“I’m going to ask one more time.” My breath fanned hot against the green veins spreading across her cheek. “Who do you belong to?”
“Z-zaghan,” she forced out, her eyes turning blood-shot red as tears streamed down her sullen cheeks.
“Again?” I loosened my hold just a fraction, barely noticeable.
“Zaghan.”
“Again,” I murmured, my voice strained, cock jerking at the sound of my name on her seductive lips.
“Zaghan.” My self-control frayed, sanity slipping as my hip took her again, driving into her without mercy, burying myself so deep like I couldn’t quite get there enough.
Her pussy was too tight. Too fucking good. Too, too perfect, I just couldn’t help but unravel.
My fingers dug into her hip, wet sounds piercing through the air as our skin collided in a rhythm.
“You might not like me, it’s quite obvious. But you can’t deny the truth. You like how full this pussy gets when I’m buried deep inside you,” I panted, my body shaking, sweat slicking down my back, soaking into my shirt. “That’s why you get so angry, isn’tit? You despise me because I am not what you dreamed of, hate that you can’t seem to control yourself around me.”
“I hate you,” she whispered, tears unceasing, and I chuckled at the irony, watching her back arch like a puppet on my string, watching her ground harder into me, into the cock of the man she hated so fucking much.
“Really?” I teased, punching air out of her lungs with one brutal thrust.
“I hate you, Zaghan, I hate you so much,” she cried, and I could swear a dam had broken inside her tear gland. Where the fuck were all these tears coming from?
“I really hate you.”
“Yeah, say that again,” I teased, slamming into her harder, deeper, just to feel her wall tremble around me. “but when you’re not clenching and squeezing around my cock like this, and who knows, I might actually believe you.”
Her reddened eyes flashed with rage, fingers curling into a fist on the table. She hated the truth that was staring at her in the face. Her so-called declaration of hate was invalid if she couldn’t stop bouncing on my cock.
“See, it’s not really me you hate,” I said, each word breaking past my lips followed by a brutal thrust. “It’s the things I make you feel. The things you find strange but can’t deny, can’t fight.”
She clenched around me, milking my cock as I fucked her harder, feeding her the pleasure she was too weak to deny.
She was a wreck. A soaked, ruined, and dripping wreck.
Despite her rage, the scent of her arousal was thick and intoxicating, filling the room, filling my lungs, sending my mind spiralling into a deeper madness.
God, I really hated this girl. Every fucking thing about her.
I didn’t know what the little witch did, what sort of fucking spell she wove that was strong enough to make Callan even think of sealing me away, breaking the sacred pact between us.
I hated the way I wanted to unravel at just a look from her, the saccharine cheer in her voice. I hated the illusion of innocence in those wicked, deceptive eyes. And I hated the way she fucking turned me on without even trying too hard.
She was a witch, this I knew. But she wouldn’t get me the way she got Callan. Just a few more, just a little more taste. I just needed to get over this sudden, weird obsession with her, then I would fucking end her.
But until then, if any man so much as lay a hand on her, if anyone dared to look at her with even a whisper of claim, I would not hesitate. I would maim. I would burn. I would kill them.
All of them.
If the world itself dared to stand in my way, I would set it ablaze. The sun would be nothing against the inferno of my wrath.
Nothing in this world would keep me from making Beth Fraser mine…even if it was just for the moment.
Because I was a very possessive man. And that I wanted her dead didn’t mean I wanted to share her with another.
32
BETH
