A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)
I could see the wheels turning as she deliberated her next tactical maneuver. I knew exactly when she decided to change tack when her face softened. “Scout, we were made for each other,” she purred. “Who else is going to fuck you like I do? I know what you’re doing, you’re just trying to punish me for marrying Marcus but that’s history. We can be together now and––”
“Stop.”
Frustration shifted to anger in her expression. She ripped her wrist out of his grip. “What’s the matter, Scout? Can’t you get it up? Is that what’s bothering you?” Her perfect features contorted into an ugly sneer. “That you’re only half the man you were before the accident?”
His face was an unreadable mask. I knew what that expression meant. I almost screamed in fear for her. A loud crash rent the quiet of the room. The vase hit the stone floor and shattered into a million pieces, the bouquet scattering in every direction. It took me a while to realize that he had her pinned face down over the table with her legs spread apart, his large body pressed up against her buttocks. Her hair was coiled around his hand, snapping her head back in a punishing grip, while the other pushed down on the top of her spine, trapping her completely.
“Is this what you want you fucking bitch? I warned you never to call me that again.” His voice sounded hollow, almost inhuman. I watched a strange, demented smile grow on her face. She laughed at him, a joyless, malicious laugh. Spurred on, he flipped her short skirt up, reached under, and brutally ripped off her black thong.
Oh my God…they aren’t going to…
He hesitated for a moment. His face revealing a mix of clashing emotions: rage, lust, revulsion.
“Do it you spineless asshole!” Her scream earned her another violent jerk of her hair. Then his expression altered, became resolute. He fished a condom out of his back pocket and, without slackening the brutality of his grip on her, unzipped and unbuttoned his trousers. They fell to his ankles, revealing black boxer briefs and an enormous erection tenting the fabric…and then he pushed them down.
I covered my mouth and swallowed a gasp. I should’ve had the decency to give them some privacy but it was beyond me. I couldn’t look away if my life depended on it. I was mesmerized, entranced, and he was magnificent, built to scale and thrusting up powerfully.
A flood of sensation traveled from the tips of my toes to my hairline. I broke out in a full-blown sweat, a deep ache pooling between my thighs, every nerve ending painfully aware of him. I gripped my nightgown in a fist at the top of my thighs. Never in my life had I experienced such a visceral reaction to a man. It was as if he held some secret code to unlocking my body that I was unaware of.
Through a tight jaw, he hissed, “I never met a woman so eager to be treated like a piece of garbage.” A loud crack splintered the air, the sound reverberating off the stone walls. The cherry stain of his handprint was visible on the white cheek of her rear end. He ripped the wrapping off the condom with his teeth, shoved her harder onto the table when she squirmed, and rolled it on. “I want you to remember this pity fuck, Paisley––because I’ll cut my dick off before I ever touch you again.”
With conviction born of anger and resentment, he kicked her legs wider and slammed into her in one powerful thrust of his hips. The table lurched forward, scraping the limestone floor loudly. He began viciously pounding into her without an ounce of care, the slapping sound of their flesh drowning out her sensual whimpers and moans. As she climaxed, she screamed out a list of swear words that would’ve made a soldier blush while her short, red nails scraped the wood of the table.
His expression was pained, as if he was trying to deny himself. He didn’t make a single sound, not even a soft exhale, when he came. The only visible sign was the slackening of his body, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
Breathing heavily, he turned away to remove the condom. He didn’t even finish buttoning his pants. They barely caught on his lean hips, a wet stain visible on the front of his underwear. With his head hanging and his shoulders bent, he leaned against the mantle and rubbed his eyes and brow with his thumb and index finger.
The aura of defeat surrounding him could be felt from afar. He looked…diminished somehow. And for some absurd reason all I wanted to do was hold him, sift my fingers through his slightly too long, silky hair and tell him it would all be okay.