aimed. Malcom’s seed drenched my labia, saturated my swollen clitoris… his blood running down my throat.
I ground down, fought, and lost, more focused on receiving, of being breached, that my locked jaw unhinged.
“Good girl.”
And though he’d already come, though my climax had begun to abate, he punched forward to penetrate me in that moment—pushed his spend as deep as it might go, and held me there, spread against him, full of cock, startled, and silent.
He didn’t fuck me. He didn’t move. Instead he made me feel him, twitching inside me, flexing his meat so it might jump, so I’d have to meet his eyes, know what I’d done, and feel every last inch of him.
“Jade. It doesn’t have to be all violence or games.” His voice was velvet, those glowing eyes warm as molten gold. “When you’re ready, I’ll show you.”
What the fuck was there to say to that? I’d tried to fuck my food, lost my senses and my temper as he batted around my feeble attempts to end him.
I hated this male, and I had done this.
“You don’t need to be scared. I’ve always kept you safe, even from yourself. I always will.” His cock jumped again, as if he’d willed it to spill a second burst of seed against my womb despite a lack of friction.
This was a level of intimacy even Ethan didn’t press. No, he’d always spurt and then jumped up to shower. He certainly hadn’t plugged my body, held me open, and tried to talk to me. Not unless it was sweet platitudes and praise for the glorious things I’d just done for his pleasure.
Out of my element was an understatement. I had just tried to kill this man. I wanted this man dead more than I wanted anything… except perhaps my father’s love. The strangest sensation crept over my heart, one I’d never had and couldn’t place.
An unnerving desire for my mommy.
Whom I’d never met and was long since dead.
“Whatever you’re feeling, allow it. But do not speak it out loud. You must learn to be more cautious with the opinions you voice. Thoughts can be arranged, words spoken can’t be retracted.”
Under everything was the very thing he’d cautioned me not to acknowledge. Because saying it out loud, giving life to it, meant that Darius would pick it from my thoughts and toy with it. Still my lips moved. “My father is never going to love me.”
“No, he won’t.”
Spread wide, back to old brick, spine scraped, and pussy still full, I forgot my body, the mess I had made, and was too buried in thoughts to care. “And for eternity, I’m going to be alone.”
“Jade…” Malcom spoke my name with such weight, as if he actually cared and knew what it was I carried.
In that moment, what was there to do? I’d lost the battle, I’d shamed myself beyond repair. Even still I had his cock in my body—one he didn’t thrust or use to give me pleasure. It was just there, forcing me to recognize the incursion… so I did the only thing that made any sense. I notched my head back, and smashed it into his so hard I felt the bones of my face break.