Chapter 22
BELLA
San Francisco, California
I shut the hotel door behind me with a soft click, sliding the bolt into place. The suite is dark, too dark. I know I left the bathroom light on. And the blackout curtains? I never close them all the way. I like the view of the Bay. Like knowing what’s outside.
CLICK.
A soft glow spills from the side table lamp.
I turn, gun raised in a breath. He doesn’t even blink.
“Laing,” I snap, heart slamming against my ribs. “What the fuck are you doing here? This is exactly how you get yourself shot.”
He doesn’t answer, not right away. Just leans back in the armchair, legs spread, one arm slung over the side like he’s posing for a sin-stained Renaissance painting. Shadows dance behind him, curling like smoke. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to make me want to curse.
That damn tattoo.
The dragon, black ink and menace, starts low on his hip and cuts a path up across the carved ridges of his abs.
It coils around his ribs like a claim, muscles flexing beneath its scaled body.
The beast slithers up the column of his neck, sharp and proud, like it’s warning me he’s dangerous even when he’s silent.
And fuck, it works. He looks like sex and sabotage, and my pulse is a goddamn traitor.
“How’s the boy?” he asks, voice low and rough.
I hesitate. My grip eases on the gun.
“Safe. Alyssa has him. She found his parents.”
Laing nods once, then slowly stands. “You did good tonight.”
I open my mouth to throw a smart-ass comment back, but he’s already closing the space between us.
“I’m not here to fucking talk, Iz.”
I barely get out a gasp before he’s got me pinned against the wall, gun dropped on the carpet. His hands lock around my wrists before slamming them up over my head. His mouth is demanding—rough, claiming, teeth scraping and tongue plunging. No softness. Just heat and hunger and command.
“Back at the docks,” he growls against my lips, “you said I was rude.”
“You called me a bitch,” I shoot back, breathless.
“Because you are.”
His thigh slides between mine, forcing them apart as my breath stutters.
“You like being treated like one, don’t you?”
My hips betray me, grinding into the pressure of his leg before I can stop them.
“That’s what I thought.”
He lifts me without warning. His strong hands gripping under my thighs, slamming my back into the wall. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct, just as his mouth finds my neck and bites. Hard. Our tongues clash like a damn war, biting and sucking.
He sets me down just enough to shove my jeans down and to take off his own. His fingers slip beneath the lace of my underwear, dragging through wet heat.
“Soaked,” he growls. “You always like this after a mission? Or is this wetness just for me, Iz?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not when he pushes two fingers deep inside me, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot. My head thumps back against the wall.
He pumps them slow. Painfully slow, like he wants to feel every reaction, every tremble. He looks down to watch his work as his thumb circles my throbbing clit once, twice. Three times.
“Ah… Laing.” He picks up his pace and I gasp as my pussy clenches around his fingers. “I’m so close.”
“Shh.” He kisses me again, brutal and deep, yanking his fingers free right as I’m about to explode.
“Asshole,” I bite out.
“Turn around,” he says, licking my arousal off his fingers one by one.
I hesitate.
“I said. Turn the fuck around, Iz.”
He flips me fast, smashing my chest against the wall. One hand rips my panties off with enough force I’m sure will leave a mark tomorrow. The other finds the back of my neck, pressing me forward.
I feel him. His thick, pierced, tatted monster of a cock already dripping and pressing against the curve of my ass.
“You want me?” he asks.
I nod.
“Then you’re going to have to work for it, Iz. You’re going to count every one of them for me tonight.”
“Count them?”
“Each fucking piercing, Iz.”
I swallow, trying to calm myself down.
He pulls me back into him and starts to push himself inside. The burn as the first piercing scrapes against my walls makes me gasp.
“What did I say?”
“One,” I moan.
“Good girl.”
He keeps going, pushing in at a slow and punishing speed that forces me to feel the stretch, the sting. Forces me to feel him fucking ruin me.
“Two.”
“Keep going.”
“Ah! Laing,” I cry. “Three.”
“Almost there, Iz.”
“Four.”
“One more,” he says as he thrusts his cock the rest of the way in, sending a jolt through my entire body.
“Ahh… five!”
“That’s it, Iz. You feel that?” he starts to pick up his pace, dragging the piercings through my pussy.
My cries draw out a growl from somewhere deep inside him.
“Fuck,” I cry out, nails scraping the wall.
He groans low behind me. “Fucking tight as always.”
His hand closes around my throat, tightening just enough to make the edges of my vision go fuzzy. The drag of his cock, the slight burn of those damn piercings, it’s everything.
“You want it rough,” he snarls. “All that fire. All that fight.”
He fucks me harder with every word, every thrust vicious and deep. My knees nearly give out.
“That what you need, Iz? Huh? Someone to fuck the rage out of you?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
He releases my throat and fists my hair, yanking me back against his chest, his breath hot against my ear. His other hand slips around us, finding my clit again, rubbing tight, punishing circles that make my knees tremble.
“I’m gonna come, Laing. Oh!”
“No you won’t,” he commands, voice like steel. “You’ll only come when I fucking say you can. You understand me, Iz?”
He pulls out, just long enough to make me whimper. He yanks me around so I’m facing him and then slams back in, harder, deeper, filling me so brutally I gasp. His grip shifts, one hand locking around my throat again, squeezing it tight enough that I see stars.
The pressure. The stretch. The way he owns every inch of my body, it’s too much. He thrusts again. And again. The sound of skin on skin sharp and filthy in the quiet room.
“You like this,” he mutters against my neck, teeth dragging. “Like being used. Owned.”
I can’t even answer, all I can do is nod.
His rhythm is relentless. My hands claw at his back. My thighs burn. My pussy tensing so tight it hurts. He bites down on my shoulder, hard enough to bruise.
“Beg for it,” he hisses. “Give me a good fucking reason to let you come, Iz.”
My throat tightens under his hand. My eyes roll back. “Laing please,” I gasp, every word ripped from me. “Please let me come. I need it. Fuck, I need you.”
He doesn’t ease up. Doesn’t slow.
“That all you’ve got?” he growls.
“Please,” I cry again, voice breaking. “I’ve been so fucking good. I took everything you gave me. I counted them all. I need it, Laing. I need to come. Please.”
He groans, filthy and low. “You want to come for me, Iz?” he mutters, voice rough in my ear. “Want to soak my cock while I’m buried in you so deep you forget your own name?”
“Yes,” I whimper. “Please. Let me come, I’m begging you.”
“Then do it,” he snarls. “Come for me, Iz. Now.”
And I break. My climax rips through me like a fucking grenade.
He follows with a guttural growl against my neck. One last thrust, one last drag, and then he spills into me, body locked and shaking.
My legs collapse. He catches me before I hit the floor. But he doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t ask to stay. He gets dressed, grabs his jacket, and walks out the door like he didn’t just fuck the sanity out of me.
And that’s exactly how I like it.
The door clicks shut. The suite goes silent. I tug down my shirt and head toward the bed.
My phone vibrates on the dresser.
New Message Request.
@LucaWasHere
Profile photo: a grainy shot of the New York City skyline at night.
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@LucaWasHere
Nice work tonight, my sweet Blackwood,
Though I had hoped you’d choose someone good.
Your plaything’s dull, his edge is fake.
I’ve seen wolves with more at stake.
Oh and Ollie’s cries? A lullaby.
A quiet sound as you walked by.
Sleep tight, Izzy. Don’t ask why,
I never watch without goodbye.