There were things Gemma liked—fucked-up things. Shit I probably shouldn’t want to do to her, but it was all Icould think about as she bit her bottom lip, looking at me the way I’d craved for years.
“You keep scaring away all my monsters,” she breathed. Hungry. Heated.
Without thought, only instinct, I stepped between her legs, gripping the back of her neck and angling her so she could feel my words. “I’m your monster.Me.”
“Then when are you going to fucking eat me?” It sounded like a beg, aplea, ripped from her throat. She wrapped her legs around my waist, baby blue eyes wide.
Her eyes dropped to my hand, widening with realization. She took it in her slender one, lifting it up so she could see my newest tattoo. Fresh. The way she bit me when she came now permanently inked into my flesh.
I couldn’t mark her, so I’d cover myself in her. Strung out. Weak? Yeah.
She pressed my tattooed hand between her breasts. “I’ll just keep finding someone else to do it,” she taunted, voice soft.
I gripped her hips and dragged her flush against me. “You do that, Rich Girl. I need a hobby.”
Her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. My spoiled fucking princess.
I wanted her to beg me.
Wanted those spoiled lips pleading me to fuck her.
Her eyes briefly flashed to the body. I gripped her chin, dragging her gaze back to mine. I slid my free hand down her inner thigh, finding her hot and wet.
So fucked up.
Soperfectlyfucked up.
“Did you forget the dead body?” I slid my fingers inside her, my cock bruising against theseam of my jeans as her eyes grew and then drooped. “You want me to fuck you while someone dies at your feet, Gemma?”
She clenched.
“Fuck…” I rolled my neck, bruising my forehead against hers. “I can feel your answer. You’re so fucked up.”
I sank my fingers deeper, desperate to get inside her. Control wavered. I pressed harder, deeper, faster—addicted to the way she watched me. The dirty, fucked-up thoughts swimming in her hooded eyes, the ones that painted her cheeks red.
“What are you thinking, Rich Girl?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. I slid my grip to her neck, holding tight as I pushed even deeper inside. Her lips parted on a soft moan that went straight to my cock.
“Say it,” I demanded. “Say those thoughts.”
“I’m imagining what it feels like to be marked,” she breathed. “Tattooed. Claimed.”
I stilled.
Her legs spread, eyes wide, entire being vulnerable. Big blue eyes hazy with submission. She’d let me do anything to her. An insane, irrational need blazed through me. I could do more than fuck her like this. I could fucking claim her.
With careful, measured movements, I resumed finger-fucking her.
“And why do you want that?” My throat felt rough, the words sandpaper. “Don’t you know that’s a bad idea? The princess can’t run away with the monster.”
“I don’t want to run away with the monster.” She wrapped her arms around my neck, words a breathless cry that went straight to my cock. “I want the monster to drag me to hell. I dream about how your claw marks feel.”
A jagged groan tore through my body.
“You’d wear it here.” I ghosted my thumb along the backof her neck, just beneath her short hair. “So everyone would fucking know.”
Her cunt spasmed against my fingers at the image I painted. Her heels dug into my ass, pulling me closer.
