“If you won’t give me the gun at leasttalkto me. Tell me what’s going on.Pleasejust talk to me.”
He shakes his head, Adam’s apple bobbing as he fights to swallow. “Just leave. The money’s upstairs. Take the car if you want, the keys are on the kitchen counter.”
“I don’t want your fucking car.” I grab hold of his shoulders, trying to get closer to him, to curl him against my body but he’s still, resisting every effort and I can’t force him, not while he’s holding a loaded gun in his hand. “Why do you still have this?”
He untangles his limbs in an instant, grabbing my face, hauling me close enough to kiss, the gun hard against the side of my head because he won’t release it from his grip.
A soft caress turns more forceful. His tongue licks against the seam of my closed lips, forcing them apart, demanding entry and I give it to him, making room for the welcome intruder. His hands hold me in a vicelike grip, making me take more and more and more as his kiss becomes more punishing, lips pressing so hard against mine they swell.
My fingers lace through his hair, then tighten into a fist, tugging at him when I need to come up for air. His teeth scrape across my bottom lip, sucking and grazing as I tilt his head back and gulp in a breath, then push my free hand against his chest, forcing him to straighten his back, giving back as much as I’m getting.
The kiss is like a tug of war for power, and I can’t tell who’s winning.
He breaks away as quickly as he started, eyes shell-shocked and haunted, the lighting from the window so weak it throws half his face into deep shadow.
“Lie down.”
The gun points towards me and much as I don’t want to think he’d pull the trigger, his hands shake so badly they might not have enough control. I keep my eyes fixed to his as I comply, lying on my back, the tiled floor hard against my shoulder blades, my arse, my feet.
He covers me with his body, the hand with the gun pressing it flat against the floor, just visible from the corner of my eye.
There’s a hardness against my hip. Something I’ve longed to feel but not like this. Not at the expense of cracking open his mind to spill out his worse fears.
“Why did he have to get to you first? To ruin you.” The words are barely legible, leaking out from around his kiss as he fixes his mouth to my shoulder, my neck, sucking on the dip between my collarbones, licking me with long strokes of his tongue, setting every piece of me alight.
He lifts, supporting himself on the hand holding the gun, sliding the other up my thigh, teasing at the hem of my skirt, fingertips rasping against my skin, the callused pads igniting small fires at every touch.
But his words hurt. Worse than the threat beside my head, worse than the blank hours I’ve lost to whatever he injected me with.
“I’m not ruined.”
He chokes out the words like they’re tearing small chunks from his throat. “You wore my collar. You were meant to be just mine.”
His mouth fixes to my throat, to just below the pendant and I’m so enraged by his words, by his way of thinking, that I punchat him, trying to get free. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think you can compete?”
I twist to the side, worming out from under him, but it’s not a contest I can win. He quickly smothers my progress with his weight.
Teeth dig into the meat of my shoulder as he marks me, roughly sucking until my flesh must be bruising crimson.
“Stay fucking still,” he growls in my ear, making my thighs tingle, making my toes curl like the sickening beacon for atrocities that I am.
My hand slides down his back, grabbing a huge handful of his arse and squeezing, then shoving the heel of my palm hard into his backside as I thrust my hips upwards, grinding against him while a groan catches deep in his throat.
My lips find his ear, panting until his hips pump, helplessly seeking what he needs. “You want some inexperienced fuck who won’t know better, go find one. Whatever your frail ego needs.”
I throw my leg over his, curving my hip to the side, panting from the effort. My need explodes, and I clench my muscles harder, rubbing against him, riding his thigh upside-down, generating as much friction as my pinned body allows.
“Fucking whore.”
“Keep throwing insults,” I say between clenched teeth, threading my fingers into his hair again, tugging his head back to expose his throat. “I’m sure that’s easier than proving you’re a better man than your father.”
His free hand clamps around my throat as he roars, anger pouring from him in waves, such a powerful display of raw emotion that I tremble.
And my mouth won’t quit. “Little virgin boy. Do you need a guidebook? Should I give you step-by-step directions, so you don’t lose your way.”
The pressure on my throat increases, driving the sharp pieces of his collar deep into the skin, marking me as much as his teeth.
I reach for him, fumbling with the button on his jeans, the zipper catching as I draw it down just enough to reach inside, to curl my fingers around his throbbing cock, feel it twitch against my palm.
