Outcasts (Badlands 3)

As if those were the words I’d needed to hear, that’s exactly what I did. Wrappin my arms around his neck, I rode him—hard.

Every moan, gasped breath, and whisper of his name from my mouth, and every occasional groan from him were like a balm. The way he was lookin at me, though, that was the salve—the numbing serum on scars invisible to the naked eye.

I felt whole, connected to him entirely—far beyond the physical.

Cupping his jaw, I traced the inverted cross beneath his eye. I wanted to commit everything about this moment, about him, to memory. His silky soft hair wasn’t perfectly brushed back; he had growth to his beard, making him look more intense and rugged.

He smelled as good as he always did—he smelled of death. I felt the dried blood on his hands, saw the crimson stains on his face. I could still see his scythe ruthlessly slicing up the center of that man’s stomach, smooth as butter, in my mind’s clear lil eye.

Grimm was filthy, wicked down to his core, but he was the kind of filthy you wanted coating every fiber of your being, straight down to your bare bones. He used his bloody hands to keep me together when I wanted to break. He let me use his body to purge my heavy soul.

I wanted—needed—him to come inside me, needed him to replace everything those men took from me.

“Grimm,” I moaned in his ear, trailing kisses down his neck. “Can you hurt me?”

“Give me your eyes.” He tangled a hand in my hair and pulled so I was looking at him fully. “Now tell me what you want.”

He made it impossible to glance away. I forced my lungs to constrict and retract. “I want you to hurt me.” My voice was so clear, so steady in comparison to how I felt right then, like a tickin bomb that wouldn’t be diffused unless it detonated. And only he could disarm me.

“I can make it hurt very, very fucking good, Brat.” He pulled out and flipped us around, not so gently easin me down so the foamy mattress cushioned my back. Being on top of him was great, but him standing above me between my parted legs made me feel twice as powerful.

It was all in his eyes. If I told this man to get down and eat me, I knew he’d have every inch of his silken tongue inside my pussy.

“You sure you want this?” He asked the question as a means to give me a warning.

“I need it.”

“I’ll go easy this time.”

I wanted to tell him I didn’t want easy, but when my mouth opened, a gasp spilled out. He slammed inside me, purposely placin his hands on the raw, tender flesh of my thighs.

There were no pretenses after that. He squeezed, adding pressure, makin the sore skin feel like it was on fire. I whimpered, liftin my hips to take him deeper. His cock hit somethin inside me I wasn’t aware existed.

“More,” I demanded.

He watched me closely and dug the pads of his fingers into the same spot, beginning to knead the flesh. It did hurt, in the best fuckin way possible. I bit the corner of my lower lip, and my pussy clenched around his cock.

“Too fucking tight,” I heard him say beneath his breath, picking up his pace.

The bed sounded like it was going to give out at any second. I felt a familiar pressure rapidly building, and reached for him. He instantly lurched down, giving me his tongue.

Meeting his solid thrusts took stamina I didn’t have, so I attempted to take him deeper inside me, clawing his back and pulling him forward. I wanted him to tear me open and make me bleed.

I never got to ask that of him. He knew what was about to occur before I did. I’m certain it was him who made it happen.

“Damn Brat, you’re gonna come,” his gravelly voice nearly groaned. He moved to my neck, suckling on the juncture above my shoulder, and then he bit down. I think he broke through skin, but I couldn’t focus.

Endorphins mixed with pain and I didn’t know which one felt better.

Grimm’s name hung in the air, spillin from my lungs like a chanted prayer. He was right.

I never knew it just how good it could hurt, not until him. My pussy clamped down on his cock as heat shot through my veins, makin me damn near convulse.

He kept goin. When he was right on the brink of his own release, he attempted to pull out. I locked my legs around him a lil tighter, digging my nails into his back so hard I felt his skin beneath them.

“Brat—”

“No,” I breathed, refusing to let go.