Page 142 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“But why?” He sounds genuinely confused. “Didn’t you just come?”

“I didn’t come.” I have to lie to him.

Garrett plunges deep and deliberately hits that spot again.

Sparks ignite inside me again, that same overwhelming sensation from before. My cock twitches violently, leaking steady streams that coat my navel and chest.

“I said I didn’t come,” I gasp out, pleasure and frustration bleeding together.

He does it again to prove his point.

“I hate you, Garrett. I fucking hate you.” The words spill out in the midst of another wave crashing through me.

Garrett stops immediately and goes completely still inside me.

Silence.

I force my eyes open. He’s staring down at me, and something in his expression cracks.

“Wolf,” he says quietly. “I know you don’t mean that. But hearing those words from your lips still fucking hurts, you know.”

His voice is steady but I can hear the hurt underneath. Guilt crashes through me. “Garrett, I didn’t—”

Something shifts in his expression. The gentleness fades, replaced by something darker and hungrier.

Garrett pushes himself up slightly, bracing his weight on his arms. The softness in his eyes disappears entirely. His eyes are still glazed with arousal but there’s a sharpness there now. A dangerous focus that wasn’t there before.

“You hate me?” His voice drops lower. “Then I’ll give you something to really hate. Roll over.”

“Wait—wait, Garrett.” Panic edges into my voice.

No, not from the back.

The idea of being face-down, that vulnerable, goes against every survival instinct as a Wolven.

Before I can react, he’s moving. He pulls out and flips me onto my stomach with surprising strength.

I try to crawl away. My hands scrabble at the sheets, trying to pull myself up the bed. I’m scared I’ll actually break if he keeps going.

“Stop thrashing.” His voice is hard, commanding. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

He grabs my hips and drags me back down, settling between my legs. His hand finds the back of my neck, pushing my head down firmly into the pillow.

“Garrett—”

My face presses into the mattress.

“Stay,” he orders.

The word sends a shiver through me. This isn’t the gentle Garrett from moments ago. His other hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise, pulling it up. He angles me exactly how he wants me. I feel his crown pushing in.

Then he plunges all the way in with one hard, brutal stroke.

I make a sound into the mattress. Half surprise, half pleasure, all desperation.

“You’ve gotten quite used to my cock, haven’t you.” Garrett’s voice is rough, wrecked. “That’s it. Take it.”

He keeps driving forward, alternating between deep thrusts that hit something devastating inside me and shallow ones that tease. There’s no rhythm or pattern. Just whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.