Page 79 of The Bargain

Fucking Desdemona Sutton-Knight is like chasing a streaking comet—like trying to swallow a supernova. I hold her hips in my hands, fingers tangled in the sinuous fabric of her dress, nails dug in the skin of her hips, and fuck into her with short, hard thrusts, and I look up to see her face thrown back, her long neck pale, muscles stretched taut, her golden hair bouncing on her shoulders.

One strap of her dress has fallen down, the draped fabric drooping to reveal a bare shoulder, a pale throat, the pearly curve of a breast, a nipple as pink and delicate as the petal of a cherry blossom.

A stray thought blooms inside my mind.

I don’t want to belong to anyone, but if I did, I’d want to belong to you.

“Fuck,” I bite out.

Reaching up, I catch Desdemona’s nipple into my mouth, and I suck hard, punishing. Hunger and love and resentment, all tangled up inside my veins, my head. Wanting her to be mine and wanting to be hers—is there that much of a difference, in the end?

Her fingers tighten on my shoulders like claws, and she raises her head to look down at me, pain and shock and pleasure and annoyance all mingled on her unreasonably beautiful face. Do you want to be mine as much as I want to be yours?

She meets my gaze, fingers digging so hard into my shoulders I hope she leaves bruises.

“More,” she rasps.

Fuck. No wonder nobody can get enough of this girl. Maybe that was my first and greatest mistake: underestimating her. Time to make amends.

I flash her a smirk. “Whatever you want, love.”

I’d give it all to you. Anything you asked. Anything I had.

I suck on her nipple until it’s hard underneath my tongue, and I leave it a wet, pink mess before tugging down the second strap of her dress with my thumb. I lick her other nipple, and then I catch it between my teeth and tug, drawing a warbling cry from her. I lick up her throat, kissing her hard and wet and messy, sucking on the delicate skin until Desdemona’s hands, scrambling for control, find my own neck, her nails scratching deep, then moving up, grabbing handfuls of my head, yanking it back.

Marking her—being marked by her—it feels so fucking good I harden more inside her, jerking my hips in an involuntary, desperate thrust.

“Ahh,” she moans. “Elias⁠—”

Choking my name out like a command. I release her neck from my mouth with a wet gasp and choked, mean laughter. Tightening my hands on her waist, I give her another hard thrust, making her pretty tits bounce and her eyes roll back.

“Gorgeous girl.” My voice is a ghost of itself, harsh and raw and hoarse. “Tell me what you want.”

I want to hear your voice some more. I need it.

She glares at me, hisses out, “You know what I want.”

Imperious girl. Prideful little thing.

“So what. Say it.”

Her body’s already saying it: with the shaking in her thighs, the tension in the muscles of her stomach where I’m holding her waist, thumbs pushed into her abdomen, with her tight wet heat clamping down on me.

“G-god, fine,” she gasps. “More.”

“More what?”

“You.” Desdemona’s voice, also a ghost of itself, is soft and broken. “I want you.”

She can’t know I’ve never heard those words before—my entire body shakes. I thrust myself into her hard, all the way in, her entire body jolting from the force of it.

“I know,” I breathe. “I know, sweetheart.” I want you too. “Now come for me.”

She obeys me one final time. She comes with a whimper like she’s been fatally wounded, and my own orgasm obeys the command in hers. I come with a rasping gasp, thrusting into the explosive crest and the deep pulsating pleasure that follows, my hips erratic, out of control.

Desdemona’s head slumps forward, all her hair falling like a curtain over her face. My hips finally still, my cock still inside her, feeling the hot, gooey mess of us. I reach up into the golden curtain to find her face flushed with pleasure, her lips bruised and dark, her eyes heavy-lidded and glittering dully.

For a second, we just stare at one another, still panting, still irredeemably connected.