Atlas
Being able to proudly proclaim, “My girl’s got balls,” brings an unreasonable amount of joy.
Am I proud of her for standing up to me?
Damn right!
Am I going to punish her for doing so?
Abso-fuckin’-lutely!
I have a reputation to uphold, but this? This is about bending her to my will. Summer keeps resisting, but she’ll give in. Eventually.
I stride up the stairs with her draped over my shoulder, my hand itching to slap that sexy ass once more, just to pry out the sweet sound of surprise.
Did I slap her hard? Probably harder than I should’ve, but she knocked me unconscious, so a little spanking is the least she deserves.
Besides, her pain threshold seems questionable.
Either it’s high, or her brain misfires and turns pain into pleasure, so she won’t mind that part.
She’ll mind being manhandled, but that’s on her.
My gorgeous demon thrashes in a futile attempt to get me to put her down, yet she hurls no more insults after the second slap her ass was graced with, nor does she scream as I’d expect in this situation.
I swing the door to my room wide open, then kick it shut behind us. The music from downstairs is still off, because I’m sure those nosy bastards are probably waiting to hear screams coming from my room. Summer won’t scream. Unless it’s my name. That’s already established.
As soon as her feet touch the ground, she bolts for the door.
Damn, this girl is making me chase her in all ways possible.
I cut off her escape, pinning her against the wall, but it’s only when I take my knife out that she halts.
My blade at her throat earns me a ferocious glare.
God, I should take a picture of her like this, but it’s so much fun pulling that expression out of her every time.
“Fucker!” Summer snaps, trying to push me away. A doomed attempt, but I’ll give her points for the effort. “I’m not an object you can claim and do whatever you want with.”
Oh, I’ll do whatever I like with what’s mine.
Her fingers curl, gripping my shirt, like she’s about to threaten me, forgetting the knife resting at her delicate throat, ready to kiss her skin, as rage simmers in her eyes, just shy of the boiling point.
“Kiss me!” That’s not a request but a command of the highest order, and she knows it.
Eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, lips ready to give way for her teeth to bite—seems I’ve mastered the art of making her mad, when fury incarnate is pinned between my arms.
“No!”
Keep fighting me, baby. Joke’s on you, because as it turns out, I’m very much into this.
Snatching her crossbody bag off her, I throw it to the ground.
My knife travels to the hem of her sweater, pulling it away from her skin, making sure it will cut all the way up.
The sound of ripping cloth is accompanied by her surprised gasp.
I get rid of her top, throwing the remains of it to the corner of my room, leaving her only in a white strapless lace bra—one that leaves little to the imagination.
“Kiss me!” I demand once more, the fervent want clashing with the ferocity of being denied that pleasure.
Summer leans forward, pushing against the knife at her throat, forcing me to withdraw to avoid cutting into her skin. Her lips inch for mine, hot breath luring me into believing what I want is within reach.
“No!” A whisper filled with the conviction of the loudest scream.
Another harsh rip of cloth, and the remnants of what used to be a skirt seconds ago are now pooled at her feet. Left in her underwear, she might pretend she doesn’t want to kiss me, yet she’ll have no choice but to submit to my other demands.
“You’ll want that kiss, eventually. Now beg for my shirt, Succubus.”
Her head rests on the wall, like nothing’s bothering her, before she shoots me a smirk.
“Doesn’t sound like I’m yours with that ‘eventually’ attached to your statement. I’m not gonna beg for your shirt. I’d rather go downstairs like this. You want to stake a claim? Good luck when everyone would’ve seen what’s yours.”
Slipping my knife under her bra, it pulls the thin fabric away from her skin with the edge against the seams until that little piece of clothing no longer restrains her perfect tits, as they bounce free when it snaps.
Fuckin’ hell! I’ll never get enough of her.
I growl at the sight, and I don’t wait for permission to grab a breast in my hand and lose myself in every second of that touch. I have no idea what her expression holds until moments later, when I finally drag my eyes away from those flawless temptations and up to her face.
And there it is. A flicker of pleasure creeping in the form of a blush on her cheeks. Just a hint, but enough.
Flipping my knife, I let the handle trace her skin, languidly traveling along the line of her sternum, down to the gentle skin of her belly, on a steady route for her clit.
It’s only when it reaches its final destination that she gets on her tiptoes, body arching ever so slightly.
I’m jealous now . . . of a fuckin’ knife.
I put it away at the back of my jeans, and her brows flinch in a slight tinge of disappointment.
Did she want me to fuck her with the handle? Maybe next time.
My hand eagerly replaces it, pulling her underwear to the side, and with the very first touch, I freeze.
She’s dripping wet.
“Your cunt is already begging for me.” It’s my turn to snicker. “What does that say about you, honey? Let me tell you.” My lips brush her ear with a whisper. “It says you turn into a greedy little slut when I touch you, and there’s no denying that.”
No comeback this time.
Just a hard swallow, as her palms land on my chest.
Got it. Found the ‘tame me’ button.
Driving my fingers inside her, while my teeth sink into the skin of her neck, I know I’ve found the ‘sing for me’ button, for her moans are just that—the sweetest song for my ears.
I’m on the verge of losing it, kissing and biting her skin while squeezing her ass hard enough to bruise, not hard enough to ever be enough.
Lowering myself, I bite on a nipple, while pinching the other, and her walls instantly cinch around my fingers, tight enough to make me stop.
One hand of hers tugs softly on my hair, prompting me to go on, while the other caresses the back of my neck, and my brain short-circuits, burning all the wiring up there.
My pulse in my ears, my dick painfully hard for her, my mouth craving her taste and my hands the touch of her skin.
What’s stopping me from taking what I want?
She’s in my room, enjoying herself . . .
No. She’ll probably push back if I go for more.
I do owe her a set of blue balls, but that’s not the endgame for tonight.
I want her to submit, consciously, willingly, to give me what I want, all the while I have my fun.
One more finger inside her and my thumb on her clit leave her melting in my arms. I pull back, staring at her beautiful face—eyes closed, cheeks flushed in crimson red, and those luscious lips partly open, inviting thoughts of all the ways I want to fuck her mouth.
I savor the scenery of her every ragged inhale and exhale, every little sound or not-so-subtle moan, echoing in my head.
Every tremble. Every nibble of those succulent lips, designed to contain delightful notes, but failing.
And that scarlet flush going down her neck, reaching the spot where another bite mark of mine proudly shows.
I’ve never seen a more erotic sight in my life, nor a more gorgeous creature in my arms.
Right when her walls are fluttering, and she’s teetering on the edge without falling over, I slide my fingers out. Her desperate look is absolutely ambrosial, just as intoxicating as her scent, sweet and laced with arousal.
“Simply returning the favor, baby,” I taunt, and for the first time, her face holds a ready-to-beg expression for a single second before the rage monster takes over again.
Licking the sweetness off my fingers brings back desire in her eyes, which is probably the single thing stopping her from wrapping her hands around my throat in another attempt to strangle me.
“I have something for you.” I take a cautious step back. Then another one. Summer’s not going to run away from my room only in her panties. I think. I hope. With her, I can never be certain of anything.
“A gun so I can shoot you?” she retorts.
“Have you ever shot anyone?” I ask, while heading for my desk.
The complete silence makes me stop in my tracks, checking over my shoulder if Summer hasn’t already snuck out. Her head tilts down, posture betraying a genuine struggle over whether to answer.
“I have,” she admits in a low voice.
“Really?”
She nods. Isn’t she full of surprises?!
I turn my whole body to face her when I ask my next question.
“Killed?”
Her eyes ensnare mine when she gives me another nod. But there’s an even more important question to ask.
“Guilt?”
A shake of her head, and no hesitation, nor fluctuation in her tone when she answers.
“None.”
Look at that! We’re like two peas in a murderous pod.
There’s much more to this rabbit hole. I’ll ask, and she’ll tell me everything, but not now. Now, we’ll play a different game.
With a lopsided grin, I deviate from my desk, heading for the safe near my bed.
I punch in the code I’ve been planning to change for the longest time, for it’s the most predictable thing in the world—my brother’s birthday, and I reach to take my 9mm Beretta, before I halt and decide on the smaller Glock.
I don’t want to scare her, though a smaller gun is still a gun, but hell, size always matters.
As I stand, my first thought is to check the look on her face when she sees the weapon.
Will she flinch or let fear rearrange her features?