Chapter 8
Islammed him against the tree so hard the bark cracked under his spine. My hand clamped around his thick, tattooed throat, and for a second, for one goddamn second, I thought I had control.
His pulse thrummed under my palm, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a fishing lure. But even with his breathing being heavier from the struggle. The smirk playing in his eyes never fucking faltered.
Your ability to remain calm is fucking annoying.
“You think you can fuck with my head?” I hissed. “You think I don’t know what I fucking saw you bury? I could take your ass to the police. ‘Sweet, loving Care-Bear kills people…oh my!’ I can hear the news plastering your egotistical face all over the fucking television.”
Carrington’s lips curved like he was tasting me, toying with my damn psyche.
“You saw dirt and sticks. Nothing more. I suppose playing with cadavers all day would make you assume otherwise, Sunshine.”
He dragged that title out like a blade.
“Do you hear yourself? Desperate little thing. Shaking like a leaf when I am the one held on this uncomfortable tree. Such an unhinged man. Maybe the darling Anderson boy took this fantasy night and realized he needed it as a reality.”
He was…threatening me, daring me, telling me that he would flip this on me. That I would be fucking convicted for whatever dead body was buried in the fucking brush. And he knew…
Everyone would believe him over me.
My body betrayed me. Heat coiled low, ugly, and raw. I shoved my knee between his legs, pinning him there, needing him to feel it. I demanded that he knew I wasn’t weak, that he didn’t fucking own me.
But his eyes…fuck, his pale, golden eyes lit up as if I’d just given him exactly what he wanted all along.
“That’s it,” he breathed, tilting his head back against the bark, baring his throat to me even as my hand tightened further.
It was comic fucking gold to see a goddamn snake tattoo wrapping around the thick ridges.
“Take control. Go ahead and show me how much you hate me. What will you do to prove I don’t own you, Sunshine?
And how badly will it hurt when you finally admit I do? ”
I hated him. I fucking hated him.
I hated that my cock throbbed against the pressure of my jeans while he goaded me.
Baited me like a fucking fish desperate for any disgusting morsel it was given.
I hated that the sound he made when my grip tightened wasn’t fear or pain.
I hate that he groaned, low and guttural, vibrating straight into my skin.
“You don’t get to do this to me,” I ground out, my teeth gritted so hard I tasted blood.
I ripped his fucking mask off. Seeing what lay behind the smiling face. The person he held for everyone else in this stupid fucking town of delusion.
He looked nothing like his sister. His hair was so fucking dark it could have blended into the night.
No wonder you move like a fucking shadow.
His eyes were somehow even more potent without the mask on. They were an ethereal golden yellow, like a fucking werewolf when they were all lolled and dopey.
Pathetic.
Weak.
I refused to look anywhere else. I didn’t want to watch the smirk playing on his lips. I didn’t care about the piercings there. It was not playing through my head how the cold touch of metal felt on my back when he…
“You don’t get to make me—”
“Hard for me?” he cut in, soft and lethal. His smile broke through the chokehold like he had all the air in the world. “You already are, Sunshine.”
My hand shook against his throat. I should’ve let go. I should’ve grabbed the shovel on the ground and bashed him upside the fucking head, then walked my ass to the police while he was still easy to hand over. But I didn’t.
Instead, I pressed harder, grinding my knee into his dick, needing him to be the one to gasp, to lose his composure, and break under my power. I needed him to give me an ounce of fucking control back.
Why can’t you just be like that pathetic bitch worried about a stupid rabbit? Or your fucking sister fussing over her makeup smudging?
But Carrington didn’t break. He leaned into it, grinding his dick into my knee, seeking friction while he spoke. His voice was hoarse but steady, laced with his usual venomous calm. “You wanna know the worst part for you?”
I narrowed my eyes, pushing his throat harder into the tree, and feeling his struggle to swallow under my palm. But he somehow still managed to speak. The words were more strangling than my hold.
“You fucking like it. You hate me, because you like wanting me.”
His words lit something feral in me. I pulled him forward, only to slam him harder against the bark, my hand still locked around his neck, and my free hand fisting in the sling on his torso.
I ripped it off.
Buttons popped, scattering in the dirt like shrapnel. His skin was hot beneath my palm, his chest rising with shallow, taunting breaths. The satchel fell to the dirt, and his eyes followed with the slightest bit of interest.
I used my foot to flip the bag into my hand, catching it to reveal a cheap plastic knife inside. This was likely used in the hunt, and it was odd that he would have reacted at all. I pocketed the cheap weapon nonetheless, focusing my attention back on Carrington.
“You think I like this?” I snarled, lifting my knee, pushing it painfully between his thighs until he grimaced. “You think I want you?”
His laugh was raw, broken around the chokehold, but dripping with smug satisfaction. “Want me? You need me, Baby Boy. You’re like a virgin who falls in love with the first person to fucking give them an orgasm. You are beneath me, Shiloh.”
I hated the way that shot through me, hated the way my cock ached against the press of his body. So I forced him lower, dragging him down the bark until he was kneeling in front of me. His smirk didn’t waver, even as his knees hit the dirt, my hold remaining strong in his thick, messy hair.
“Look at you now, Care Bear,” I spat, shoving his head back so he had to meet my gaze from the ground. “You are beneath me.”
His mouth curved into something feral and sinful. “Then why are you the one still trembling, Sunshine?”
My zipper groaned as I yanked it down, and for the first time, his breathing stuttered. I didn’t think of anything but maintaining my control over Carrington.
My desperate need to make him feel powerless.
He needed to know what he did to me in the haunted house. That is the only reason I was pulling my cock out of my pants and brutally shoving myself against his lips.
I just needed to see his smile fall. I needed him to know I was in fucking charge.
My fists stayed tangled in his hair, holding him there, my cock pulsating heat onto his pierced lips.
“Open,” I growled, jamming my shaft harder against his mouth.
He hesitated for a moment, his breathing calm and relaxed.
“I said fucking open your goddamn mouth, Carrington Harding.”
I didn’t let him look up at me. My fists were so twisted in his black hair that strands were falling out at my feet.
His mouth slowly opened, and his tongue slid against me, slow and deliberate, like he was the one controlling the pace.
His hands stayed loose at his sides, as if to say he didn’t even need to touch me to own me.
I tugged his hair back until his throat arched, until his mouth was stretched around my shaft, choking on my length. His lips were wet and fucking ruined, swollen from my size.
I’d won. I forced silence from the bastard.
But just as I let myself smile, my hands loosening ever so slightly, ready to pull myself free of his warm mouth, he looked up at me, his eyes glassy with tears from the pressure, and he fucking smiled around my cock.
And fuck me…my hips jerked forward harder, not leaving the warmth, seeking it. I was seeking the pleasure he was giving me. The way his damn tongue swirled my head skillfully. Better than any fucking woman ever had. I was losing my ability to breathe, my hands fumbling in his hair.
I hated him, but I hated myself more.
His throat worked around me like a porn star, gagging, deep throating as much as possible until a bulge appeared on the wavering snake.
“Oh fuck.” I groaned despite myself, yanking harder on his hair until his neck strained back at an impossible angle. Spit slicked down his chin, catching in the moonlight, and still he refused to fucking break.
“Fucking hell,” I growled as I forced his head forward, burying myself even deeper, punishing him for every smirk, every twisted fucking word spoken.
My hips slammed forward, desperate and reckless. My thighs trembled like a bitch as I used him for my pleasure.
“Take it,” I snarled through gritted teeth, my voice rough with desperation and hunger. “Fucking choke on me, you sick fuck.”
He laughed, not with sound, not with his ruined mouth full of me, unable to even breathe, his airway blocked with my cock so fully his eyes had tears streaming down them.
No.
He laughed with those fucking desert-colored eyes. Those wild, feral eyes stared up at me like he was worshiping the destruction he caused.
The bastard pressed his palms to his dirty thighs, tilting his head just enough to hollow his cheeks, sucking me in deeper.
He wanted me to lose this dangerous game we are playing. He wanted to prove that no matter how brutal I got, he could turn it into pleasure.
“Fuuuuck. Oh fuck. Stop it. Agh.”
My grip slipped from his hair to his throat again, squeezing until his face flushed dark, veins straining at his temples.
He gagged harder, coughed louder, and drooled until we were both coated in the sticky mix of pre-come and saliva.
He smiled around me, his hands reaching under to grip my balls, the action too damn much, and causing me to pant.
“Fuck you,” I hissed, trying to pry him off me.
I was too close, too close to not only losing but coming for him again. My dick was so fucking spent. Even I couldn’t maintain this much stimulation and orgasms in one fucking night, much less a span of only a few hours.
“Get off me,” I demanded, pressing my boot on his hard cock in his pants. He hissed, and my ears caught the sound.
He enjoys pain. Of course he does. Fuck. A sadist and a masochist?
I tried to pull free again, my body stuck in the never-ending vortex of his mouth, the suction sounds, his groans, my own fucking moaning, and the goddamn pounding of my heart.
“Fuck…no. Not again. Fucking no.”
My words didn’t matter. My hips were thrusting forward with blinding speed, his hands were still fondling my nuts, and I was losing so much more than the power I desperately needed.
“That’s right, Sunshine. Fucking come for me. And remember, you are fucking mine. You thought having me on my knees meant you were in control? How cute. That’s not submission, Baby. That’s devotion, and I’m not the one succumbing to the desires they can’t stop. You are.”
“Fuck. You. Carrington.”
He was right. I was not in control of anything, much less him.
He moved his mouth before I could stop him. The way his tongue piercing and those little loops on his lips were able to stroke every sensitive spot on my damn balls…it was fucking maddening. Then, before I could even catch my breath, he was taking me right back down his throat.
He wasn’t just tasting me. He was devouring me…
Claiming me.
“Mmm, Fuck. I fucking hate you, Carrington Harding. Fuuuck.”
He pulled off my cock, staring into my eyes, and stripped me fucking bare. His voice was my undoing, the broken, panted syllables going straight to my balls. He pushed me right over the edge of an orgasm I couldn’t stop.
“Oh, fuck, Sunshine. You look so beautiful like this. Trying so damn hard to hold on but knowing you’re going to lose the battle.
Does it feel less like defeat if you torture yourself before?
My beautiful little masochist. You will fail.
Not because you can’t help it, but because deep down you want to. You want to break for me.”
He was fucking right. I couldn’t fight him. His mouth slammed down on me so hard I saw stars, and my head fell back while my hands gripped his fucking hair.
“Hate…oh my fucking God. I hate you!”
My come shot out of me like a loaded gun, drenching his throat as it choked him. My spent cock slipped free of his swollen lips, leaving a slick line of spit hanging between us.
I tried to catch my breath, shoving him away from me, back against the tree. He gasped for his own air as he fucking laughed at me. His tattooed chest was heaving, but his grin was bloody and wide.
“Feelings mutual, Baby Boy,” he rasped, licking the corner of his mouth. “But hey, at least I’m not a cock tease.”
He stroked his length through the black leather pants, and I growled, kicking my foot toward him, feeling too unsteady to do much else.
I want to crush him. I want to kill him.
I reached forward and grabbed his jaw, smearing the spit, come, and blood across his perfect face, while forcing him to look at me. My forehead was just above his face, my sweat dripping down between us, like rage and lust colliding until I didn’t know which was stronger.
There are no fucking feelings.
“You were my bitch. Nothing more. And now you’re covered in my come. Say it, Carrington. Say my fucking name, brand it on your disgusting skin.” I ordered, my voice shaking.
He tilted his head, lips brushing mine with the ghost of a laugh as I jerked back.
“Shiloh,” he whispered, soft as a prayer.
And fuck me.
I had wanted to break him. To ruin him for what he’d done to me. To humiliate him and make him feel real pain.
But hearing my name on his puffy, busted lips…
It broke me.