Page 200 of Sins of Arrogance

Kara loves that pri­mal mon­ster though.

She loves me.

Then I hear the word I crave in a low whis­per, but un­mis­tak­able. “Green.”

I de­liver a sting­ing slap to her left butt cheek and push an inch in­side her as soon as her ass­hole loosens. Then I spank her right cheek and gain an­other inch.

Her ass is rosy red and she’s sob­bing in plea­sure, plead­ing with me to let her come by the time I’m seated fully in­side her for­bid­den chan­nel.

Only then do I start fuck­ing her with the pow­er­ful thrust of my hips my body craves. I need re­lease. But I need her with me. Not just her body. I want her soul.

Kara be­comes fran­tic in her need and I lay down over her, cov­er­ing her body com­pletely with mine as I reach around and slide my mid­dle fin­ger be­tween her wet pussy lips.

I rub cir­cles around her clit un­til she’s scream­ing for re­lease as we move to­gether, fran­tic, lost in each other.

The plea­sure builds sharp, un­re­lent­ing, in­evitable.

“Come with me,” I de­mand.

Then I pinch her abused lit­tle pearl of plea­sure as I fill her back pas­sage with my hot cum.

Her body tries to rear up, but mine holds her in place as she screams out her cli­max.

We ex­ist to­gether in that per­fect mo­ment, a cat­a­clysm of need, sur­ren­der, pos­ses­sion and re­lease.

So much more than sex.

It’s us. No walls. No hid­ing.

She is fully mine and I am fully hers.

For­ever.

Fi­nally, I can give the right la­bel to this feel­ing in­side me.

Love. Ten­der­ness. De­vo­tion.

Fix­a­tion. Ad­dic­tion.

Be­cause I’m still a so­ciopath and that’s how my emo­tions, or what there are of them, work.

But a so­ciopath who loves with the very depth of that ad­dic­tion.

Chap­ter 49: The Queen Takes Her Throne

KARA

My fa­ther is al­ready in the meet­ing room when Mick and I step in, two of his lieu­tenants be­hind us.

De­spite the space age level se­cu­rity in the Bunker, four more of Mick’s men are guard­ing the hall­way out­side the room.

He’s lean­ing over a long metal con­fer­ence style ta­ble with a floor­plan of the man­sion spread out in front of him. A red pen sits be­side a half-drunk mug of black cof­fee.

Look­ing up at the sound of our en­trance, Bro­gan swears.

“What is she do­ing here?” he de­mands of my hus­band.

I don’t give Mick a chance to an­swer. “That’s a good ques­tion con­sid­er­ing I’ve never been here be­fore.”