Chapter Twenty-Three Larissa #2
Sighing, I sit up on my pallet, all too aware that I allowed my petitioned help to fuck me within an inch of my life last night.
Sore, but deliciously so, I’m quickly reminded of two things as I stir awake—one, Tyler has a very, very good, very large reason for his confidence and swagger.
Two, which is the cringiest reminder—that I used my mouth to pleasure that reason and, after, enthusiastically boosted his ego.
Each bit of praise had poured freely from my lips, without prompt.
This worship given after finding out he sent his best assassin to vet and likely dispose of me.
Hearing my mentor’s wrath so clearly in my mind, I toss off the covers in search of my scattered clothes, wincing at the renewed ache in my ribs. No doubt reinjured from being pressed into the blanket and … In an instant, I’m transported as wave upon wave of images slam into me.
Tyler biting into my neck, my hair firmly in his grip as he forced me to watch every one of his drives into me. Forced to bear witness to his brutal claiming. Quickly becoming entranced by the sight of my stretch, the fit of us, the biting, the clawing, and the crash of ecstasy as I came. And came.
And his sounds. Madonna, his sounds.
The pinch between my legs starts to turn to a pulse as I ride one vision into the next, until I’m frustrated again with my inability to shake him off.
It’s then my jaw chooses that moment to lock up, reminding me of his fit, wondering how I managed it. As I dismiss one thought after another, fingertip-shaped bruises catch my attention as I pull on my shirt. Though marked, bruised, bitten, I’m aching everywhere, and pathetically now, in every way.
Cracking my neck—determined not to let him see the discomfort I’m in—I emerge from the tent and make quick work of brushing my teeth.
Glancing over as I rinse with bottled water, I spot Tyler crouched and facing the campfire, no doubt to avoid eye contact.
In sensing his discomfort, I can’t help the slight lift of my lips as he stiffens more every second he’s being watched.
A stare I keep lasered on him as I laxly take my usual camping chair fireside, a second before I’m offered a paper plate and coffee.
“Smooth wakeup call, asshole,” I grumble, taking the proffered plate and mug, glancing down at it due to its weight and utter lack of sustenance.
This breakfast being far different from any other I’ve been offered thus far.
“And what’s this?” I ask, nodding toward the plate that holds two small pills.
“One this morning, the other later this afternoon,” he answers.
The meaning of his offering dawns on me as I finally lift my gaze to meet rusted eyes. “I’ll pass on the abortion breakfast. I told you I’m covered.”
“It’s not an abortion, it’s preventative,” he states, as if reporting cloudy skies. “Just take it to ease both our minds.” He delivers this so businesslike, I can’t help the slightly offensive bite in my voice.
“I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve entertained, old man, but for future reference, this isn’t the way to go about it.”
“I would say these circumstances constitute no pressure in the bedside-manner department,” he relays coolly.
“True, considering you decided to bury your dick last night instead of me, right? But … that wasn’t your decision, was it?”
“Just take it,” he releases in a controlled tone.
“Just fuck yourself.” I toss his offering into the fire and stand. “Guess you have no choice in this case but to trust me.”
He stares down at the burning plate and shakes his head.
“What?” I snort. “Peter only buy one box? I guess that’s a shame for your next kidnapped hookup. My condolences to her.”
“That was just senseless, and why would you think it’s Peter who got it?”
“Because he’s your pet and wouldn’t embarrass or question you.
” I lift my shirt and lower my sweats. “And if you would have spent more than five seconds on my body, you would have seen this on my hip.” I point to the clear birth control patch latched just below my birthmark.
His eyes linger on the patch until I pull the sweats back up.
“So, again, fuck you very much, but I’ll pass on breakfast for lack of decent company. ”
“Larissa,” he starts, brows drawn as I hold up my hand to stop him.
“Anything you had to say, you could have said last night before you ran away after you came.”
“I didn’t fucking run—”
“Well, you couldn’t if you wanted to, could you? My guess is that if you could, you would be a lot farther from me than you are right now, Marine.”
He palms the back of his head in irritation, eyes flaring when he spots my bruised wrist before flicking them away. At his nearly imperceptible show of discomfort, I can’t help but laugh.
“Jesus, does this make this situation and you even more pathetic. Look”—I shake my head—“do us both a favor and don’t embarrass yourself any further. We both came, so it’s game over.” I stalk off as a motor hums in the distance.
“I’m leaving,” he shouts at my back.
“Stay gone, but before you do, get me the fuck out of here!”
“Larissa,” he snaps as I turn to him from the opening of the tent, ready to zip him out. “Just tell me if you’re hurt—”
Laughter bursts out of me in reply as I zip the tent closed.