“I need you too,” I breathe, hating the weight of this damn cloak already. I want it gone. I want to strip it all off, to be bare with the one man haunting every damn thought I have.
But that cloak stays.
Zayan’s breath catches as I press my thigh between his legs, feeling him hard against me. His tongue lashes out, tasting my skin, licking all the way from the nook of my neck to my earlobe. There, he clamps his teeth on it and makes another wave of shivers spread down my spine.
“I can’t take it anymore, love,” he breathes, barely holding back. “I need to be inside you.”
The hunger in his tone, the way he’s practically begging… it stirs something in me. Something wicked.
“Oh, Zayan.” I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, letting a slow smirk tug at my lips. “What’s stopping you?”
There should be many things stopping him, in fact. This island’s crawling with bastards who’d kill us just to pass the time. Two fools wrapped up in each other out in the open? Mightas well be begging for a dagger between the ribs—or worse. Anyone could decide to watch. Join in. Rob us. And then there’s the chance someone sees us for what we are. Word slips, and Roche would be on us in seconds, hunting like the hound he is, all because Zayan’s a Marauder.
But here we are, doing what we shouldn’t. And the risk? It’s fuel for the fire. Because that’s what we are, aren’t we? The ones who break rules and laugh about it.
“Here?” he asks, his eyes darting around, barely waiting for my answer before that damnable grin spreads across his face. He’s already working his pants down.
Almost instantly, an impressive tent appears on his cloak, twitching once, then twice. I lick my lips, saliva flooding my mouth. Shit, how I’d like to drop down right now, make his legs tremble, watch him lean against the wall for balance...
But then he’s tugging at my cloak, pulling me flush against him as his hands travel down my hips.
“Someone’s eager,” I mutter with a low chuckle, helping him shed what little remains of our pretense.
“Always,” he groans, lifting me up and spinning us around.
This time, it’s my turn to be pinned against the wall as he holds me there, his body pressing into mine. The cold stone bites into my back, but I couldn’t care less—I just arch my spine, wrapping my legs around Zayan’s waist, pulling him closer. I need the friction. I needhim.
His hands are rough, hurried, pushing aside the last barriers of clothing between us. My own bottoms drop to the ground, and I’m just grateful there’s no mud, only dust on the dirt path beneath us. Goosebumps rise on my skin as the air hits me, and I draw a sharp breath at the sensation.
The sounds around us suddenly grow louder. I’m hyper-aware of just how close we are to everyone else. Passersby on the road only a few feet away—their boots thudding, their gear clinking.
“Don’t you make a sound, or they’ll know what we’re doing here,” Zayan groans, and a second later, he’s slipping inside, making me breathless, my lips parting.
If I didn’t care for my life, I’d let a long, deep moan escape, letting the world know exactly how good he makes me feel. But the stakes are too high. It’s dangerous to be seen as a whore on this island, let alone a girl getting taken rough in a back alley.
I have to bite his shoulder just to stifle the whimpers getting past my throat.
Women need to be one step ahead of any man to survive in this cruel world. They need to have their guns always ready, legs always prepared and warmed up to kick or push or run if needed. They need to be fucking ruthless not to tremble when it’s time to jab their two fingers into some creeper’s eyes.
I know all that. I have been a woman all my life.
But now, as Zayan slides inside me balls deep and presses me against him until even the noise fades, I almost don’t care. There’s a thrill in this, an ache, and for once, I let myself feel every bit of it.
I should be clawing for control right now, pushing him back, keeping a safe distance. I’m practically handing him every weak part of me, letting him see how much I want this—how much I want him. It should scare the hell out of me. But instead it only heightens the pleasure coursing through me.
Yes… Fuck, yes.
He fucks me like hasn’t done it in months, like his hunger is endless, like he needs me to survive.
I can’t even get a sound past his shoulder over my mouth, but my body betrays every word I’d never say aloud, shuddering under each thrust, my nails digging into his back even through his cloak.
“You feel divine,” he groans. “I don’t want to ever feel another pussy but yours.”
And damn him, but I believe him. My body believes him too as I clench around him, gripping him tighter, and feeling a new whimper rise in my throat.
He quickens his pace, driving into me with a force that sends sparks of pleasure shooting through me. I feel the tension coil tighter and tighter inside me, like a rope pulled to its limit, ready to snap. My hands claw at his back, desperate for something to hold onto as I teeter on the edge of oblivion. My fingernails dig into his skin as he whispers into my ear.
“You take me so well,” he breathes. “So fucking well…”
