Chapter 7
GIANA
C aelian rises over me, his face a twisted, hot snarl of passion and need, and it heightens the knell in me.
I need him. This.
Hunger rips through my veins, and deep inside that knell grows into a bone-crushing desire, and as it disappears, I throb, only to have it happen all over again and again.
It’s an ache, a beat of pure want and I push up against him, my shirt in tatters, body naked and so alive I could burst into flames at a touch.
But it’s not a clean need. It’s full of filth and anger, and a drive to inflict pain, to take on whatever he can hand out.
If I could, I’d tie myself down, beg for a whip, something so thin that when it hits, it draws blood. Or have him crush my bones as he takes his fill. I don’t know why.
Maybe… maybe I want to be punished. More, I want him to suffer, too. Give Caelian the whip, the torture devices of passion, but I want to use them on him, too.
How dare he let his brother fuck me while he does the same? How dare my body, my soul, like something that wrong, that depraved, that twisted version of right?
And then he says so much ugly shit to me, words that hurt, yet here he is kissing me, touching me, driving me mad with lust. How dare he?
I want to draw his blood.
I need his cock.
I demand whatever he has to give.
I dig my nails in his back, drawing blood, and his guttural cry against me, teeth coming down on my upper breast, the warm wetness on my fingers delight.
I push him and go to hit, but Caelian stops me, grabbing my wrist.
His eyes glitter.
“If you want to ride me, New York, just ask. I’m happy to give you the fucking ride of your life. Fuck you in all the ways. Ruin your goddamn cunt so no one else wants it but me.”
I glare. “You’re a sick asshole.”
“Yet your pussy begs for me.” He lifts my wrist, tightening his hold until I hiss, and then he looks at my fingers. “Little prey thinks she has teeth sharp enough to kill.”
He wipes a finger over his face, leaving a smear of blood that should horrify me.
It doesn’t.
A thrill hits me so hard my body spasms. “Claws. Not teeth,” I say.
“Potato, potahto. Hate me. Love me.”
“I do hate you.”
“Good. I could fucking thrive on your hate.” That sleazy, filthy smile of his is going to make me come in my dreams for years.
He licks my fingers, drags them down his chin, his throat, his firm, naked chest, until he presses them against his cock.
“Your teeth and claws are just strong enough to turn me the fuck on.”
I yank my hand free, grab his hair, and pull his head to one side. When he grabs my wrist, he tightens his grip.
“You want me, New York. Just admit it, and let’s fuck already.” He thrusts against me, that cock so hard, so big. So perfect. And his dick’s not even out of his pants.
I grind up, trying to steal some of his magic, to get relief, and he pushes down on me with his pelvis, angling so all it does is stoke those fires and leave me so frustrated I could kill.
I snatch my hand free, and he comes down, kissing me so hard and long and deep I almost black out from desire. He drives me to the edge. Swamps me.
This man is like a tidal wave barreling toward a shoreline, unstoppable and devastating.
Gathering strength, I shove him, and he rolls, taking me with him, pulling me on top of him for a heady few moments.
He shoves a hand down between us to my pussy, palms it, strokes it, then he throws me off, elbows hitting the floor.
It takes a few seconds to gather my head, and I struggle up, angry now.
I grab his belt and pull him to me. Like a crazy beast, I undo it, unzip his pants, and watch as euphoria takes him the second I wrap my fingers around his cock.
It’s hot and heavy and like steel in my hand as I jerk it, the low groans he makes edging me closer to becoming a quivering, fluttering mess for him.
Caelian Del Rossa is so beautiful it breaks me, and I’m pulled under waves of emotion. Hate, hurt, lust, need. It’s all there, wreaking havoc and causing a riot.
He grabs my hand and yanks it away, then straddles me high up, powerful thighs spread and pinning my arms down my sides. He’s a hunter about to slit open and eat the still-beating heart of his kill.
His dick juts out, and he curls a hand in my hair and tugs me up. I know what he wants.
Heart slamming, I open my mouth as he shoves his cock in, deliberately pushing against my teeth until he hits the back of my throat.
He holds me there and uses short, hard jabs, and I’m unable to breathe as I close my eyes, consumed by him, in all the ways.
“Look at me when I fuck your mouth.”
I struggle some more because he’s going fast and rough. Prying my eyes open, I look up to meet his piercing gaze. His pupils are dilated. Pure lust sears through them, stinging my skin raw. But there’s anger there, too. Something black and bitter. A rage that lurks and corrupts. It’s thick and threaded with lust, and I’m torn into all directions at once.
I start to struggle, trying to get free as he uses my mouth like his own personal cocksleeve, like that’s all I’m good for. And it turns me on.
I don’t want it to, but it does. I want more of it. I want every version of unhinged. What I don’t want is for it to tear open the already oozing wounds.
He rears back, and I quickly mumble, “Stop,” before he slams back in, stuffing my mouth with his cock.
Black sparks burst into life behind my eyes and my lungs hurt, my body suddenly acutely aware that I’m not breathing right.
I buck beneath him, thrashing, and somehow manage to pull my arm free. I slap at his chest, pounding my fist into his thigh, gagging around him, until he finally pulls out.
“Jesus. Goddammit!” He lets go of me like I’m a rag he doesn’t want, and I cough, gasping for air. “This is you,” he spits out. “It’s all you, and fuck you for doing this…for making me… fuck! ”
“Get off me, you animal! I make you do this?”
“Not what I meant,” he snaps, moving down until he’s between my legs.
There’s drool all around my mouth, and I reach to clean it, but he grabs my arms.
“No. Leave the drool.” Caelian comes in close. The smoke-laden alcohol on his breath shouldn’t be attractive. It is. It makes me hot.
God, I’m sick. Sick in the head because I want his cock back.
I narrow my eyes, defiance sliding back into place, and grab a corner of his shirt I ruined, cleaning my face with it. His reaction is to push my legs apart as he sits up, and I try to kick him, but he’s not having it.
He hauls my waist up so only my upper back and shoulders are on the floor, then wraps his hands around my upper thighs, my pussy right there for him to see.
Caelian blows on my wet, tender flesh. “Your cunt could sink fucking ships. They’d go down, all the masts raised.”
“Let me go.”
That’s a lie. I want him to feast on me, eat me into orgasm. I want him to shout to the sky how much he needs me, wants me, how he simply has to have me. I want him to tell me he didn’t mean what he said.
Deep down, I know he didn’t mean what he said. It’s the anger woven through the lust that’s tightening around him, little by little.
He leans his head to the side as he gazes at my sex. “You got this going for you,” he says, licking his lips. “This pussy is a masterpiece, so fucking gorgeous.”
The words twist and turn in my head. They’re a surface compliment, deeply layered in poison and anger I know culminates in his blaming me for everything.
I already blame myself.
Just one moment of a soothing balm from him, a touch, a look, a word…I need that, to take the blame away. Just for one pathetic moment. A break like the sun peeking out. And sex. I’ll take that if it’s the only thing on offer.
But like this, the anger isn’t passion-coated. It’s just rage, spiky, harsh, and sticks in my throat while turning up the heat.
“Caelian, we can’t?—”
“Your pussy smells like sex, and it’s driving me insane.”
I try to wriggle free, but it’s a half-assed attempt because, God, I want this. I want him to fuck me, push me over the edge in the ways that has me free-falling from this shitty reality we’ve been living in the last few weeks.
I wish I could silence the voices telling me this is wrong, that this won’t fix anything, maybe even make it worse.
“We need to stop,” I say, and he snarls, eyes glittering, and suddenly buries his head between my thighs, sucking my clit into his mouth.
I shriek because it’s way too much. His assault is merciless, devastating, sucking the air right out of me as he devours my heat, the warm length of his tongue ravishing me so thoroughly, every flick drives inch-long nails of pleasure through my core.
Caelian releases my clit. “Don’t you fucking come,” he commands, then starts to tongue a path over my pussy, up between my folds and into me, never sticking to a rhythm, never doing more than building me into a frenzy that stops before the cliff.
“It’s your fault,” he snarls. “Your fault I’m here?—”
“Stop.” The word is ripped from my soul, my hands now in his hair, fingers weaving through the strands as the tension builds, my body starting to ache desperately for relief. “Caelian, please…”
“I’m not stopping, New York. That’s not how the game’s played.” His breath is warm on my wet pussy, my clit throbbing, my core tightening.
I cry out when he sucks my clit again, then releases, moving over me and capturing my mouth. And I kiss him back, licking my taste from his tongue that flirts and spins with so many promises. It’s sheer seduction, and I’m the idiot who falls into it, opening wider, kissing harder, falling deeper.
There’s a different kind of passion there, a sweetness I think might be the end of anger and the start of something new, good, healing, right until I feel him slide the head of his cock through my slit, and the kiss changes. It’s like the sampling of fucking, being so close to getting what he wants twists and corrupts him.
A sob rises because this is a dark and brutal kiss that’s angry, hard, yet it’s something I cling to and give back because it’s fucking hot.
It’s wrong. Powerful. Utterly consuming.
And I want him to fuck me. Jesus, I want him to. Every bone in my body is crying out for that sweet release only he can give.
It’s not just about the physical act of sex, but it’s the closeness of him, the rawness of our connection.
It's the way he owns me, body and soul, when he's buried deep inside me. But behind it, as he pulls my thighs up to his hips, that thick, hard cock thrusting against me, I can taste the blame, the anger, the recriminations.
If I move just an inch, press down and roll my hips, he’ll be inside me—which I know he’s trying not to do, not yet. He’s building, taunting, punishing.
I want him so desperately I almost take it. But I know… I know if I give in to this kind of twisted, angry sex, it could destroy this thing with us completely.
No matter how desperate I am for this, it’s wrong. Too wrong. In the wrong ways.
Wrong.
The word keeps beating with my damn heart.
I break the kiss and push. “Stop, Caelian.”
“God, I love the games you play.”
“I’m not playing.”
He reaches down and takes his cock, moving it up and down my pussy, and I quiver; I’m throbbing everywhere with need for him.
Wrong.
And he starts to line up.
Too wrong.
His cock nudges at my entrance.
“Stop,” I whisper. “I don’t want this.”
He begins to push, just a little, parting my lips.
Every single part of me zeroes in, vibrating, whispering, do it . But then something inside me screams louder. “Stop.”
“I need to feel you, New York. I’ve never wanted to be inside a woman so fucking badly. Jesus Christ.” He pulls back and pushes forward again, but I grab his shoulders, eyes blurring.
“I said stop, Caelian. So fucking stop.”
“Fuck!” His face darkens with fury. “You say stop when you’re practically grinding against me.”
“This is wrong.”
“Fuck, fuck. Fuck!” He rears back, and for a moment I think he’s going to do it, plunge into me, and my pussy pulsates with anticipation while my soul starts to crack.
But instead, he’s on his knees and slams his fist hard into the floor. Then again. And again.
“What fucking game are you playing?”
“Not yours,” I say, pulling my legs away from him. “Not anymore.”
He slams his fist into the oak floorboards again and sits up. “So, what, New York?” he snarls. “Is this your latest game? Fucking taunt me and then say no? Is fucking me up not enough?”
“Fucking you up?”
“Yes. Fucking me up. We want to fuck, and now you’re pulling the rug out.”
“Not like this, not?—”
“We both know you want me. I sure as fuck want you. And I bet if I pushed my cock into you right now, you’d be wrapped around me and getting off.”
I hate that he knows. Hate that he’s using that, and I simply shake my head.
“Maybe,” he says, his voice thick and choked, “maybe my hand’s a hell of a lot better than your cunt.”
My throat burns and I manage to sit up. He has his cock in his hand, and he’s viciously pulling it, jerking it, and I’m mesmerized.
He’s glaring at me, a seething blend of anger, desperation, and raw desire. His grip on his dick is harsh, punishing, and the primal sight of it sparks something deep inside me. Something dark and wicked.
“Now you’re gonna watch me come, and you’re going to think of how good it would have felt inside you.” He stops talking, the air thick with frustration.
His. Mine.
And I can’t look away as he jerks off. His face is a symphony of need and passion. It turns me on.
I’m pure flame.
His breath hisses as he goes down on one hand, keeping him up, the knuckles of the one holding his cock red and swollen from punching the floor, and I can’t help but find it hot in some sordid way.
Then, as his cock seems to swell, my pussy gets wetter. I want to be that hand. And the low grunts and groans of his passionate sexual pleasure-building depravity hooks deeply into me.
I moan as he lowers himself a little, deliberately. I know because of the nasty glint of filth in his eyes. And he hits my upper thigh with the wet tip of his cock, making him groan loud and long.
Shit, I’m so turned on all it would take is a touch from him and I’ll explode.
Then his eyes flutter shut, and he’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen, his thick cock, his muscles corded, hand pistoning over his length.
“Fuck!” he growls, and ribbons of cum stream from him, hot and thick, spraying on my hips, some of it dripping down to my sex.
I’m panting, my body squirming involuntarily. I’ve never been this turned on, this wild for sex.
Maybe it’s the wrong factor that heightens everything makes it all so much more intense.
He lets go of his cock, and he’s biting his bottom lip as he wipes his cum with his fingers, scooping it up.
“You said no.” His voice is low. Too low. “You said no, even though your body is screaming yes so fucking loud I can’t hear anything else.”
“Caelian. I didn’t?—”
He grabs my pussy and shoves his cum-covered fingers deep inside me. I explode instantly.
Pleasure rips through me, and I cry out, quivering, shaking, moaning, spiraling into a delirium of ecstasy.
It’s almost too much. I can feel it tear through my bones, deep into the marrow.
I’m a mess.
A crying, trembling, maelstrom of an orgasming mess.
I’m not even down from the high yet when he pulls his fingers out, then leans close to my ear. “I knew you wanted me, watching me like it was your own private sex show. But, baby, you gotta understand one thing.”
“And what’s that?” I try and fail to sound disdainful. Instead, it comes out breathless.
“We both know you can’t say no to me. I own you. But wanna know the real kicker?”
My heart stutters.
“It seems like you own me, too. And you have no idea how much that pisses me off.”
He pulls his hand away, then tucks his cock in his pants, zips up, attempts to do up the belt, and fails. Then he gets to his feet, does a mocking bow, and staggers out of my room, slamming the door.
A half sob escapes, but I grit my teeth and curl up on the floor, grabbing one of the pillows and drawing it in.
I wanted this.
I wanted him, no matter what.
I wanted to come. I wanted to chase the tail of the stone-melting desire we create.
The room smells of him now. Of sex and desire, and dark, erotic secrets. And it is intoxicating, a wicked, sinful balm on the deep scars of my soul.
I remain there on the floor, wallowing in the lingering scent of his skin, his sweat, and his cum. The echoes of his gruff voice whispering obscenities in my ear reverberate through the silence.
I fought it. Yet, in the end, he gave me what I wanted.
Release.
Even through all the wrongs, I still liked it. But now, what I want more than anything in this entire world is for him to take me in his arms, whisper dirty words…and fuck me. Fuck this sin right out of me. The filth and the wicked.
I wanted to fight him and rub on him or have him eat me while I protested, and I came.
There’s something wrong with me.
I know there is, and I’m glad no one sees me as I reach down between my legs and scoop the wetness up with my finger—his cum mixed with mine, and then…
Then I suck it off my fingers like the pathetic, twisted creature I’ve become.