“That’s my girl,” I murmur. “Look how well you lubed my cock.”
Her nails dig into my arm at the sight. She clutches tight when I spit on her back hole and place my tip against it.
“Mase,” she cries when I slide my crown inside.
“I know, princess.” I lift her head, watching her beautiful face bathed in the faint moonlight. “You can do this. Take me in, little dove.” I push in another inch.
And she does. She draws deep breaths and relaxes, letting me in, taking my cock inch by inch, until I’m sheathed inside her.
“Fuck,” I grunt at the sensation as she whimpers and adjusts, stretching to fit around my cock.
Just like her pussy and mouth that she lets me fuck as I please, her arse is also mine now. Taken. Claimed. Owned. She clenches around me, pulling me in, turning me into the monster who craves her ruin more than my own salvation.
With my grip in her hair, I mount her. I keep my weight on my knees, as I drive in and out, trying not to go too fast, failing to restrain when she cries my name. My need to own this woman never subsides, no matter how much of her I take, no matter how much she lets me, I can never get enough of her. An urge that only flares more intensely with every sound she makes. Craving more of her voice, I fuck her faster, harder, deeper, burying my cock inside her with every thrust.
My phone starts beeping on the nightstand—the only light in the room.
“Do you have to take that?” She gasps.
I snort a dark laugh. “Not even a man coming at me with a knife could pull my attention from you when you are taking my cock, little dove.”
“Good,” she moans, rocking back into me. I fucking love when she does that.
“Keep doing that,” I demand.
She grounds her knees and shoves back into me, letting me savour the sight of my cock sliding in and out of her arse, while her pussy drips.
“Don’t stop,” I murmur and reach for her clit, twisting it between my fingers.
She whimpers but rocks her arse, faster. Our moans and groans sync in an erotic song as she strangles my cock, begging me to fill her perfect hole, driving me fucking delirious.
The power Eva has over me is quiet, but absolute. She bends me to her will without knowing, without uttering a word. The kind of power that makes surrender feel like a choice, but isn’t.
“Eyes on me.” I pull her head to my chest, raking the waves of her long hair back. Her face turns to meet my eyes. One glance—that blue shade of sin—and I’m falling, being dragged down to the abyss of her.
My balls stiffen, then I flood deep inside her, holding her face in one hand.
She winces when I pull out and land on my back, breathing heavily, starving for air. The exposed oak beams in the ceiling blur in my vision.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Eva,” I breathe into my palms, dragging my hands down my face. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“That depends,” she croaks. Her voice hits me like a hammer. “Did you kill my parents?”
I jolt up, and my chest seizes.
Eva stands at the foot of the bed.
My jacket crumpled at her feet.
Her hand extends toward me, steady as a rock, holding my gun.
Frozen, I stare at her, like a man waiting for his end, unable to move an inch. Not because of the weapon in her hands, because her face is fractured into a million pieces.
Without a word, she turns her phone to me. A photo on the screen: the Berkeley family, in front of their farmhouse in Northumberland.
The place that birthed all the horrors she carries.
Where she was rammed off the road, almost to her death.
