“Sandman, please,” I sob, inching forward. “It hurts.”
“Where you think you’re going?” he snarls, tightening his grip on my hips and slamming me back on his dick. “Get the fuck back here.”
He’s relentless in his destruction of me. I bury my face into the pillow and pray it’ll be over soon. Rough hands slide to my ass, spreading my cheeks so far apart it hurts. Sandman pummels my body with hard, deep thrusts. I plummet to the bed in a weak heap, his heavy weight pressing down on me. He tangles one hand in my long twists and delves the other into my folds, teasing my throbbing clit with nimble caresses. My greedy pussy clamps down on his length as the fever in my core comes roaring back to life.
“No,” I whimper.
“Your nos mean absolutely nothing to me, Zilphia,” he whispers in my ear. “Your pussy is mine. If I want to eat it, I’m going to fucking eat it. And if I want to fuck it, I’m going to fuck it. Your pussy has my name written all over it, and I’m going to take it whenever the fuck I want it.”
Sandman trails his tongue along the rounded curves and dipsof my ear before pulling my earlobe into his mouth. My whole world shakes from the force of his body driving into mine, creating a whirlwind of ecstasy within me.
“I know you feel it,” he tells me. “The fire consuming every inch of your beautiful body. I know because it’s burning in me too.”
“I don’t want to,” I whisper back.
“And you think I do?” he growls. “You’re a fucking disease, Zilphia. A disease I have no cure for.”
“No, Sam, I can’t,” I moan, my pussy clenching and unclenching on his dick.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans. “I’m coming. Fuck.”
Sandman finally stills, settling his full weight on top of me. I said his name. The name he ordered me never to speak. I wait with bated breath for my punishment. After a minute or two, he slips from my body and rolls me onto my back, then retrieves a pair of handcuffs from his nightstand drawer.
“What are you doing?” I question, apprehensively eyeing the metal restraints.
“Making sure you never run again,” he mumbles.
It takes a few seconds for his words to register, my gaze transfixed on the semi-erection resting between my breasts as he fastens my wrist to the headboard. The softening flesh is covered in my feminine juices and virgin blood.
“I wasn’t running. Please don’t handcuff me.” He ignores me and promptly secures my other wrist before lying on his side, facing away from me. “Sandman, please. I have to go to the bathroom.”
He says nothing, and soon his soft snores fill the room.
I lie awake, waiting for Sandman to slip between my thighs and push into my weeping body. Like clockwork, my internal alarm had coaxed me to consciousness, my throbbing core hungrily anticipating its dick breakfast.
Every morning, he fucks me like it’s the last time he’ll ever fuck me—like a man on death row and my pussy is his last meal. His touch should make me sick to my stomach, but it doesn’t.God help me. Toxic is bad. Toxic is dangerous. But with him, toxic feels so damn good.
He’s a killer, the worst kind of human imaginable. There’s no doubt in my mind that the fiery place awaits him in the afterlife. Until then, he owns me—body and soul. Being with him is equivalent to being on a tugboat stranded in the middle of a raging hurricane. I’m liable to get swept overboard at any moment, but my pussy doesn’t give a damn.
I kick the duvet down my legs, sighing contentedly when the cool air hits my lower region, still tender from yesterday’s sexcapades. At times, he fucks me slow, gentle even, as if he’s makinglove to me. Other times he fucks me like a rabid animal, pounding into me so hard and so deep I bleed a little. It’s confusing.
I peek over at his slack features, causing pain to shoot down my stiff arms. I’m handcuffed to the headboard, the same as every night, despite Mayhem and Harley keeping guard outside the bedroom door. My wrists are chafed and sore, the metal digging into my soft skin. This has been my life for the last week.
We fuck before the sun rises, fuck in the shower, fuck during his lunch break, fuck when he gets home in the evenings, fuck before we go to bed, and fuck in the middle of the night.
I’m not allowed to leave, not even to go to school, though I’m granted a daily phone call with my beloved grandmother. I’ve only spoken to my mother once, letting her know I’d be staying with a friend for a while.“I don’t care what you do. Just keep your mouth shut about Keith and me.”With that order—and a few choice words about Redmond disappearing on her—she ended the call. Redmond disappeared all right, but not in the way she thinks.
Whenever he’s gone or asleep, I’m left handcuffed to the bed. I’m truly a prisoner now, both mentally and physically. He wouldn’t even let me go home to pack any clothes. Instead, he went out and bought me all new things.
I peer at my captor again, my gaze roaming over his naked form.He. Is. Glorious.Even in sleep, he emits a powerful aura. His mussed strands lie in golden waves on the pillow behind him. I dig my teeth into my bottom lip, vividly recalling the feel of his silken mane between my fingers as his skillful tongue caressed my clit.
My gaze travels lower, lingering on his tattoos and mouthwatering six-pack. Flashes of the smooth, taut skin bunching and shuddering as he pounded into me just a few hours ago surge through my mind. But the crème de la crème is the male organ resting on his abdomen. It’s huge, even in its dormant state. His dick should be categorized as a weapon of mass destruction because damn if it doesn’t make my insides explode.
My breath hitches when my captor begins to stir, and a heartbeat later, the reason for the soreness between my thighs grows to full length. Sandman rolls to his side, hand instinctively seeking the heat at my center, though his eyes remain closed. His fingers softly stroke my clit, and my body instantly answers, becoming hot and soaking wet.
I throw my head back and slam my eyes shut, swirling my hips in tandem with his stroking fingers. It’s amazing how this man can take me to the brink in seconds. I widen my legs as his fingers move faster.It’s coming. I feel it.
“Please,” I beg.
