Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Lagos
That was a damn mistake.
Surrounded by jagged rock, I press my palm to the limestone wall. Hidden in a private alcove, the same one we hide extra supplies in, in case the catamaran is found and sacked. I rip open my top button with the hand smeared in her blood and fist my cock.
I shudder and growl. Fucking hell, I need this. After that. Fuck.
If I had a slither of humanity for every time I pushed her away and yearned to hold her, I’d be human enough to deserve her.
But the fact I just took her virginity without consent, punctured her so thoroughly there was no chance she wouldn’t bleed for me, attests to my lack of anything decent.
And I won’t tell her. Not that she was a virgin. That her Ward never claimed her. For whatever reason, he didn’t touch her pussy while she lay drugged beside him.
And not that I—stole it.
It’s why I preferred her look of fear and disdain. That fits. It fits my leather-like skin, the beastly muscles that ripple beneath it, and the charred heart that serves to pump my iron-blood.
I can’t bear her sweet gaze.
Don’t deserve the look she just gave me after she came on my fingers. Not the loved-up awe or the na?ve hope that we aren’t worlds apart.
Yes, I’m a Trade man.
And no, I am not.
It’s not that simple.
I can accept gratitude and lust from townies at The Bite, House Girls, and the nomads, but not her.
Not a sweet, untouched girl who took a beating from a Shadow. Woke to take on the world again, her trauma tucked in deep, sure to surface in her nightmares when this is all over.
She deserves more.
Deserves peace.
A kind, warm heart.
I pump my cock. Hard. Punishing. So hard it hurts, with no teasing or lingering for enjoyment, only a single-minded determination to blow my fucking nuts so that I can think straight.
The crown of my cock goes blood red, precum licking on the cave wall. I come a lot when I blow, it’s not a small mess, it’s a fucking flood, but this time, it’s going to be another level of intense.
I look down. The hand I used to claim her, covered in pretty scarlet stains, jerks up and down my throbbing cock.
Dahlia’s little body flashes in my mind, and I shuffle and groan through clenched teeth. Bearing down on my hard length, I don’t try to blink her away.
I speed up.
Thinking about her.
About stealing her virginity.
Losing control.
My head drops back, shoulders bunching up as I work my cock harder, faster—fierce.
I imagine visiting her in her sleep and covering her face with a pillow, holding it down just enough that she can breathe but not see or move.
I’ll whisper that, “I need to feel you. Hold on to the sheets. Be a good girl for me. It’s not your fault that I’m doing this to you. It’s mine.”
I’m the monster in this story.
I imagine dragging her lace knickers down trembling white thighs, spreading her open, and pushing inside her.
Fuck.
My legs shuffle wider, restless. Fist flies over my cock. Need it out. Groans crash from my lips as I envision taking her, but then…
Fuck me— I imagine she removes the pillow and stares up at me, big green eyes, freckles for days, with a slight bump in her almost perfect nose, a message about her inner strength and courage.
And she smiles.
Images flood me; I don’t fight them. My release grabs my balls. My fist tightens. Hot, fierce blood rushes to my cock in a wave that makes me momentarily nauseous.
And I come, growling and spurting over the pitted limestone wall, letting in the despicable reverie of her enjoying each thrust, taking each inch, and squeezing my cock with her inexperienced pussy.
Heaving, I lean my forehead on my bicep and brace myself harder against the wall. My chest strains. Cock is in agony—good. I need it to hurt. Or I’ll be ready to go again too soon.
Fuck. I have to stay away from her. I have to keep my damn hands off her. Have to. But I… I fucking can’t.