Chapter 18
Jiya
Ibreak the kiss, but not the contact. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps against his lips. A low, dark laugh rumbles in my chest.
He pulls back just enough to see my face, his eyes narrowed, searching mine. “What’s so funny?”
“It still counts as my kill,” I say, a grin spreading across my face.
He stares at me for a beat, then lets out a short huff of air.
“No way. I finished him.” His gaze flicks to Marcel’s corpse, the silver handle jutting from the eye socket like a grotesque piece of modern art. “Rather definitively, I’d say.”
“Only because you interrupted me,” I argue, pushing against his chest. “My poison was already working. He was going down. You just...expedited things.”
I launch myself at him, my hands fisting in the front of his expensive shirt, and shove. He stumbles back a step, his balance perfect, his eyes widening with a dark, predatory glint.
“Is that how we’re playing it?” he asks, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
“You have a problem with that?” I advance on him, backing him toward the living room.
He lets me come. Then, in a blur of motion, he catches my wrists, using my momentum to spin us around. My back hits a wooden support beam with a solid thud that jars the breath from my lungs. The old wood creaks. His body is a wall against mine, pinning me.
He leans down, and his mouth crashes against mine. It’s not a kiss; it’s an invasion. A brutal, punishing claim that steals the air from my lungs. He tastes of adrenaline and something dark and possessive. There is no tenderness, only a raw, desperate need to conquer.
He breaks away, leaving me gasping, my lips bruised.
“Not at all,” he replies on an exhale of breath.
I hook my leg around his, twisting my hips and using his weight against him. We stumble over an antique side table. A crystal vase cartwheels through the air, shattering against the floorboards. A shard skitters to a stop inches from Marcel’s outstretched hand.
We both freeze, tangled on the floor, and a shared, breathless, slightly unhinged laugh escapes us.
“Oops,” I say against Calloway’s mouth.
His hands slide under my ass, lifting me as he surges to his feet. I wrap my legs around his waist without a second thought, and he drives me backward until my back hits the cold surface of the wide picture window. Outside, the black lake is a perfect, still mirror under the dark cloudy skies.
“I think we’re disturbing his beauty sleep,” Calloway murmurs, his lips against my skin.
“Durand is dead,” I remind him, nipping his lower lip.
He pins me harder against the glass. “Semantics.”
His mouth drops to my throat, trailing hot kisses over the bruises forming there. I arch my neck, giving him better access.
“Should we find someplace else?” I ask, my fingers already working at his belt.
Calloway glances over his shoulder at Marcel’s body, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “He’s not complaining.”
I laugh, shoving him away from the window. He lets me push him, a playful, dangerous game, until his knees hit the coffee table and he goes down. I follow, landing on top of him with a soft oof.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, a laugh mixed with the word.
I straddle him, my knees sinking into the expensive wool carpet. I go for his shirt, and he goes for my mouth, his hand cupping the back of my head as he pulls me into a deep, bruising kiss.
The floorboards groan as we roll, a frantic, silent wrestling match. He reverses our positions, and for once, I don’t mind the loss of control. He pins my hands above my head, his pupils blown, his gaze a physical touch as it scans my face.
“Stop being so careful,” I say.
He groans, pulling away just enough to look at me, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Let me savor it.”
“Savor later,” I demand, raking my nails down his chest, leaving four red lines in their wake. “I want to feel you. Now.”
His hands tremble as they cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. The reverence in his touch is a foreign pressure, a caress for something precious. He doesn’t see the monster underneath. Or maybe he does, and likes it.
“Jiya,” he whispers, and my name in his mouth sounds like a prayer.
I push him onto his back, straddling his hips. “Enough talking.”
I’m not here for tenderness. I’m here for this. I slide down his body, my hands going to the button of his pants. When I pull them down, my breath catches.
Two rows of metal beads line the upper side of his cock, glinting in the dim light. The Jacob’s Ladder piercing I’d glimpsed earlier, but now can fully appreciate. My mouth waters at the sight.
“Fuck,” I breathe, the word an exhale of pure, avaricious want. My hand closes around him, his skin hot against my palm. His head thuds back against the rug, a strangled sound tearing from his throat.
I take him in my mouth, my tongue finding the metal beads. They’re a shocking, thrilling texture against the softness of his skin. I drag my tongue over them, learning their pattern, before taking him deeper. The piercings slide against the roof of my mouth.
His hips buck. “God, Jiya—”
I hum around him, a low, satisfied sound, enjoying the weight of him, the taste of him, the power of bringing this man to the edge of his control. My free hand cups his balls, rolling them in my palm. A full-body shudder racks his frame, and a low groan tears from his throat.
The sounds he makes are exquisite. Half-choked moans and breathy whimpers. Each one feels like a victory, like breaking through that controlled exterior to the raw need underneath.
His breath hitches, his chest rising and falling. I glance up to see his jaw clenched, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Then, something shifts in his expression, a tightening around his eyes, and before I can react, his hands tangle in my hair.
The gentle touch transforms into an iron grip. He yanks my head forward and thrusts his cock deeper.
The piercings drag against my mouth as he hits the back of my throat. I gag, my eyes watering. My throat convulses around him, trying to expel the intrusion. Saliva floods my mouth, spilling over my lips and down my chin in thick rivulets.
My lungs burn. It feels amazing.
Somehow, he knows how close I am, how far he can push me.
Just as I’m about out of breath, he releases his grip. I pull back with a desperate gasp, coughing and sputtering. Air has never tasted so sweet.
“Fuck,” I rasp, wiping at my chin.
But before I can recover, his hands find my hair again, and he drags me forward, shoving back into my mouth.
The world narrows to a pinpoint of sensation. The burning in my lungs, the stretch of my jaw and the weight of Calloway’s cock pressing against my tongue.
It’s exhilarating.
I moan around him, the vibration traveling through both our bodies. My hands grip his thighs, not to push away but to steady myself. The lack of oxygen makes everything sharper somehow. Colors more vivid, sensations more intense.
He guides my head, controlling my every movement.
“That’s it,” he growls, his voice barely recognizable. “Take it all.”
My body responds with a rush of heat between my legs. I’m soaking wet, aching for release, though he’s barely touched me. My hips rock against nothing, seeking friction.
When he allows me another gasping breath, I don’t pull away. I stay close, looking up at him through tear-spiked lashes.
“More,” I rasp.
His eyes widen with dark approval. In one fluid motion, he flips me onto my back, his body caging mine against the floor.
“You want more?” he asks, his voice soft.
I arch against him, challenge in my eyes. “I can take anything you give me.”
He pulls my shirt off, then his fingers hook into the waistband of my pants, yanking them down along with my underwear in one swift motion.
Cool air hits my exposed skin, raising goosebumps across my thighs and ass.
I try to push myself up on my elbows, but his hand presses between my shoulder blades, keeping me pinned.
“Stay down,” he commands, and there’s something in his tone that makes me obey.
His hands hook under my thighs and in one powerful motion, he hoists my lower body upward. My shoulders and head remain pressed against the rough fibers of the rug while the rest of me dangles in the air, at his mercy. My body forms an obscene arch, my pelvis thrust skyward, legs splayed wide.
“Beautiful,” he breathes against my inner thigh, his hot breath sending shivers racing across my skin. “I’m going to worship you like you deserve.”
I try to brace myself, but nothing prepares me for the first swipe of his tongue. A startled cry tears from my throat as he tastes me with a broad, flat lick from opening to clit. My hips buck, but his grip is iron, keeping me suspended and open.
“Fuck—” The curse dissolves into a moan as he dives in without hesitation, devouring me like he’s been starving for this his entire life.
His mouth is a revelation. He uses his lips and tongue with devastating, focused precision.
He alternates between long, dragging licks that make my whole body tremble and a soft, circling attention to my clit that threatens to unravel me.
There is no rhythm, no pattern to brace against, only a slow, deliberate exploration designed to learn every inch of me.
My thighs tremble in his grasp from the sheer, overwhelming intensity of being cherished by a killer.
My fingers claw at the rug. Pleasure, sharp and blinding, is building too fast. I’m trapped, suspended in the air by his grip, my body an open invitation he brutally accepts.
“Cal…” The name is a choked-off sound as his mouth closes over my clit.
He groans, a feral sound of satisfaction. “Yes, baby, call my name.”
I look, and the sight is a gut punch. He, on his knees, face buried in me, like a wolf at a fresh kill.
My wetness coats his chin, gleaming in the half-light. He sucks harder, and a scream builds in my throat.