51. Raphael #2
Securing the fallen cap back on her head, I pick her up and walk right over the broken glass and ceramic until I’ve slammed her up against the wall.
Fucking her—tighter than ever from her ten-day’s un-fucked cunt.
After escaping the braid during her assault, her royal curls rain down the sides of her face. Even more beautiful with her crown.
Her body yields, softens, submits. Her eyes are molten hazel.
Holding one arm above her head against the wall, my other gripping the underside of her right thigh—fingers digging into the flesh—I claim her mouth, lashing her tongue with mine.
Thrusting hard, I grind my length into her.
I smite her, burying myself more with all her hot walls closing around me.
A long moan escapes her throat. Her fingers curl, lift to touch my face, the ten-day-old stubble. Fucking with me. Bleeding me. Killing me.
Not before I kill her.
So, I let go of her arm, wrap mine around her back, crushing her closer. Then, I lower her to the floor. Kneeling, I set her right on the broken glass and lift her splinted leg over my shoulder.
She seizes from the pain, gritting her teeth around a screech. “Raphael, piece of—”
I dive and cut her off with the first drag of my tongue upon her clit. Demanding, I devour, plunder, pillage, and take what is rightfully mine. My pulse races through my blood at her taste. Her whole body vibrates.
“You need this, don’t you, little Queen?” I purr against her center, then turn my head to sink my teeth into her thigh.
Her hands tear at my hair, trying to force me back to where she wants. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop, you sick, psychotic sonofa—!”
Growling, I grip her wrists, pinning them to her stomach before I seal myself to her slick pussy, licking, sucking, kissing, eating, utterly gorging myself on her. I dominate her. Control her. Or I’ll rut into her like a raging beast. That will happen soon.
But she burns for me first.
My brothers don’t exist right now. They are mere shadowy figures. The outer chains watch while my inner one strangles her.
Lost in her, the sounds of her whimpers, the feeling of her nails cutting the skin of my hands, the way she squirms beneath my blade of a tongue, it all drives me to near madness.
The muscles in her thighs tighten and twitch. My body shudders with the need to be inside her again.
A cry leaves her mouth as she bucks and looks down.
I lock eyes with hers. “Give it to me,” I demand and insert two fingers into her soaked heat, tantalizing that inner knot. “Let go. Fucking let go.”
I flick her clit with my tongue, trace a circle around the swollen nub, and pump my fingers in and out. All her muscles soften. The tension flees. I let go of her hands. She drops them to the sides of her body, curving them into the broken glass, unafraid of the pain.
She crumbles, surrendering. And then…“Please.” A plea. A prayer. A prayer to her High God.
With her surrender drifting through the air like a dark dream, I suck her swollen bud into my mouth, lick every hypersensitive nerve, and press my fingers onto her soft G-spot.
She spirals. Clenching. Gasping. Exhaling. To make the orgasm last. I find a million shimmering colors in her eyes. And while she’s still coming, I climb up her beautiful, broken body and hilt my dick inside her again.
Briella lurches, arching her throat, and I kiss her again as I fuck her, shred her, ruin her. I caress her everywhere, softly scattering shards of fractured ceramic, bits of broken glass—upon her breasts, her chest, her stomach.
Her hands find my body, nails raking along my ass, clawing at my back beneath my shirt, then the hard ridges of my abdomen, leaving her own roadway on my flesh.
My cock jerks in her. She tightens around me. I power-fuck her right on this wrecked floor, pounding, hammering, thundering inside her. Sharp fragments slice and cut her flesh as I fuck her, fuck away those surface emotions.
Until all that remains is her vulnerability.
Raw. Real. Our real.
“Yes, God, yes!” she screams, picks up one of the shards, and cuts a line across my chest, cutting her palm at the same time. I grit my teeth, but I give her the wound. I shake my head in disbelief as she slices a goddamn B onto my chest. An honor to wear her mark.
She drops the glass shard, her eyes glazed over, her inner muscles pulsating. “Raphael—oh, fuck, this-I’m—”
Mouth seizing hers again, I take her waist and lift her until I hold her on my lap, raiding her, moving her up and down on my raging erection. Her full breasts pressed against my chest.
I skate my fingers along her back, smearing the light droplets of blood until I come to her hair…where I rip my cap right off her head and throw it aside.
Nothing left but predator and prey. Man and woman.
Kissing her harder, I grip her crown of curls, holding her here, however I want, while rocking her on my length.
When she sobs, I yank her back by her hair and trail my teeth along her throat.
“Stop, Raphael. Oh, God, just give it to me, let me feel it, or let me die, you depraved, heartless, soulless devil!”
Yes. Because only a hunter like me, a sadist, a killer could give her what she craves.
The most twisted and sinful, fucked-up pleasure of such highs—like the overdose of a thousand ecstasy pills—to the lowest crashes where even the soul forgets its own name.
I make her forget hers.
Lifting my teeth from her throat, I touch them to her lips. “Who the fuck are you?” I threaten and vow silent punishment upon her if she gets it wrong.
My eyes turn to slits. Don’t fucking test me.
Breathless, tear-stricken, and so exquisitely real, she whispers, “You.”
“Fucking come,” I command and kiss her again.
The moment her cunt clamps down—so excruciatingly addictive—I suck up her screams, spearing myself to the very back of her cunt, my hips jerking wildly with the crashing orgasm. I pour ten days of goddamn isolation, blackness, and madness into her, carving myself into her bones.
When only our releases tangle in the air, I turn to my brothers. Speechless, they still wait for permission.
Seth eyes Rory from the side and mouths the word “wow”. Vincent is still against the counter, his gaze awed…for her.
I nod, loosening their tongues, and Jude steps forward. “Raphael.”
He sighs heavily. The only one I read as well as Briella is my partner. His jaw ticks. His eyes ache with the guilt of a man about to destroy something precious, something priceless.
“Jude,” I say.
She’s still trembling in my arms when his black eyes stroke invisible paths along her body, settling upon her splint. “It’s as good a time to tell you.”
She stiffens, but she doesn’t look at him. Her eyes find mine, widening with an inkling of horror. “Tell me what?”
Jude scrubs a hand down his face. “I knew the same night he left…when I first cast her splint.” His voice is rough and frayed. “The arrow’s damage was serious. Torn muscle. Shredded tendon. Even after it heals…”
Tears fill her eyes and paint her cheeks as we hover here—on the barest edge of a blade—and Jude finishes, “She’ll likely never walk without a limp again.”
She quakes. Then goes still.
Her eyes go cold, distant, like she’s already retreating into herself. I see the pain, the kind that breaks you beyond repair. She wants to run, to hide from it, but I won’t let her.
“You think you’re leaving me?” I growl, getting even harder inside her and seizing the back of her neck, anchoring her here. “No. You’re going to feel this. Every fucking inch of it.”
I am your strength. I brand her with the hell in my gaze, vowing my ruin if she tries to swallow the poison that is not mine.
Her jaw tightens, her chest heaving with barely-contained fury. “Fuck you,” she spits, like she wants to burn everything in her path.
Danger and promise wreathing all around me, I state, “No more running. I’ll fuck that poison out of you. We all will. To remind you that you’re still here, still real. You can try to hold onto that hate and self-pity, but you won’t be able to. Not while we’re inside you.”
Her body shakes, but I feel the resistance crumble as she gives in.
And we don’t stop until we’ve broken her open—
—and made her whole again.