29. Mila
MILA
T he air between us seems to cackle with electricity as that look in his eyes morphs into something inhuman. Demonic. I spin when he releases me, hurrying through the door, but I only make it as far as the kitchen table before his arms wrap around me, and he pushes me back against it.
In a flash, he lifts me, depositing me on the table and kicking chairs out of the way. One topples to the floor, but neither of us pays it any mind. His lips are back on mine, and he feasts on me, his hands gripping my knees to spread me wide and allowing him to step between them.
The moment his hand finds me, I gasp, surging against his hand.
“Who’s pussy is this, Mila?”
“Yours,” I whimper, and he growls. His other hand slides back into my hair, fisting the roots to force my gaze to his.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Mila.” With a snap and a sting on my skin, he tugs my panties until they rip off, falling down my leg. “I would rip the gates of heaven if God himself thought he could keep you from me, and I would raise hell just to drag you down there and fuck you on the throne.”
My heart flutters at his words, my eyes brimming with fresh tears. I don’t want to allow myself to believe him, but the desperation in his gaze, the tremor that rolls through him, can’t be ignored.
I whimper, my eyelashes fluttering on my cheeks when he slips a finger through my folds, gathering the wetness there and swirling it around. He slides that finger inside me, hissing out a breath through his teeth.
He spreads my legs wider, and I reach for the button on his jeans, ripping them open and fisting his cock. It’s impossibly hard and hot in my hand, and he pushes me off when I stroke him from root to tip.
Withdrawing his fingers, he grips my hip in one and his cock in the other, stroking it through my folds. My eyes flutter when he brushes against my clit, and when he notches himself at my entrance, a tingle of awareness slips through me.
I’m doing it. I’m really fucking doing it.
“Lighthouse,” he reminds me—and then he’s filling me in one push. He bottoms out halfway, and I cry out at the intrusion, the size of his cock burning with friction as he slips back out, only to drive back inside with a grunt.
“Fuck . . .” he rasps, his hands on my thighs, keeping me spread wide for him with bruising strength.
My back bows off the table, my pussy sucking him in greedily despite the sting of taking him so quickly. He pushes past all my barriers.
The thoughts cling to the corners of my mind, fighting with me to push him off. To rake my nails across his face and fight with everything I have. My hand tightens to a fist where he’s pinning it to the bed, my mind running rampant now that I can’t move.
I shake my head, gasping for breath through my rapidly closing throat.
“You’re okay, Mila. Just relax and let me in.” He pushes further, and heat floods my core, and I bite my lip. A shiver rolls through me, a single tear slipping down my cheek to my hairline. It burns, but it’s a good burn, feeling him stretch me as he rocks inside me. “You feel so fucking good,” he rasps, pressing his lips to the racing heartbeat in my throat. “You’re going to come like such a good little whore on my cock.”
Smile for the camera, little whore.
He shakes his head, his eyes boring into mine from above.
“You want me to stop? Just say the word.”
“Please don’t stop.”
“Look at me, Mila.” My eyes spring open, meeting his. “Your pussy, your ass, your fucking heart? It belongs to me. And the piece of shit that hurt you? He better hope to fucking God he’s dead by the time I get to him.”
He drags my hips up, aligning us so his cock brushes over that most sensitive part of me. He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, the table rocking back and forth with how hard he’s fucking me.
“Christian . . . oh my God,” I gasp when his thumb finds my clit, circling the sensitive nub until my eyes roll back into my head. The chill mixed with the pleasure rippling through me sends a shiver down my spine, and my teeth chatter from the euphoria.
One of my hands grips the edge of the table, the rough wood digging into my skin, while the other grips his, holding my thigh. His fingers wrap around mine tightly, holding me while he fucks me ruthlessly.
“Fuck, you’re fucking perfect,” he rasps under his breath, his head kicking back with a groan. Beneath his shirt, his muscles ripple with the force of his thrusts, like a savage dark God who’s hellbent on sucking the soul from my body with a single orgasm.
I claw at the table, desperate to grab something and hold on, but there’s nothing. Nothing but him and what he’s doing to me and the spot he’s hitting inside me so deep, I didn’t even know it existed.
So I fall, succumbing to the pleasure as it rips me to shreds and a feral cry tears past my lips to rival the storm outside.
The orgasm is strong and intense, stealing my vision, my breath, my fucking soul until I collapse on the hood beneath him.
“There’s my good little wife,” Christian murmurs in my ear, crowding over me, his cock still buried inside my pussy.
I groan when he slips out of me, lifting me up into his arms and carrying me toward the couch. My legs lock around his hips, and I say a silent thank you to whoever invented hip slits in dresses. His hands cup my bare ass, his fingers dangerously close to my center, driving me mad.
Unable to stop myself, I lean into him, pressing soft kisses against the scratches I’d left on the side of his neck. My lips trace the column of his throat, and his grip tightens to near-bruising strength when I nip the pulse point just beneath his ear.
A small tremor moves through him, his breath hissing out through his teeth, and a small smile of triumph pulls on my lips that I can do that to him.
He deposits me on his lap, falling to the couch, and my legs straddle either of his. I try to adjust, and his hands come to my hips, holding me steadfast above him. I shiver in his arms from my wet dress and the little electric aftershocks of my orgasm still rippling through me.
“Don’t run, little devil,” he rasps, eyes glinting in the moonlight overhead as he pushes my soaking wet dress up around my hips. “I’ve barely gotten started with you.”
A water droplet slips between my breasts, and he leans forward, capturing it with his lips, a heavy groan rumbling through him when I jerk against his cock.
His arm bands around my back, his other under my ass, and he tugs me forward, pealing the top of my dress down with his teeth before sealing his lips around my nipple.
My head falls back, the wet tendrils of my hair curling over the curve of my ass, and I whimper at the graze of his teeth. I slip my hand between us, stroking feather-light touches over his cock before moving to the buttons of his shirt.
His lips slide up my neck, and he nips and sucks a line from my jaw to my chin before finally, his lips seal over mine, swallowing the sound of the desperate plea ripping from my throat.
I push his shirt back and run my hands over the hard ridges of his abs, reveling in the feeling of the tight muscles ripping under my fingertips.
I rock against his length, stroking his cock through my folds, and he growls, his hand tightening on my ass. His other grips my hair, tugging my head back at an awkward angle before he drives his teeth into the side of my neck.
“Chris-tian . . .” I gasp, heat radiating from the spot where his teeth mark me straight down to my pussy that jerks against him.
“You make me so fucking crazy, you know that?” He pushes me against him, and I shiver, the vibrations against my clit making me moan. “Sit on my cock, Mila. Show me how bad you want me.”
I bite my lip, my hips continuing to roll against his, and my eyes screwed up to the ceiling.
When a moan slips past my lips, his hand in my hair tightens, dragging my gaze to his. I’ve never seen him look so murderous. He presses his lips against my cheek and snarls, his lips curling at the feel of my heat enveloping his length and his eyes nearly black.
“You have three seconds.”
I whimper, and he releases me, leaning back against the seat and placing both arms over the back of the headrests on either side of him. Like the devil on his throne, waiting for me to kneel for him.
I grip him in my hand, holding his gaze as I rub the tip of his cock through my wetness, making his jaw clench. His eyes bore into mine as I slowly sink down, my mouth falling open as he stretches me.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his size.
“That’s my girl,” he rasps, his eyes locked where my body swallows him, sucking him in greedily despite two orgasms. “I’m all yours, little devil. Ride me.”
My stomach clenches at his words, my core clamping down on him as I slip him further inside me, sinking down on his length. My eyes screw shut, my teeth grinding together as he fills me deeper than he ever has before.
My stomach clenches at his words, my core clamping down on him as I slip him further inside me, sinking down on his length. My eyes screw shut, my teeth grinding together as he fills me deeper than he ever has before.
My nails dig into his shoulders, and my knees shake on either side of his, but I don’t stop rocking against him. With the way he’s seated inside me, his cock brushes that sensitive spot that makes my teeth chatter and my morals completely disintegrate.
Christian’s arm bands around my waist, and he tugs me against him, his body flush with mine. He captures my nipple between his teeth, sucking the hardened peak into his mouth and circling it with his tongue while I struggle to hold onto the last pieces of my soul that he doesn’t completely own.
A cry rips from my throat, and my hips shake as my core tightens unbearably. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he croons against my skin, his gaze coming up to meet mine. “Let me hear you.”
“Christian . . .” I breathe, my legs threatening to give out as the pleasure reaches a blinding fever pitch. “Please?”
I don’t even know what I’m asking for, but he does. He grips my hips in his hand, curling his arm around my back and holding me against him while he bounces me on his cock. The couch shakes around us, the sounds of our bodies meeting filling the air as he fucks me until I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.
God, I hope this boat’s steady . . .
My fingers tangle in his hair, his digging into my skin as he grunts with each thrust, his cock brushing past my limits until I know, I’ll feel him for the next week.
Lightning paints the sky bright blue, but it’s nothing compared to the white light shooting behind my eyes as a strangled cry wrenches from my throat.
“Let go, Mila,” he grits in my ear. “Give it all to me. Give me all your pain. All your pleasure.”
And I do.
The anger, the fear, the pain, the pleasure . . . it all meets in the center of my core to form a nuclear meltdown that leaves me screaming so loudly that my voice grows hoarse. My pussy clamps down on his cock, and he grunts, the veins in his neck bulging as his cock thickens inside me.
He thrusts up into me, snarling as his own orgasm rips through him, his cock pulsing inside me with each thrust of his hips.
“Fuck, Mila . . .” he roars, pulling me tightly against him while my body spasms over his, the aftershocks of my orgasm rocketing through me as I slowly, slowly regain consciousness in my surroundings.
“Fuck,” he grits, a tremor moving through his hands on my hips. “Fucking hell, Mila.”
I shiver, collapsing above him when he pulls out. I’m shaking uncontrollably, my body vibrating with endorphins, and my limbs aching and sore. I feel like I just ran a marathon and barely lived to tell the tale.
His breathing is as ragged as mine, and he combs my hair back from my face, tugging my head up to press a rough kiss to my lips.
“I live and breathe for you, Mila,” he rasps, his gaze boring into mine. “I’ll fucking die for you . . . but if you ever point my fucking gun at your head again, I’ll tie you to the bed and spank your ass until it’s black and blue. Understood?”
My breath catches in my throat, and my heart beats wildly. My tongue darts out to lick my lips, my mouth dry like he’d sucked all the moisture out of the air with that single statement.
The worst part is I know, without a doubt, he would.
“Understood?” He tightens his grip on my head, and I give a soft nod.
I let you go once, little devil. I won’t make the same mistake twice.
“I understand . . .” I suck in a deep breath, my gaze locked with his.
Part of me is satisfied and exhausted. The other part of me—the part that won’t shut the hell up—screams at me that I just became exactly what the scars on my stomach say I am.
A whore.
He deposits me on the couch and stands, disappearing into the bathroom. Tears build in my eyes as the humiliation sets in, and I angrily brush them away.
This is what I wanted. What I asked for. At any time during that, I could have said the safeword, and I know without a doubt he would have released me.
So why do I feel so . . . dirty? Is it because I enjoyed it?
He was right. I wasn’t ready. Part of me wonders if I’ll ever be ready.
He comes back to the living room, and I close my eyes, trying to shut the tears off, but, of course, it doesn’t work. One slips down my cheek, and I hate myself for it.
Great, here it comes. The whole I told you so speech.
I look away, slowly rising from the couch on shaky legs and hoping I don’t look as stupid as I feel.
I go to step past him when he pauses, reaching out and grabbing me around the waist. He’s not rough. Just firm, holding me in place when all I really want to do is run to the bathroom and barricade myself behind the door.
I don’t want to look at him right now.
Not after he just ripped what was left of my soul to shreds and put it back together again with his touch.
“Mila.”
I force myself to meet his gaze, hating the single traitorous tear that slips down my cheek.
I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off, pushing me back down to the couch and pressing my legs apart. I’m surprised by the gentleness of his hands when he cleans me. The warm rag burns against my clit, a reminder that he was there and he had me coming on command like a dog in heat.
God, I was so stupid to think this could work.
“Come here,” he instructs, tossing the rag in a hamper in the corner.
“I’m fine,” I argue, but he fixes me with a stern gaze.
He doesn’t say anything, but it’s what he does that brings fresh tears to the surface.
Sliding his arms underneath me, he lifts me into his arms, carrying me towards the stairs. When we reach the bedroom, he slips my dress over my head and removes my wet bra. Stooping down, he helps me slide my sneakers off before he tugs me toward the bed.
I expect him to leave, but when I climb under the covers, he slides in behind me. His arm wraps over my side, tugging me back into his chest, his body warm despite the cold that radiates through me. I shiver, and when a silent sob slips through me, my shoulders trembling, he pulls back.
“Come here,” he orders softly, pulling me around towards his chest and tucking me into his arms. He presses his lips to the top of my head, stroking my hair, while I bury my face in his chest, the tears refusing to subside.
“Shh . . .” he soothes, his lips at my forehead. “I’m here.”