He thrust hard into me when I opened my mouth to answer, an incoherent sound manifesting.
“Music to my ears.” His eyes raked over my exposed chest. He gripped the waistband of my skirt, using it to pull me into his thrusts. He began to get more forceful, his hips slapping against my thighs.
I arched my back, my elbows rubbing into the fabric and forming an inevitable burn.
“S—” I gave up on words, but it just made him thrust harder.
“Let... it out,” he panted, staring at me with such intensity I wanted to shrivel away and hide.
I shook my head in protest.
He grabbed my face as he thrust harder. “Say it,” he breathed against my lips, and I embarrassingly held mine open for him, wanting a taste, craving it. “Your blood, your screams, your pleasure. They belong to me.”
“Silas,” I whined.
“What do you want, Alina?”
“I want,” I began, staring at him through my lashes, my cheeks sore from the grip of his hand. “Harder” is all I managed.
While my demand wasn’t complicated, it was all he needed to keep going.
He turned me on my side, my leg thrown over his shoulder.
He placed one hand on my leg, the other on the bed as he fucked me so hard the only thing I could manage was a cry of pleasure. There were no words I could utter that would capture an appropriate response.
I bit down on my lip to muffle the moans.
Then he slowed to a stop.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but he gripped my hips, shoving his cock hard inside. I expected the pierce of those venomous spines, but they didn’t come.
I looked up in confusion.
He stood on his knees, only the tip inside me as he finished. Between my legs I could see the spines on the underside of his cock flex, disappointed they weren’t latched into something. His cock twitched with every release, making a shiver shoot up my spine.
He leaned over with his hands grasping the sheets on either side of me, out of breath.
I swallowed hard, as if our breath mingling was more scandalous than what we had just done together. More intimate in the post-lust sobriety.
He leaned closer, and I thought he was going to kiss me. His forehead touched mine, and to my disappointment, he didn’t open his eyes.
There was a change in the air, a switch, then finally, a retreat.
He shoved my leg off his shoulder and stepped away. The sudden change was tinged with an air of disgust. Regret, perhaps? Whatever it was, his posture changed, something that could have possibly beenshame.
He fixed his trousers and sat down in the chair in the corner of the room.
Each limb shook, and every inch of my skin crawled. I hadn’t realized how much until my arms covered my chest. My skin rose in bumps as the chill settled in.
“Why do you look at me like that?” he spoke. “Why do you cry for me just to push me away? Like this isn’t a gamble on your life every time? Why must you dare me with the look in your eyes as if I’m not capable of consuming you whole?”
I blinked, barely registering his question.
“What? Now you have nothing to say?” He scoffed, sinking farther into the chair and plucking a cigarette out of his pocket. He flicked his lighter a few times unsuccessfully before he got a flame, the light striking his face every time, but it revealed something more. His brows were creased, his jaw tense. Hehatedthis.
We sat in silence. Not because I didn’t have things to say, but I was in shock. I was embarrassed, consumed with loathing for the man.
“You are no different from them. There is no use pretending like your heart doesn’t beat faster when you say such things to me,” I whispered finally.
