Chapter 11 Mackenzie #2
“Oh, shit!” I whine between heated kisses.
His arms slide under my back, his fingers gripping my shoulders as he pumps harder, faster.
The desk trembles with each powerful thrust, its legs screeching against the floor.
“Dax…oh fuck…yes!” He fucks me so hard the desk groans in protest, threatening to collapse.
Gavin’s family photos crash to the ground like toppled dominoes, glass shattering into a million glittering shards around us.
“That’s it, baby, take it,” he growls, his voice a low, hungry rumble as he kisses a searing path down my throat. “You were made for this dick. Tell me you want me deeper, tell me you want every fucking inch.”
I do, holy fuck, I do. I want to feel him with every breath, every movement. I crave him harder, faster, deeper—an insatiable hunger consuming me whole, searing me from the inside out.
Does he feel insatiable flames too?
“I want…” He captures my bottom lip, sharp fangs sinking in until I taste the coppery tang of blood. He fills me completely, and I know my body will be sore in the morning, but I can’t manage to muster an iota of a single fuck.
“I heard you,” he roars. The desk creaks and buckles beneath us, submitting to his will just as I am.
“Ah…ah…ahh…” I whimper into his ravenous mouth, my voice reaching a crescendo of desperation, eyes brimming with tears that spill over, tracing hot paths down my cheeks.
“Fuck…you’re so godsdamn beautiful when you cry for me. These are the only tears I ever want to see.”
He kisses them away, each salty drop disappearing under his tender touch, even as his body claims mine with unyielding force. Heat coils low in my belly, my body gripping him tightly, never wanting to let go.
“Come for me, belle ame,” he murmurs, his voice a dark, seductive spell.
Thunder roars, a violent symphony that could be in the room or outside—I neither know nor care.
In the lightning’s flash that follows, his face morphs into something grim—half flesh, half skeleton.
One eye is a hollow socket, a chasm delving into the depths of my soul; the other, a glowing white that sears my core.
I reach out blindly, my hand finding Tiffany’s perfectly manicured fingers.
I cling to her, anchoring myself as my orgasm crashes over me, a tsunami of emotions and sensations.
My body feels torn in a thousand directions, present and elsewhere, a whirlwind of ecstasy and agony—whimpers I can’t make out trickle through me, distantly.
He lifts me effortlessly, one arm, a vise around my waist, while he’s still buried deep inside me. He sits in the blood-soaked chair behind him. “Ride me, show me who this cock belongs to. Let me see how good you take me, goddess.”
Tiffany’s hand instantly falls from my grasp, hitting the floor with a wet thud.
Palms pressed to his chest, I ride him like a fucking rodeo, rolling my hips until he moans my name. My lips devour his as if he were my last meal on death row. “Fuck…you’re so deep….you’re so…ahh…”
He thrusts upwards, his body meeting mine with a force that sends shockwaves through me, his hips slapping against my flesh.
My eyes roll back, and I see stars, constellations—a universe unknown yet eerily familiar. It calms me, lulling me into a sense of tranquil acceptance. I want to let go, to shed the confines of humanity and embrace the darkness he offers.
A guttural moan escapes him, a sound so primal it could stop hearts.
My toes curl into the hardwood floor, my body tensing as I chase another climax.
Leaning over his shoulder, I grip the back of the chair, using it as leverage to fill myself with him, meeting his thrusts, feeling every rigid inch of him massage my sensitive walls as they clench around him.
“Nethrian gods below, Elysia,” he roars, his release spilling into me as he continues to thrust, riding the wave of his climax.
Who the fuck is Elysia? My ecstasy screeches to a halt.
“Elysia is not a who,” he pants, his voice a sexy rumble that sends aftershocks through me. His fingers tangle in my hair, feathering kisses along my neck, fangs nipping at sensitive skin. “It’s a what.”
“Okay, what is Elysia?” I cup his cool face, searching his eyes for answers. “Tell me.”
“I’m sorry. I got carried away.” He withdraws, physically and emotionally, setting me back on the desk. I wince at the sudden emptiness, feeling the ghost of his touch linger on my skin. He tucks himself away, adjusting his pants with a finality that makes my stomach churn. “It won’t happen again.”
Dread creeps in, a cold hand clutching my heart. I try to meet his gaze, but he won’t look at me, his eyes distant as he helps me into my jeans, lacing my sneakers back on my feet. In the heavy silence, my reflection in a nearby mirror catches my eye.
And what I see horrifies me.
What type of vengeful creature have I become?
“Don’t,” he warns, knowing what’s coming, always one step ahead, always in my head. Before I can stop myself, my legs move, carrying me away from the scene like a heroine fleeing a nightmare.
I tear down the stairs, through the ravaged living room, and out the front door, dashing across campus under the cover of darkness.
The cool night air whips around me, but it does nothing to soothe the turmoil within.
I run from the cold talons of the monster clawing its way out of me—the unfeeling part of me that justifies murder for a taste of ecstasy.