Chapter 34 #2
“Say you want this.” I fisted my cock and pressed the head to her lips, spearing her with just the tip. Her spine bowed again, trying to push me inside her.
I pulled back.
“Say it,” I gritted. “Fucking beg me.” My neck ached with the strain of holding back. She was on the verge; she wanted to give in and submit. I saw a glimpse of her need in that empty room, and I’d been hooked ever since.
The way Gemma submitted to me went beyond logic. It was instinctual.
But she just rolled her lips between her teeth, silent. I wasn’t going to go further until she gave in and asked. So I released her, starting to stand up—
She gripped me by the shoulders, forcing me to stay. Her icy-blue eyes stared into mine, wide with a plea she wouldn’t speak.
“Say it,” I said.
She spat in my face.
I wiped the spit, a savage, unhinged need electrifying my veins. It must be evident on my face, because Gemma blinked rapidly, swallowed audibly.
Well, fuck. Best-laid plans and all that.
I slammed inside her. She arched up on a cry, nails digging into my shoulders.
“Fuck.” The curse slipped out of me on a hiss.
Her pussy was perfect.
Magic.
Fuck.
“Oh yeah,” I groaned. “This is definitely for me.” I pulled my cock out, and back in, over and over, the slick sound of her louder than the waves at our back.
Her rose gold hair fanned around her head. Her mouth parted, soft whimpers escaping on each thrust. I pressed my face against her neck. Until I could smell her skin, the real her, not the expensive candy flower shit she tried to hide behind.
Fuck.
She was headier than any drug I sold.
Shit went straight to my head.
“What a good fucking girl,” I groaned.
Her cunt gripped my cock like it was made for me, which was maddening.
Because it wasn’t.
No matter how fucking right, how fucking cosmic she felt, we only had this night. I wrapped my hand lightly around her neck. Gemma didn’t like choking. She didn’t actually want violence. She wanted to feel the threat, the power, and give in to it.
Her eyes rolled back in full submission, body accepting me. The walls in her mind, fucking gone. Obliterated.
“I’m going to ruin you,” I said, pressing my thumb deeper into her jugular, thrusting harder inside her. “Fucking ruin you for anyone else.”
I lifted her leg up to my hip, getting deeper inside her cunt. She let me without hesitation, body soft and pliable, spreading easily for me. Her eyes hazy and starry, like the ocean right at sunset. The one I thought I imagined—no, the one I recognized and have been trying to forget for years.
“So fucking perfect.” The words scraped my throat, rough and breathless. “So fucking good opening up for me like this.”
A strangled moan that sounded suspiciously like my name slipped from her lips.
“Santos,” I corrected.
She stilled beneath me, confusion arching her brows.
“Call me Santos,” I explained. “That’s my name.”
“Santos,” she repeated, like she was licking the flavor off my name, and it made me feral. I thrust harder and deeper, wanting to mark her forever with me. So even when I’m gone, anytime she comes she remembers my fucking name.
“Say it again,” I said, and thrust harder.
“Sa-antos!” she cried out, my name breaking into a cry that slid under my skin, rippled and vibrated through my blood. I didn’t care if it was fucked up and selfish and wrong. If I had to be strung out, so did she.
She scraped my back, nails digging blood. She arched up, meeting each thrust. She bit her lip, trying to keep from crying out again.
I knew Gemma’s favorite foods, her favorite books.
I knew that she secretly loved spiders and she hated cute things.
But I never thought I’d have the privilege to memorize how Gemma looked as she was about to come.
The way her baby blue eyes widened and drooped when I tested the grip on her neck.
The way she groaned when I thrust inside her just right.
The flush on her cheeks. The haze in her eyes.
The pain of her nails in my flesh as she reached for something, anything, to ground her.
I stopped.
“If you want me to let you come,” I said, “fucking beg me.”
I wanted her fucked up on me, her soul tainted with mine.
It was selfish. Fucked up. All kinds of twisted.
I thrust in a deliberate movement until her pussy clenched with anticipation.
I paused. “Fucking beg, Gemma.”
Her eyes found mine. I waited for her to spit at me, tell me to fuck off.
“Please,” she whined. “Please. Please. Please.” I nearly came at that. She broke off into a reckless whine. Thrashing her head back and forth.
Was there any sound better than Gemma Crowne begging me?
“Please let me come. Fuck me, Santos. Punish me with your cock. Make me cry. Please.”
Yes. There was. And it was Gemma Crowne begging me to do filthy things with her.
My grip tightened on her neck—still not choking—and I resumed thrusting.
“You want this?” Slam. “You want me to force it out of you like the little slut you are?” Slam.
“Yes,” she choked out, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Please.” A sweet agony twisted her words.
But she still wouldn’t come until I let her.
A realization settled heavy in my blood at her complete and total submission.
Gemma Crowne couldn’t belong to me, but I would belong to her.
Forever. I would protect her until the day I died.
If by some unlucky break I died before her, I would make another deal with the devil to stay around long enough to torment anyone who dared look at her.
“Your pussy is mine,” I said. “Your sighs? Mine. This is all fucking mine.” I worked the grip against her throat. “Say it.”
“Yours,” she cried. “Your slut. Just for you. Only for you. I’ll never come again if it’s not your cock.”
I didn’t ask her to say that.
Fuck.
Gemma Crowne was going to kill me.
“Good girl,” I groaned, and she clenched at the praise. “You’re such a good fucking girl. Now be a good girl and come on my cock.”
That was all it took. A cry ripped from her throat, her nails scythed bloody rivers into my pectoral, and she came apart on my cock. My balls tightened with my own release, but I held it long enough to memorize the flush on her skin, the way her eyes rolled back, her mindless, breathless whispers.
Thank you.
Oh, please.
Do anything to me.
Oh fuck, I’ll do anything.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Then I came violently. Brutally. The thing that existed taboo and stolen between Gemma and me ripped out of my soul to find hers.
“I’ll kill anyone who touches you and fuck you on their dead bodies,” I said, my thrusts wild and uneven as I came. “Everyone will know what happens when they touch you.” Unhinged. Animalistic. Saying shit I had no right to.
With one final thrust, I finished inside her.
And this—this was the image I would take home with me. Gemma’s wide blue eyes, lips parted. Her features soft and open. Vulnerable.
This was what Gemma Crowne’s trust looked like.
And she was giving it to me.
I captured her mouth in mine. Kissing her brutally, bruising her, memorizing her with my tongue, marking her with my bite. Her mouth, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, over and over again, trying to steal a lifetime’s worth of kisses in one night. Her sighs fogged my flesh, her lips searched for mine.
“Mi locura,” I breathed against her lips.
My madness.
Because that was what she was.
I was mad with her.
Mad with want.
Mad with need.
Fucking insane.
I licked the side of her neck, up to her ear, then back to her lips. She clenched, and shit, I was ready to go again. Her nails dug deeper into my chest.
“Santos—”
Fireworks blasted off in the distance—the Crowne family Fourth of July party. It was booming, thunderous popcorn in the sky. And it shattered the moment.
I could feel the change.
Feel her walls build back, brick by brick.
Feel our stolen moment leave and disappear into history.
I slid out of her, ignoring the way her eyes widened at the reminder of me. I slid back into my wet jeans, zipping them up as I stared down at her in the sand. Her dress was tangled around her hips. Naked. My come leaked milky onto her thighs and into the sand.
In a final, reckless moment, I knelt down, shoving my finger inside her, pushing the come back inside. I knew everything about Gemma, like I knew she was on birth control. She got the injection every few months.
Her mouth dropped.
“Don’t do this shit again,” I said, pumping my come deep inside her.
“You don’t fucking own me,” she hissed.
“That’s not what you said a few minutes ago.” I smeared my come across her clit, causing her to arch and shiver.
Then I stood back up.
She got to her elbows, still open for me. I stared down at Gemma, legs spread—waiting for me. She’d let me take her again. She wanted it.
Her rose gold hair was wild and knotted, mascara smeared black beneath her blue eyes. Her freckles faintly visible beneath all the crap she piled on. And fuck if that didn’t get me hard, again.
God damn.
My fucked-up princess.
With a clenched jaw, I left. Left before I did something neither of us could come back from.
I left the beach in a daze, still mindless as I walked into the house and up the stairs. The rest of the Horsemen were out—out where I was supposed to be—prepping for the Underworld Fourth of July party.
I walked past my room, into Wraith’s. He was the Horsemen’s tattoo man, and kept a tattoo gun in his closet. I took the gun back to my room and propped it up on my bathroom sink.
In the mirror, Gemma’s scratch marks reflected bloody on my chest.
I dug the needle into them.
She would do it again, she would try to kill herself again. I saw it in her defiance.
That sealed it for me. Gemma Crowne was always going to be with someone else. She was fucking engaged tonight.
So I would be her reaper. I would keep her life safe. She would live in my soul. Entwined.