Page 80 of Violent Pawn

My lips trail down her cheek, over the column of her neck, and across her shoulder blade. I lick until reaching between her breasts, tracing the curve of them until taking her nipples one at a time between my teeth. After a moment, I kiss down her stomach. Her skin is silk, a testament to her self-care regimen, and smells like my ever-growing craving.

“That feels good,” she whispers, and rolls her hips into me.

“You feel good,” I correct, kissing over her hips and down to her centre again. I pause, inhaling deeply. My cock strains against my pants, wanting to be released—but needing the feel and taste of her more.

I hoist her leg, opening her wide to my gaze. She’s pink and drenched, while her chest heaves with her deep breaths. “I could stare at you like this all day. You’re my every dream come true, Anastasia.”

39

ANASTASIA

How many more statements can this man make that’ll tear me down from the inside out? Make me want to be more for him and to be with him. Not to change myself, but to reveal every crevice. Every memory, every horror, and every dream.

Especially if I’m his dream.

I stopped dreaming ages ago. They’re pointless fantasies that taunt the mind with hopes to later be crushed. At least, that’s what Papa taught me. Nero may prove to be different.

Instead of addressing the bigger emotion attached to the even larger statement, I push my hands into the bed to sit up and comment on his first part about staring at me. “If all you do is stare, I’m revoking my permission to make this different with you.”

Never. Never ever have I once considered giving a man my submission. By allowing his mouth between my legs and making me vulnerable enough that I lose my mind and senses, unable to truly focus on anything but the sensations he’s wrought. Never have I wanted to be beneath a man. And never have I, since the last person Papa forced me to fuck.

Submission was a sign of them. Because they made me weak while themselves bigger and better. Grown men breaking down a younger woman simply for sick thrills. Once that whole reign of terror ended and Papa was gone, I vowed to never allow a man to yield sex over me again. Finger, tongue, or cock—only I’d decide where, when, and how I interacted with any of them.

“If you’re not continuing, then…” I reach for his belt, fingers barely brushing the leather before he pushes me back down to the bed.

“Later.” His voice is gruff. He climbs onto the bed and kneels between my legs. “I don’t trust my body to not end this if you touch me, and we have a long night ahead of us.” He jerks his belt off, then undoes the button before his bare cock rises between us.

Long and thick, with precum dabbed at his tip. His taste still lingers in my mouth from days ago—sweet, salty, and heady. More importantly: powerful.

He presses himself against the bed, loops his arms around my thighs, and yanks me to the edge until my ass barely hangs on. If I didn’t have faith in his grip, I fear I’d fall.

“Like this.” He takes his cock in his hand. “I’m not on top of you, nor are you on top of me. If you want up, let me know.”

Oh my—He pushes inside me. His cock, as thick as his three fingers, erases any passing emotional thought about him and replaces it with him. The feel, the sound of his low “fuck” as he sinks farther inside. My breath hikes and my body adjusts, thighs clamping his arms to keep him in place.

“God, you feel good, cara mia.”

Something about that nickname while he’s inside me makes my stomach clench with every disallowed emotion. He thrusts inside me harder, faster, and for once, I stop. Stop thinking, stop feeling anything but him. Just…stop.

“Nero,” I can’t help but whimper when his cock hits the deepest parts of me. My hands clench the bed when his fingers dig possessively into my skin.

Actually, he looks possessed. A man lost to pleasure, and it’s a beautiful thing. Not like the past, where I was used and discarded. No, Nero gazes at me like he’s seeing nature for the first time.

He watches me like I’m special.

He hikes my legs higher, parting my thighs and reaching so deeply inside me, there truly is no start and end to us. The bed creaks, my vision blurring as pleasure pokes the edges of my consciousness. He’s hitting every sensitive nerve, and there’s no way to stop it. No way to even ignore him.

“Nero.”

“That’s it,” he croons. “Come on my cock. Give me your pleasure. Drench the sheets. You look so beautiful. Give me what I don’t deserve.”

On the only command I’ll ever obey, I do. As he continues, murmuring every praise and pretty thing, my body tightens—accepting him—and I fling myself into the ocean. The underworld of blue flames. Him.

His thrusts keep pace as my orgasm rolls through me, over and over until my body gives up, gives in. He slows eventually. “There is no better sensation than having your pussy clench around me.”

“There’s no better feeling than you inside me.” I reach to pull him down on top of me. We briefly disconnect when I push my heels into the bed to move up the mattress, but he’s quick to follow and quicker to fill me up again with a shared moan.

Legs and arms wrapping around him, I pull him down for a kiss, cutting off the start of his question. My hips rock into him from below, and I reach for his hands, which he fuses his fingers between mine.