35. Thirty-Five
I cut him.
My heart races faster than when I thought he’d gutted me. I can’t get the air into my lungs.
I cut him.
I glance at the shaking in my hand, before my eyes are drawn back to Dane.
I cut him.
The room fades to nothing when a bead of blood forms on his face. It wells up slowly, building until it drips down, gravity dragging the crimson down his face. The color is unbearably vibrant compared to the dull concrete room. It starts as a single drop, but it quickly grows, turning into a steady stream wetting his face, his neck, his shirt. Every inch of it shouting I’ve harmed him.
He doesn’t scream. Doesn’t shout. He just stands there, staring at some point above my head, his jaw clenched so tightly I worry he’ll break a tooth.
“I - I’m so sorry.”
I drop the knife as if it’s burning me and take a step towards him without thinking. I reach out to slow the stream of blood trailing down his cheek, his neck. He catches my hand before I can touch him. His eyes are vicious, lit with anger. He’s still not looking at me. There’s no yelling, but I tense for it all the same.
His grip tightens further when his gaze finally locks onto mine. His whole body is rigid, his muscles strain beneath his skin, and I’m battling the instinct to retreat, to wrench myself out of his grasp.
A second passes.
Two.
Three.
Dane crashes against me, and the force drives the air from my lungs.
My head is spinning, scrambling to react to his sudden lunge. I wait for impact, for some hit to come. A punishment because I hurt him.
No punishment comes. Instead, I’m struck with a searing kiss that lights my entire body on fire. Hot and brutal. The grip he has on the back of my head, crushing my face to his, contains all the anger he’s ever harbored for me.
His ire threatens to crush me, consume me, before I realize he’s the reason we’re in this situation. I throw it all back. Every time I wanted to scream at him. Every time I wanted to knock him on his ass. Every time I’ve seethed about his secrecy. I force it all into that bruising kiss.
Our movements are so forceful I can feel that line of blood slicking against my cheek, mirroring his injury on my skin. We’re both far too worked up over all of the tension that’s been building since he hauled my ass out of the woods.
Dane wraps his hands under my thighs and pulls me against him. My feet leave the floor in a single, smooth motion. My legs move on their own, wrapping around his waist, securing our connection. He moves like I’m weightless, taking a few steps until my back hits a wall. I gasp against his kiss, and push back, building the pressure between us.
The cold concrete does nothing to lessen the heat building within me. It’s a fire meticulously stoked by each of my boys, only growing more demanding by the day. Maybe it was waiting for Dane, and he’s the last piece of the puzzle.
His hands waste no time, groping and gripping every accessible part of me. He grabs my ass hard, his fingers digging deep into my flesh. I’m giddy with thought that I’ll probably have bruises, and the tenderness will last long into tomorrow.
I’m still pinned by his hips but I push him away, just enough to take my shirt and bra off, freeing myself from the annoying, restrictive layers between us. I throw them to the floor, just feet from the still open door. The thought that one of my men could walk by and witness what is happening sends a thrill through me.
Let them see.
Dane pulls his shirt off with a single hand over his shoulder, dragging the blood-spattered shirt over his head. I soak everything in, unable to peel my eyes away from him. As ravenous as my body is, my mind can’t pass up the chance to greedily take him in.
He’s fucking gorgeous. Tan skin wrapped over a thoroughly muscled body. His chest is spotted with blood that seeped through the shirt, and I want to see more. I want to see him at his grittiest, most rugged, battle worn self.
I want to see Dane.
I wrap my arm around his neck and pull him back against me with as much force as I can, demanding he give me exactly what I want.
“I don’t do gentle.” The harsh edge of his voice scratches on my skin in all the best ways.
“I don’t want it.”
He cuts off my breath with another searing kiss. His hand wraps around my throat for good measure while he rips my shorts off. I whimper against his mouth, the sound of the tearing fabric only heightens my need.
Good, fast is good. I didn’t like those shorts anyway.
I’m fully bared to him and the chill of the air against my heated skin sets off goosebumps. I arch against him, my body needy for more than just his warmth.
He doesn’t take the time the others did to study me. He doesn’t give me the reverence I’ve become accustomed to. No awe. No longing glances. Not from Dane. Never from Dane. Here I’m prey, plain and simple. I am the plot of land he’s about to conquer and claim.
This is what I want from him. This is what I need from Dane.
He runs his hand across my sex. He already knows I’m ready, he can feel the way I shudder against him, all too eager for every touch. He groans when he feels the confirmation, just how easily his fingers move through my slickness.
The room blurs around me when he pulls me away from the wall and shoves me towards the table. I catch the edge with my hips and fall forward, my torso flat against the plastic surface, my heels raised to meet its height. I try to right myself, but he presses his hand against the back of my head, locking me in place.
Whatever small parts of me that remained intact liquefy at the realization that I am going to be used right now. He’s going to use my body to work out this pent-up energy building inside of him. The rage that’s been simmering since well before we met. I’m just the body he’s choosing to do it with.
I feel him notch himself against my opening before he rams himself into me, the power driving me hard against the table as I take every inch of him. The sharp, sudden fullness forces a gasp out of me as I screw my eyes shut and curl my toes. I might as well be vibrating with the way my muscles clench and relax around him.
My head is jerked back by fingers knotting in my hair, I’m helpless to fight against it. Even if I wanted to resist, my body would revolt. Every bit of me is wholly compliant to each one of his demands, no matter how rough they may be.
Further and further he pulls until my chest is no longer resting against the table, my full body weight bearing down on my hip bones and toes. My calves are shaking, and my back is nearly pressed against his chest, when he moves his hand back to my throat. Right where it belongs. The pressure of his fingers around the delicate column of my throat, sends my brain to a dizzy, wonderful place. Each one of his thrusts sends another wave of static through my thoughts until all I can think about is the haze of the room and the vicious way Dane’s using my body.
He’s fully seated inside of me, pumping away like it’s his way of meting out a punishment. I feel myself tightening, coiling towards release, when his grip tightens around my throat.
“Not yet.”
Another command.
“Huh?” I don’t have words. I’m too lost in the waves of sensation crashing around me.
“Do. Not. Come. Yet.” Each word is punctuated by another brutal thrust.
“Fuck!” The word is a strained cry, forced out against the pressure of his hand.
I’m close, so close. I have no idea if I can hold it off, or if I want to.
“Ask,” he snaps.
“I don’t-” I’m panting, dragging every bliss laced breath into my lungs.
“Ask to come. Beg me, Madeline.”
God damn.
The words swim through my mind. Each on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get them out, can’t fight against the tsunami of pleasure threatening to engulf me at any second.
“Beg!” he roars.
“God! Please, Dane. Please can I come?” I finally force the words out. I’m desperate. Trying to hold this off might kill me, it feels like trying to hold off an avalanche.
“Not good enough.”
“Please, Dane. Please!” I moan, nearly sobbing the words as he quickens his pace, hitting every perfect spot within me.
“Come.” He spits the word, pulling my head back to an impossible angle, my calves burning as I take his brutality.
I don’t know what actually does it. The pure vulgarity of the moment? The anger we’re both working out? The feeling of his hand around my throat? Or the permission to let my body do what it’s been trying to do this entire time?
I shatter.
I’m screaming through an orgasm that’s doing everything it can to rip me open from the inside out, leaving nothing behind but an empty shell.
He spanks me hard, the sharp, prickling burn reignites the orgasm that was starting to wane, and suddenly I’m thrown back into that other place. Anything could be happening around me, this room could be on fire, but I couldn’t care less. All I am right now is a sweating, writhing body being held up in his arms, still speared by his cock.
His thrusts falter as he loosens his grip, and lowers me back down to the table. My body shakily rests against the cold gray plastic.
Dane grips my hips and thrusts faster, he’s no longer concerned with controlling my pleasure, now working to wring out his own with calculated precision. The second before he breaks, his fingers dig into me harder. His nails bite into the soft skin of my hips, and I can’t help but groan at the feeling of it.
His thrusts stutter before he finally comes, and that now familiar warmth blooms inside of me. He stills the two of us with a hand braced on my lower back while we both pant, trying to collect ourselves.
In our silence, my brain battles through the fog brought on by the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. I try to orient myself between the waves of residual pleasure, the rhythmic shudder my body lets out. To figure out how, if at all, this will affect everything.
He pulls out of me, the pool of his release slowly leaking away. The training room is eerily quiet when I feel his heat move away from me. Even our breaths seem muffled when he collects his shirt from the floor. I’m frozen in place, still stuck bent over the table. I’m reeling from what just happened, but he’s moving with the same collected, controlled grace as always.
As if none of this ever happened.
As if I had imagined it.
When he bends to grab his shirt, I realize that he never took off his shorts or his underwear. He bared himself just enough to get inside of me.
That thrill, that fevered excitement, withers away while I watch the clean lines of his back as he pulls his shirt on. He doesn’t spare me a second glance before heading out of the door, stepping over my discarded shirt, and leaving me naked as I crumble to the floor.
What just happened?