I tell her she’s so good, that she did so well. That it’s not her fault I did this, and she was my good girl for giving in.
My mind plays over and over that she’d rather submit to me and take an orgasm from a man who has her tied up than tell a little lie. Than say that she loves me when she can’t.
When I’m merely cupping her pussy possessively, I lift my head. Her eyes are closed, and I brush my thumb over her freckled cheek.
“You could never do anything to put me off or push me away. I’m strong enough. You can fight me. You can be whatever you want, and I’ll always want you. I’ll take it. I’ll accept all the responsibility and blame. I love you to the ends of the earth—that is to say, infinitely. I love that you stalked me. I love that you broke into my apartment and found out all about me.
“And I’m done hiding. I’m obsessed with you, Lily. I can’t live without you, and I’ll never be healthy. I’ll never be anything less than insane in my love for you.”
She licks her lips, then swallows. “Kane.”
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but my heart jerks at the sound of my name on her lips. I pushed her beyond what’s reasonable or okay. I forced her to come on my hand and I should apologise. But I’m not sorry.
“I love you, too.”
She…
I…
Those words, they’re fresh and sweet and new.
No one has ever said that to me.
I didn’t think I was loveable. I embraced being the Devil of Croydon. I’ve been cruel and wrong, and I’ve stalked her. Even when I was pressing her to say she loved me, I didn’t believe it.
I didn’t think I’d let her go, but despite all that’s happened, regardless of how much I love her, her loving me felt as far away as outer galaxies. The black part of the night sky, where there aren’t stars.
But there are stars, even in the dark.
She loves me.
She’smine.
“I have to take you. Now.”
12
LILY
My brain is still pleasure-drunk from the orgasm, which is probably why I don’t summon up so much as a whimper as Kane rears up, takes both sides of my knickers in his hands, and rips them apart.
I stare in mute disbelief.
He shoves the tattered cotton away, and then pushes his trousers down, underwear and all, growling ferally as something—his shirt?—gets in the way. But then his cock is revealed, and I cannot breathe for the sight of it.
It’s enormous, stretched tight, the head bulging. Veins run down the length and the tip has a bead of moisture. It looks angry, reddened, almost painful in how swollen it is. Behind is a thicket of dark hair, and his balls—I’ve heard them called plums, but I’ve never seen fruit that large—are only just revealed above his black underwear.
“Kane,” I squawk. I won’t survive having that inside me, and yet my passage feels empty for the lack of him. I press my knees together and my clit pulses.
“You’re mine and I’m going to claim you, angel.” He falls on me, and kisses me, rough and intense.
“You’re not going to… with me tied up?” I tug on the handcuffs, torn between kissing him back and hot shivering realisation that he’s going to take my virginity and I can’t stop him.
“There’s no time,” he grunts. “I can’t wait any longer.I have to have you.”
He shifts and his knee shoves between mine, pushing my legs apart. I gasp. I rattle my cuffs even as I open my mouth to his. He thrusts his tongue in.
His urgency is contagious. It’s addictive.
